Ode to Tom Waits

Like sandpaper soaked with stolen colors ripped off the canvas of Edward Hopper’s final scene wearing a torn bloodstained turtleneck tuxedo, a silent piano player drunk from heartaches mouthed his song in broken tongues as a pencil thin prima-donna danced, frozen in time. As dawn sliced through the cover of night, his mind drifted off on a warm summer breeze and as a young girl laughed hanging upside down scantily clad in recycled afterthoughts, his body was laid to rest beneath a bed of untold lies.

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