Hail! All Hail!
To the thief
As mother speaks a lie
The words will stain your mind
Like a last sigh or
A hiccup in outer-space
The worst mistake
Was allowing me in. . .

Don't let me in.
Do not let me in!

I will not stay here
If they win.
If they go at it again,
I'm ******* out of here!

Do you hear what I'm saying?

Hell! Oh hell!
In the trees
There is fire in your breath
From crosses not given yet
For my mouth was wide open,
Until, it was tailored shut.
Because, the best thing
Was to not listen.

Don't listen. . .
Do not listen!

I cannot be here
With you anymore.
I shut the door and
Got the **** out of there.

Do you understand me now?

We band together:
Like savages
When the rain falls
And when the blood
Of our brothers is spilt out
Do not go there.
No! Do not say. . .

The sunny side
Is somewhere near.
While you think about it,
Another brother is murdered
In cold blood
By your gov'ment.

Just then, in mid-air,
The sirens call out my name
As my eyes pull out
From a sense of sin
The shame in moving on.
Pushing past the common folk
With a naked eye
On the stone before him.
Plummeting towards the end
Of the blind track,
On the bare-back
Of a Herens steer.

Wild as hell!
Ain't it?
Yet, when it stops
A sunny day
Will go away like a
Train-wreck through
The white house.

Oil spills down and black eyes
Are farther out than a barn fire.
There was blood
On the tracks, on our backs.

Now stop yourself
And say it again
Just once more now. . .

"O death,
  Won't you spare me over
   For another year."

She had heart of darkness.
I couldn't hold my head,
Nor my eyes to the sight.
As she closed the sides down
On the bug canopy,
I took another one away.

As she says to me,
"There are two of you, don't you see?

One that kills and one that loves."  

I feel as if I've swallowed
Straight razors and snails.
Napalms and A-bombs.
Palm trees once beloved green
Blown to smithereens.

Wild and over grown
Everything and everyone.
Gardenias equal sweet peace.
Real freedom stings when
It's nothing but the "peoples"
Stark opinions of themselves.
Streaming blank bamboo shoots
Into the night's black iris.

Shadowy figures
Bend triangles into shape:
To straighten you out,
To put you down.
(Don't let them)
Their methods are unsound
Yet, I see no method to be found.
I see only the cauterized remains of
Arms, legs, hands and feet
As they sit and swing
Grossly from the burning palm trees.

There's something happening out here.

The man is clear in his mind, but his soul is mad.
He is dying, I think.
He hates all this.
He hates it!
He reads poetry out loud!
And in a voice. . .
Oh, this man and his forces.

It smelled like slow death in there, malaria, nightmares.
It was the end of the river, all right.

The great stone face of the temple shone out
As we began to fade out
Into the end. . .

Oh,

"The horror, the horror. . .**"

There once were things to talk about.

On a Sunday.
One gave a feather
The other gave a finger.

Give it for nothing.
(Smile for the camera!)

Loving a God like
Thing; is it real?
Is God a friend,
Or a burning bush?
Like the end I've split
I forgot how to end it. . .
That's my luck.

Oh, I gave you a chance
And you said, "God, not again."

But, you know I can't dance
Well enough, on to the next one!

But where are you now?
I question.

There has been
*One too many. . .

I glare out of the window
With a fading smile.
The moon shades behind the palm trees,
The stained glass is bleeding out.

I guess I spent too much time on it.

We felt like angels
When we breathed outside
Of the wall of vines.
You smiled back with
A hand on mine.

Like a star behind the clouds

You shine brighter than heaven

I wish we were together tonight
There is nobody home
And the telephone is off the hook.

I should make the drive
Out to the edge of the lake
But my money has been spent
And I am all out of razorblades

The hurry is what we should be concerned with
It's much too harmful to be blind to love
When you know it's waiting for you below

On a star behind the cloud
The moon upon a stick.

*We are a conspiracy theory in itself.

Inside the hall
Of mirrored scars
The images make
Hollow words stain the
Mind to the core.

My only way out is through
Thoughts of your eyes, but
Often they flood the
Reflection of us, on and
Off of the screen
Of our broken window.
The foundation shakes out
Shiny pieces of good times
Hidden inside of the
Walls of our rusty filing cabinet.

Stained with old tears and fears
With no clear sight of
The things that brought me here

****** shame it is that the
Residue is still stuck in place there.
From ashes to car crashes
Your('e) feeling like this just might be your
Last chance to say anything back.
Kiss it away.

All
At
Once

It
Will
(Dis)*appear.