27 or L.E.M and The Spanish Guitar

Number 27 of The Knockouts

That minimalist style is wonderful and
All
The name especially
Considered fleeting and
Ephemeral
Spirit
Another term, more weighty
Though polarizing with the friendly and fierce
Variety?
Holy ****
Go lightly
Waited for a signal and smack dab in the middle
Of a
Battleground
Almost passed it at first
And on the double
Smack in the face
Blistering, peeling, and piping
Just trying things out in a new city
50 million ways the operation
On your side
And opposing traffic
Static to fade and fuzz
What was background?
Was backwards hours before
And you were outside of a liquor store for your
Convenience
Enthusiasts
Intoxicated by black frame and steel reserved for
Business hours
Hostile takeovers
Home invasions
Hearts and flowers
Blooming
Blowing outside your window
Honking horn at the tugs
Wall
Door
Creeping
And can it cover?
Calling
That is a vine poison in your veins
Too beautiful for a free ride
It would only be a matter of
Time
Before you fell in with the quickness
Is this
Sand filling your lungs
Fattening you up
Plucked out of the pond and served with a side of lemon
Deep fried
Floundered on the beach
Swim away
Sway
Do not make waves in the water
Raise a flood
Say it again
Don’t make waves underwater
Haloclined
It takes a certain type to cross over the horizon
It is a massive
Setting sun is sinking soon
The golden crust
Just us
Just us
Today’s shoal in a fishbowl
Large windows and no ceilings
The day beginning in a hotel
As well
Flat tones
Off of three hours before dawn
She snores
Soft vapors it turns to
Snowdrifts
Dark rifts
The good
The bad
The brew reaching solution
Salut
Stained hands
A misty hue
And god damn
Goddamn
Goddamn
That is a hell of a rasp
Beijos
Not perfect but it will do the job
Like a sawed off shell goes
Doth
She comes by
Come and get thee
Mystery
Blacked out in rows
Slated windows
Sword and shield and sheath
In clear sight
Undertow on the radio and she sang
I know what you like
And
I know what I want
Boys like me
We are weapons
Cartridges in the front pocket
If they stop it roll another one
French-fried
Her hands wrapped in velvet
Cement fists
Concrete eyes
Grey girls
Shades and matter
Mettle grounded
Kettle called anti
She, her, and them
On a whim
We rode together out of town before
Sunrise
To see it start
A new star in the sky
Enlighten the populous
Another planet
Everyone we reach is red
Wrapped in cotton wool