Friday, October 10, 2008

35. THE SMALL-BORE HAMMERLOCK

THE SMALL-BORE HAMMERLOCK
A wistful look in the window
brought back to me all Ramona
and all of Gail - neither one matching
the expectations of whichever page
they were on. And as that Hot-Dog King,
Max, with his expensive and sleek
Mercedes Roadster, said about it -
'that's a lot of hot dogs and relish my
friend, and I relish a lot about that hot
dog'. Face it, that crazy man was in love
with his - car.
Maybe there's something to be said for
shit like that - in a sort of time-perspective
relativity we never see, metal never loses its
sheen, paint never fades and fenders don't
rust. Eternal verities, like newness and flash,
just last and last. Yeah, right. Tell that to
the warden, the ferryman, the gravedigger.
It's like some silly priest story about your
eternal life. Destined to live forever, and
bribed - first by a promise, then by a kiss,
and then by the fantasy of eternal bliss.

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