...the sticky road...

 

so, it's 12:30 and the music is playing...what better thing is there to do after a evening of fast black bikes and weak v&o's...of broken hearts freshly mended, waiting only to be ripped apart again...if only the night would not end and the truths you hold this dark night would not prove to be transparent veils of falsities and 'until something betters'...but what should you expect when the wind blows by you twice as fast as you imagine you and your machine could go...

 

...it was a dangerous, yet slightly seductive situation...one most would only fantasize about, but never welcome into their own realities...and the woman said: could you bring me any closer to the edge of my life without dropping me into the rocky pit below...?

 

a young man strikes a match on the sticky road beneath him...only because he likes the sound...any closer to the edge...

 

back on the bike you believe that the hope to die is only a myth, another of those told to keep one in line...another lie...but prayers don't lie, as you light another cigarette at the stop light...and you wonder why you never got to dance to your favorite song, the one you first heard when you were young and still immortal...for that split second between red and green you are there...was it just a dream or another life passing away...

 

...and the man said: you know, you really tear me up...and the woman spoke again...you make me crazy, i'm going insane...his bare feet stuck to the hot tar on the road as he walked that last mile home...the rocky pit below...?

 

you've survived the night, and just around the corner waits another...waiting to fool you one more time, but will it be so easy this time...the winter sun still burns you and makes your tears evaporate before they leave the rim of your eye...there is no chance of the

'fish-eyed lens' in this heat, you must see everything clearly...will you take the chance and go through with it for real this time...or will you wait a bit longer and let her decide?

 

and there it is again...your favorite song, now you are too old and weak to dance, too tired...you can remember when you could play like him, when you could imagine yourself in front of the multitudes, the masses, but time is short now and you are too confused to think of anything but her...any closer to the edge...

 

the young, man watches the match burn down to his fingers...just because he likes the way it feels...the sticky road melts away beneath him and he goes with it...

 

...he is gone now, but certainly not forgotten...the stark truth in the middle of the day always hurts a little, but this too has now passed...

 

...the sticky road has cooled now with the night breezes, it stands now waiting to be used, waiting for you to move forward...'so west young man...'...they told you that long ago and this is as far as you got...

 

the events of the last evening and this recently ended day had you down deep in a crimson fog...now that's past and you are truly ready to take that last mile home...the road is solid, the match burned out and the woman--she speaks now only in lovely tones of hopefulness and pride...yes, you survived the night and have met this latest one with strength and whimsical merriment...

 

...the situation you have just come through is as seductive as ever, but the danger has past...there will be no pain tonight, not from her at least...

 

and the woman spoke one last time: i have been dropped, but i see now there is no rocky pit, no sticky road to tread...only a hazy new sun promising something, what i don't

know--something though...i have sat alone in the barren wasteland of my life and watched the flowers of friendship seed and grow...in colors i've never imagined, i have found you...