Tuesday, June 30, 2015

Wet Papers

My friend, Sam, is an astronaut. He's been up several times. When I write him now he doesn't write back. Last time I saw him was in the late '60's in an ice cream joint in Tampa. He told me he was going to Hollywood to be a "movie star." He didn't say anything about acting. He was going to be a "movie star." I guess things didn't work out.

All the gold these dreams are made of- cocaine and plastic pave the streets. Heartache and heartbreak show on faces. A small price to pay for a life so sweet.

Fly me to Hollywood tonight. Hail me a rainbow for the ride.

This town's not big enough to scare me. I've spent a lot of time here in my dreams. All the pretty faces that I've looked at- a product of some fool's hopes and schemes.

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