Welcome, Jon Conte Jr   
[Sign Out, My Account]
  Things We're Afraid to Say: Webs of Everyday Media     
Date: Saturday, February 24, 2007  12:00AM PDT)
From: Send an Instant Message "John French" <mosshead7@yahoo.com>  
Subject: Hollywood Death Game
To: Send an Instant Message "John French" <mosshead7@yahoo.com


Lights of the city brightly burned
An attempt at artificial souls
The lights span clear to the ocean
The hills are a little more desolate
With rattle snakes, rabbit and deer
She's in the mirror and sees a shadow
It's her baggage she's accumulated
The spotlight is nearby - as always -
Does the light come from her or from
The production of her present company?
Is there something wrong? Come over here.
You know we're in it together - 'til the end.
We're a circle of friends, right? A pact.
We need no virgins here. Innocence lost
Long ago in an American postcard - the
Days of Americana pop flash brilliance
Pixels bleed life they only know as color
We're out here on the ledge - the curtains
Are our holy veil and mysterious misery
Where does it hurt? I'll kiss it for you
The bar is stocked - the radio is moaning
Calling on the gods - there are a few things
For us to review and then we have some fun
Oh, yeah, what was it anyway? I'm okay.
The driver is here now - let's go get in again -
Best of the Roses,
John French    mystrawhat.com
Things We're Afraid to Say: Webs of Everyday Media
StrawHat Productions


Back To Inbox

Poetry  By John Alan Conte`, Jr.
Copyright 2007
  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or  transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or  otherwise, without prior written permission of John Alan Conte Jr.