Home Dead Red Leaves
My heart is aching for home, my old home, New Bedford. I wish I could get away, head north and maybe enjoy what's left of this Autumn. I would love to see the kids. They're all so colorful and pretty and brilliant, it makes you wonder why they still live in New Bedford. I'd like to have a Portuguese feast, Portuguese Dao wine, a table surrouned by the likes of Magoo, Chachie, Christ, Erynn-Jones, J. Gobush, A.V. Vienna, and on and on until infinity. I'd like to sleep on my old napping couch in my old apartment inhabited by my little, adopted brothers. I'd like to visit Chris at the vintage store, buy something pretty from the past and hear stories of old New Bedford. I'd like to sit in Eric Baylies dusty livingroom, drinking weak kool-aid and talk about all the comings and goings. I'd like to listen to my old radio station on the FM band. I'd like to visit my family, my mother and father, and walk around the old farm that had been my family's home since the dawn of the twentieth century if not longer. I'd like to hear crickets, Bunny says they're still cripping in the cold Fall nights. I'd like to see James and Rachel and Jess, sing kareoke at the pool hall and then meander over to the dyke bar for three dollar cocktails. I'd like to climb the stage of the New Wave and play a couple songs on my old acoustic. I'd like to go to a Viennagram happening, watch all the beautiful children freak out and mingle amoungst the only true rockstars of this millenium.
I have a lot of problems, no worries, in New York. I want to slip into obscurity, hide from that dreadful party I had been hosting, turn off my phone, sleep in and stare at a computer screen. Time for introspection and planning.
I have a lot of problems, no worries, in New York. I want to slip into obscurity, hide from that dreadful party I had been hosting, turn off my phone, sleep in and stare at a computer screen. Time for introspection and planning.