272 ROBERT MONTGOMERY / THE CIRCLE OF DEAD GRASS WHERE THE CIRCUS USED TO BE

ON THE ROAD AGAIN ITS TIME CATCH A MOVING PICTURE, MOTEL TV PORN AND MINIBAR AND POCKET
SCRIPTURES, SIGNS OF THE TIMES LESSONS THROUGH THIS WINDOW OF MINE. GIVE ME A NOTEBOOK AND I’LL WRITE YOU AROUND THE DREAMS YOU GAVE ME. GIVE ME A MOMENT AND I’LL HOLD ON TO THE WORDS THEMSELVES, ALL I AM SLIPPING DOWN A PORCELAIN DAM.
YOUR EYES GO BACK A MILLION MILES AND I CAN NEVER REACH YOU, ALL SEPTEMBER SONGS AND SERENADES THAT MAKE YOU FEEL BLUE, SING YOU BLACK BLEEDING IN THE CITY’S DARK NIGHT. STEAL A THOUGHT FOR ME AND SLIP AWAY DOWN BROKEN SIDE STREETS, LEAVE A TRACE FOR ME, A GHOST OF CHRIST ON COTTON DOWN SHEETS COME WHAT MAY A PLACE THAT I CAN ALWAYS STAY, YOUR STIGMATA IS A CIGARETTE BURN AND SOME CHEAP WINE, PUSHED A DRINK A SMOKE BUT NEVER HELD THE FAITH YOU’D BE MINE, PLAY THE PART, THINGS GET REAL IN FITS AND STARTS.
FLESH AS WHITE AS BONE WITH RAZORED STARS AND SONGS OF PROMISE, TAKE THE HOPE TO BUILD BUT SECOND CLASS THESE SINS UPON US, DRIFT ONCE MORE BETWEEN AN ANGEL & A WHORE.

FROM DEATH OF A MAN OF LITTLE CONSEQUENCE / BY SEAN FLYNN





THE ENTIRE ARTICLE WITH VISUALS & TEXTS BY ROB MONTGOMERY & SEAN FLYNN ONLY IN THE PRINTED EDITION OF SOME/THINGS MAGAZINE ISSUE002 / THE BLACK BOOK