I want to have a terribly sad wedding
The saddest wedding of all
Where all the guests dress in black
And music will be sombre
Leading many attendees to tears.
I want the food to evoke heartbreak
And the clouds to be forever ominous
Dead midwinter grays will be everywhere
The roses will be dried
And their stems quick to draw blood
With fires burning and candlesticks
That attracts gazes of lost reverie.
I will have guests
Sign their names in blood
And a butler will be there to request it
With orders not to ever smile.
Each place will be set
With Gothic cutlery
And matching black napkins
Folded in a melancholy way.
I want an organ to hold a single chord
For the entire evening
An omnipresent chord
That each song will be tuned to
Maybe a D melodic minor
Or a F flat diminished 7th.
And on my wedding day just so
There will only be one person
Standing at the alter
It will be the pastor
Of an unimaginably vague faith
Whom nobody will know
And nobody will greet
And nobody will listen to his words
For they will blend right in
With the grumbling organ
In the key of terribly sad.
I will watch the whole preceding
Not greeting a single guest
Feom my perch high up
A balcony through my vaulted windows
Of my cold stone house
And there I will sit
Surrounded by ghosts
That I forgot to invite
To my terribly sad wedding
And sitting close by
Without a smile on her face
Will be love for the rest of my life.
Tag: wedding
’57 Appaloosa (day 1227)
Can you control my yelling as I short my conscience to your wedding?
-Laughing with the children blowing bubbles down by the pond-
I didn’t expect to see your friend Lucifer standing there
As I convinced you to drag the fresh linens through tumbleweeds of mystery
-It is the style, I explained bitterly through my clenched teeth-
Amazed to know you fret over the cake with your eyes opened so wide
Calming the sunshine with sips of refreshments from white dixie cups
-I chewed all around the top rim of mine, unable to resist the feeling-
Your sawdust left a trail for the onlookers to follow as you trailed off into obscurity
“Madness” they muttered under their breath directing their eyes to your mother
Her hands were boiling with innocence; a fools bargain at the end of the road
-My loaded shotgun wasn’t a toy gimmick to be taken lightly, though I held it so-
Even the village authorities didn’t know what to make of it all
Trained as they were in 39 different methods to disengage a situation
A calming hustle settled over the observers
-I came prepared with my gradient tinted aviators and beer cozy-
The ’57 should-be-retired Cadillac rolled on over the loose gravel
Unnerving the guests as her tumbleweed dress sat down amongst the tears and stains
Rat piss and shit and splintered deluxe leather upholstery
Sporting a vintage look you can only get from years of missing affection
-I couldn’t help but remark on the timing of it all-
Doorless I was on my sturdy ’94 Bronco, I still had a radio good for the local DJ
But oh was I jealous of the missing hubcap on that old Cadillac
Rattling free as they sped through the streets, top always down.. it was a ’57 after all
We all knew they were notorious for having glitchy automatic tops
Plus, the rust on that thing was shining so bright in that heathen sun
-I turned to the wild thing next to me, nearly popping out of her mid-twenties figure dress-
“Say Cindy-Lou, I’ve gotta cooler full-a-beer, two lawn chairs an’a good-ol-radio
Wanna grab my shotgun an’head on up to the ol’ mine and shoot the breeze?”
-I could see it in her eyes it wasn’t the beer she was after-
Her nose rings and solid gold spacers told me she liked firing shotguns
Wild women always had a soft spot in my heart
Their unnerving contradictions always dropped my caution to the wind
But I rolled out of there with my spirits singing about Friday nights
2 good speakers in the ol’ Bronco: front right and rear left
-I wasn’t spitting sin, I was just riding on the gin waves of the 1230 nuptialities-
So we left those 76 long jaw’d and sweating visitors at those old rodeo grounds
The automatic shifter kicked a bit as it shifted into third
But the dust wasn’t settled from the ’57 Appaloosa
Rattling down the never happier road to short lived elation
We turned right when they turned left
We headed higher as they got down; after all it was honeymoon season
In the land of Friday nights and worn out shotguns