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Tall Tennessee Weeds  by RickO

Tall Tennessee Weeds 

 

I'm ten miles out of town when the moon steps through the black curtain of clouds and sets up shop on my left shoulder. A chalky glow, it’s omen, shines off the hood with tonight’s forecast: shame. The mask of pride, reflecting off the rear view, is worn loosely and any attempt at adjusting its purpose is ill advised. Tall Tennessee weeds whisper within the darkness and wave me through. A better man would probably recoil, but if I do anything, it’s this I need to do.

 

It could have worked better. Most upon a backward gaze can. But this one was strife from the outset and the only way to quench the fire was to let it burn. I’m all used up now. The victory goes to time. The tracks have woven itself deep upon me.  My body sweats out over my desperation tattoo. When all the cards were in you still held a few. A better man would probably recoil, but if I do anything, it’s this I need to do.

 

A pale last moment gamble is loosely based. For her heart has attached outward away from my quest. My feelings have disappeared from her realm of tangibility, leaving the ghost of me to haunt her one last time. One final interrupt. One last hope. For tonight I ride into town with a bouquet with blossoms only true. A better man would probably recoil, but if I do anything, it’s this I need to do.

 

She pulled the death card out of the stack and placed it kindly at my door. A saxophone begs out of the radio dash and places its cold condemning hands around my throat. My words to her were always covered in reserved devotion. I have no time for that  in my life anymore. From her street I watch the dance of two bedroom shadows blend into one. I feel the candle wax drip of my heart spill down the drain of her sidewalk. The stars all bunch together preening for a better view. A better man would probably recoil, but if I do anything, it’s this I need to do.

 

A recital of over practiced lines lye in a bunch at the bottom of my coats pocket. As long as these words remain I am not free. And when the door opened and a version of you appeared, every last one of them, were thrown upon your feet. But you have turned your back on this, have for years, and your strong front door once again begins to close. I had no right coming here tonight that is true. A better man would probably recoil, but if I do anything, it’s this I need to do.

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  'Tall Tennessee Weeds' statistics: (click to read)
Date created: Dec. 7, 2007
Date published: Dec. 7, 2007
Comments: 3
Tags:
Word Count: 762
Times Read: 435
Story Length: 1