I asked her, “Who will get the bullet & who will get the blank?”
And staring into those green eyes like the glass surface of an isolated lake
Waiting for the tears to squeeze their way out of her inlets & dive down her face
I thought of the sleepless, dreamless nights I’ve been having
The hum of the orange L.A. darkness substituting for a soundtrack
And the SUV’s I imagined flying by on the freeway with their bumper sticker logic
Video flicker makes it easier to feel sicker, cock my gun, drop off the safety
Bet no bullet this time on awakenings & flop sweat Russian Roulette

Bang bang, hollowed-out stem leads lead from dark to light
And I’ve been waiting days, weeks & months to ache, shock & stun her like a gun
Seduce her by the trick click in succession of me loading the bullet into the chamber
White noise surroundings & the boyish good looks that make her, break her like a hired killer
Nothing like daylight between us but rather that hornet’s nest hum of dust
Making figurines & backdrops for a setting sun, almost feeding time
Do YOU catch your own food? Would YOU kill it just to survive?
Take it down with a few hard shots that move quicker than the eye

With my shotgun blast inside her thighs I hope to shake her
Get rid of that moving target on her head, red spot chasing her around
With shocking accuracy, it would fall right on her heart & burn through her shirt
Through her skin, past her ribcage & into the part she hides in the camouflage
Of lungs & muscles that snake her anatomy, laying low to the ground & invisible
Only lasts until she kills the innocence that makes her second guess things
Call late night out from Los Angeles freeways to other cellphones
Cry herself to sleep with the words she doesn’t ever say out loud

Like agony, honey, loose cannons never seem to shoot straight
Miss their target but leave her with legs generally shaky & out-of-step
Sounds funny but I wish it were just a seven-day waiting period until she invites me up to
Whichever apartment has her homemade dresser she keeps the bullets locked up in
That match my gun for caliber, diameter & tip & the trip it will take
Popping up with tension from the cartridge to the chamber to the barrel
Pull the trigger on this one, don’t wait, let the flint spark & guess
What do you get from the mouth of the gun
© Adam Bresson

The dirty secret of every dollar is a fake ID & bottle of gin
Of unforgiving faithless din
A rigged game & tipped scale
A grade as pass & pass to fail
The emblem like a battle cry
The logo like a way to die
I was of gamble reticent
Of vagrant craft for amplify
You were the song I trail to die
The denigrate of rail to fly
Supposed to wait for you to guess
You waited long for all the rest
There was the miles & black asphalt trust
To ashes are dust & trust to us
You gave the tampered vice the team
And seems to be the amortize
A quarter, a dollar
Those same day eyes &
Silhouette of Sahara/Craig
I dragged, I begged for you to rise
Shortcuts, seamless, amplify
© Adam Bresson

With all these goddamn bones breaking around me
And the music spitting & frothing over these long gone people
Playing blues like the kind that kicks you in the face
Keyboard shining red like a hot fire
And that rimshot that cuts the air & disappears
Leaves a feeling in your gut turning over
As fingers cross over the melody
You feel alone & that makes you alive
Sitting on a stool swaying & broken-down
Watching the steel guitar fight the push
Forced to play by the guy sitting in a black suit & white hat
Following the lead of the drummer with his hat turned back
And his heart in his hand dreaming of 5 cent fountain Cokes
A man in the corner sliding back & forth across the floor
In & out, fingers snapping, him shaking & feet spinning &
I’m sure every year an old man lives a young man dies
Bass is a king & a song & another man shapeless
Curves around the lip of a thick grey four string
Stroking the sound through & through like you believe &
If you don’t believe yet in this revival
In the solemnity of the aftersound & the ringing in your ears
In the echo in your head as a pulsing lullaby
She swaggers on stage & steps to the microphone
Her smile missing the right front tooth
That’s all that’s required to hit that note that used to make you cry
But now you think of just how many beers you’ve had, divide the hours
Subtract the heartache & you’re left with her gravel
Laid out in the sound that makes you hold your head in your hands
And pray for good days in these desperate weeks of bad
Her still holding it in until you stand up & slide out
Too much good sound, your heart pounds & your ears are overflowing
© Adam Bresson