someone
obviously
considered
it
a
laugh

(meanwhile, on
earth) ... what
do
i do
about it?

Consider that; a life that's dead
   without a voice that's raised in song,
and no sweet chorus in one's head.
   Consider that; a life that's dead;
what would a person do instead?
   No music marching them along?
Consider that; a life that's dead
   without a voice that's raised in song,

Consider this, a life of pain
   and torment, full of ancient grief;
no joyfulness can it attain.
   Consider this, a life of pain,
amounting to a curdled brain
   inside of which there's no relief.
Consider this, a life of pain
   and torment, full of ancient grief.

Consider all: a life so dark
   that even night provides no match,
but hides in search of moon or spark.
   Consider all: a life so dark
the mind grows only cold and stark,
   destruction as its only catch.
Consider all: a life so dark
   that even night provides no match.

Consider what the wisest say
   in terms of lives a person leads;
to tread the path and never stray.
   Consider what the wisest say,
but if you dare to lose your way,
   be careful not to trip in weeds.
Consider what the wisest say
   in terms of lives a person leads.

It's been the longest time, my sweet,
since both the two of us did meet;
it is, I have to say, a treat
to be a part of you again.

And since the moon is getting low,
I guess it's time for me to go -
I'll be back if you want me though,
to be a part of you again.

I fear, my love, I must depart;
I'm thankful for this brand new start,
and (now without a broken heart)
to be a part of you again.

I missed you so when you were gone,
but now it's my turn to go on,
so farewell, dear, until anon;
until we part anew again.

He left her on the lamplit doorstep, smiling,
grateful, finally, for their reconciling.
Then he paused and turned around again,
full of questions he could not contain...

Pardon me for saying, miss;
I only wish once more to kiss
your loving, sacred lips. What bliss
to be a part of you again.

Spitter spatter
isn't that a pocketful of rain,
that you keep
in your pocket
like a locket on a chain
that's so heavy on your mind
it can not be left behind?
It doesn't help that all the snow-
flakes are falling on the lane.
With a screech
and a grind
what may go
through your mind
is the mist
that you kissed
as you followed him while blind,
and that same
spitter spatter
doesn't help
doesn't matter
any more
than the chatter
of the girl
he may find.
And while your
strength is waning in the cold,
it starts raining
just another indication
of the touch
of his hand,
and that simple situation
of your present incarnation
silky smooth
on the rope -
it could cause
the foundation
to collapse
like a tree
or through fing-
ers like sand.
Is it broken?
Did it flee?
Is it light enough to see
that the girl
that you were
isn't strong enough to be?
So your feet
hanging there
motionless
in the air
rent your pocketful of rain
and at last
set you free.

a vinyl dream a boy once had
stacks of roses t
                            o
                              p
 ­                               p
                                ­  l
                                    i
                       ­               n
                                        g
      ­          d
                   o
                      w
                          n
                      to the worms
                a sed(im)entary soul (reaching a stolen heart)
rebuilds
      and from the black slurry
                      a yellow rose

              aliveinthemoment (as ever he was
alive)