Words have a way of speaking to you As if you could create meaning from objects That fall like feathers from the tops of buildings Could we collect the silence and place it in our bodies Subjective fingers are bringing you eager categories And seekers of feeling harbor no jealousy We are those treetops in need of new itineraries When our airline tickets fit together quite nicely Could you believe the world is made from mind While the majority of beings remain hungry For the shining light which binds us to our spines Without rhyme we’d all be lost And rhythm is the cost of our consciousness But first we must fatten our ducks and turkeys And take the dog for a good long walk We saw more than we could ever hope to talk about And I hear the sound of ambulances and police sirens Chasing angels through these forests We seem to always forget who we are And every time we talk too much about anything The world becomes just a little bit more lonely
We speak in riddles With rhythms so ancient You can’t tell where it begins Or if it will it ever end You wonder wisely If perhaps this is where It all starts over again Perpetually reoccurring Like dreams and nightmares Or perhaps you might get lucky Though it's highly unlikely Unless you are a descendant Of amorous deserts And lonely riverbeds So now we take our siestas In the oasis of the heart In a garden of short skirts And even shorter circuitry We perfected our learning Yet even in our hurting Hundreds of huddled soldiers With tightly folded souls And bullets embedded In disincorporated bodies Must tirelessly move onward For you to grieve the leaves Of yesterday’s disadvantaged
the american dream (or so it appears lately) seems to be founded on, the same untrustworthy premises, as the oldest confidence schemes, first recorded in the libraries of history.
she disappeared from our sight, like a child or a timid tornado, chasing a windy tail into the night, without any concern for the turmoil, that nature ordained must surely follow