Imperial Death Again
Rain
In Sacramento
Is the color of highway
Through blurry wetness
On broken wipers
Everything moves like slow chrome
Powerful surges
Arteries of a dying empire
Red lights going out
White lights coming in
Carting out the death
Carting in the hopeful life
Mere buckets of water
In a sinking ship.
In Sacramento
Is the color of highway
Through blurry wetness
On broken wipers
Everything moves like slow chrome
Powerful surges
Arteries of a dying empire
Red lights going out
White lights coming in
Carting out the death
Carting in the hopeful life
Mere buckets of water
In a sinking ship.
Improv Splice
Life is full of holes. We take the film frames of all that we know and splice them together to create our world view, our personality, our code for holding ourselves, for reacting and dealing with the daily business of life, but still there are gaps. It is in these gaps that we look to our parents, that we splice frames of their lives onto our own.
And so, bit by bit, we become a reflection of their own improvisations, a reflection of a reflection of a reflection.
