Wednesday, April 17, 2002
That Street
Theres that stretch of street downtown, near the water, lined with warehouses sitting big and curious in the dark. A street broken by train tracks and brick, dim lights humming in the night. People curled in doorways, forts built of carts and sheets, cardboard and plastic bags.
It was a thrill to creep along the street that led the way, wonder thrumming in your blood, your hands beating the steering wheel to the bass pulsing from the speakers. Here we go said your blood, the car skimming the wet surface of that street.
The world opened up down there. You walked under a streetlight, the yellow glow holding you still. It was perfect there, in that circle. Didnt you taste it, Didnt you yearn? Wasnt it going to be good? That street took you young and jacked, brought you hot to the edge of a world. One warehouse throbbed and your name opened a door. The heat hit like a wall, the sweat pulled up and covered your skin. Bodies spun above, under lights that flickered fast and red. They swooped, skin and shadows playing in a pattern that settled hot in your gut.
Didnt it hurt but good? Didnt you want it to go on? Didnt you need more? Didnt you cry when it struck like that, didnt you close your eyes? Werent you scared it would end, didnt you hold your breath? Didnt you spin and stare, werent they all around?
I need it again, I got it bad. Take me there, drop your name, open up. Get me wet, get me hot. Crack the clock, crank it up. Push me in, spin around. Hold it up, hold it high. Say it loud, push me down. Sweet night, you make it sound good. Tell me again. Your teeth shine. Youre on, youre rock, youre liquid fuck. You break my heart.
