Comparisons are silly,
Like any electron knows its own name.
YOU KNOW ME
AND I KNOW YOU
I saw you once in the Freak show,
Next to the Bearded Lady,
Or was it Obama?
I can't tell anymore,
Separating the shit show from my coupon booklet,
Tearing out a page and buying bananas,
These are my gifts to everyone.
Kind of like the man,
Who would scream from the Bible,
When I would walk to class,
Point at the frat boys drinking Chick-fil-A lemonade,
A dance away from my bed toward the creeks and hills.
Whether you believe in Christ,
Or the Flying Spaghetti Monster,
I still love you.
A still and silent instrument has no limitation of timelines
All stories told and untold
Are waiting to be heard
And waiting to unfold
A priceless piece
With mystical properties
Carry auras of unknown possibilities
The chorus rumbles low
In a deep mellow chant
Ambiguous ambient memories
Then fall into
Cascading and careening
Vast canyons, cliffs and valleys
Ricocheting off a ridge
oh! the greatest fable my ears hear, my fullback ex-boy was a private puker. speak no words, perversion blindly trips along your sidelines. books on tape, you kissed the snake, she spends more time on the pants you put upon your legs, now you cry for broke. loved rich oils, but you preferred to dance with coiled sequin (red), sequenced just for your taste. blame no game, sir. stuck on rotation, carving out the dull, astronautical deterioration while pushing eject buttons, standing up for some supposed cause. lend me your hand, lend me your eyes. wash them of ebullient tones, smack you back to life. here, take my dammit doll, the numb chick in aisle 15 has no use for it anymore.
Never down this road did I sing within a tune
Never while I wandered
did I ever think of you
Ever as I walked, I ached right down to bone
Never once your name is whispered
Walking too far from home
Break the spirit spill the wine
flood the river before my time
You can't predict the future when you can't see the past
I yearn for the groove and the rest of the shit that will never last
Take me down I simply do not care
We rebound with others in which we simply do compare
The Summer is gone now
its here for you
Spring is my jester
now I'm playing the shrew
I'll keep on walking until the end of day
With no companion
nor fair sense of play
Just walking down this endless path
Not leaving a trace for others to mark
No telling story where I might have laid
No fleeting glory in this trek I've made
I'll not speak outside the lines
as I walk on down
this great divide
Sit you down with a drink to sip
but beware the bottomless of the cup
for degradation that way lays
as noted by walking
these endless days
Tomorrows a birch boy the shit never seems to end
Old friends past
no trace remains
Happiness is a grand disillusion so let's not pretend
In those pines down
in that humid breeze
is where the past does exist
Buired are my thoughts
is the grave underneath the leaves
From Carolina to Brisbane the weather's different
and always the same
Words passed between poems stories are all just different solutions to the exact duplicate game
No one knows where the wind blows
driving needles from the pines into veins that are on fire
But we keep on walking
Bare feet on black tar
Walking on until we tire
Can we jam, brothers and sisters?
Dare we meet at the impalpable chat room
that exists beyond our third heaven?
Dare we to speak in tongues and timbres,
our skin taut across hollow shells,
our veins strung across cadaverous bodies?
I'll grab my drumsticks if you grab the guitars,
and there's somebody on the bongos
slappin' the skins with zealous fervor--
where my tambourine girls at?
Don't worry, I haven't forgotten our forlorn hero
sitting behind the keyboards--
Tickle me those ivories with pious hands and aching fingers,
shake em down sweet Jerry Lee!
And so we begin--
I lay down the drum beat that bops heads and scatters feet,
and the bassman always on top of things
slaps and slides and skips and sizzles
hot diggity dog!
I hear that sweet guitar scream and moan,
praying for death under hazy lights
and we all coast with eyes rolled back into our skulls
and torpid lips drooped open over slack jaws.
Not a word is said from a human voice,
we speak through hands and feet,
basking in colors eking from every kick drum stomp
and the desperate wail bleeding from amplifiers.
Feedback sings and screams, fighting the silence we taunt
and hold at bay.
Around every corner the colors trail
coursing through our vesselious bodies
propelled along the dizzying venture.
We somehow spot every pothole and take detours,
embarking down backroads and backalleys--
We can turn the wheel,
but don't think for a moment we know where it's going.
And the mirror's have all vanished,
we know not from where we came.
Someone shouts from the discovery
as we exit a phrase to enter serendipity,
toying with destiny, clay in our hands,
stretching out the orgasm perennially--
We laugh as the gods try to remind us we are Man.
And the screams and the moans
sensing the climax is getting close
so there's a crescendo I ramp up the tempo
ahhhhhhhHHHhhhHhHhHhHHHHHhhhETERNITY IS NOW AND WE HOLD THE KEY TO HEAVENS GATES AND TIME STANDS STILL AT HIGH NOON IN THE TOWN'S SQUARE WHERE TRIGGER FINGERS TREMOR AND WE SPEAK TO GOD ON HIS PRIVATE CHANNEL COMING THROUGH WORN SPEAKERS CELESTIAL CREATURES IT WOULD BE SACRILEGE IF WE WEREN'T SUDDENLY SO HOLY HOLY HOLY HOLY HOLY HOLY HOLY HOLY HOLY
So I say again, brothers and sisters,
can we jam?
SO I SAY AGAIN, BROTHERS AND SISTERS,
CAN WE JAM?
SO I SAY AGAIN, BROTHERS AND SISTERS,
CAN WE JAM?
So I say again,
brothers and sisters,
can we jam?
The butter started to glisten with fear
In the face of the icy saucer
In the silence the sound of the basket reciting angrily-
There was no place for an affair with
The strawberry jam.
So sickly sweet
The pleading knife resisted;
Don't make me do it
A smooth slice,
A pale & hard interior.
The shaking jug cried.
And the jam fell to the floor.
Gone are the glory days of jam butties
when marmalade was shredded gold
and spam pretended to be ham
and plum jam tested for a cold.
The wireless was our window on the world.
The Weekly News and Guardian
gave local news, views and reviews.
Street chatter made stories that much fatter.
That world now reappears to me.
But in it I take no part.
No good, no bad, no clumsy me,
no touch, no sound, no sacred heart-to-heart.