"Tears upon the dry sponge of heart
do not prove I am Promethean."
— Adrian C. Louis
Dust World
This poem reminds me of Winder, GA. Trashy girls on a old car with dropouts working at the video store. Most people look high or drunk whenever the weekend rolls around. I know that is mean, but seriously go to Winder at 9pm on a Saturday and you will see what I am talking about.
Without Words
I see the silent cries of an alcoholic person who has no reason to stop drinking. "Decompose into a different flavor" reminds me of how whiskey changes flavor the older it gets. But unlike whiskey, men don't get a better flavor they just decompose.
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