—VIDEO KILLED THE RADIO STAR

 

 

In the Pink

 

We were fresh then,

each scar novel and pink 

like blind baby mice, 

home torched in the rearview, 

Paris or Manhattan winking like 

a buxom KKG in the front seat.

Oz and Clinic knew the score 

but they weren’t telling, 

so we had another jar of clear 

and did a few more lines 

from “Diner” to make us 

feel tight and def.

What hung from the hotel walls 

came down quick, 

magic carpets made of glass. 

Even our secrets were sad-sack

and limpid back then.

We had eight-hour erections but

no proper place to stash our lust.

We didn’t know about Bean yet, 

Fred, Rod, David, Doc Sot and the 

whole fucking rest to come.

Jesus what a tar pit.

But let me tell you this:

man, the wind was blowing stupid fast.

The world, it moved and kicked some more still. 

Everything felt like crushed velvet 

or else it tasted like the scent of endless forever.