Heat waves and the summer is tangible.
Lazy days
Lazy guitar
Lazy daisy.

You are a daisy,
not mine,
not anyone's.
You belong to sappy heat,
you belong to the Yuba River.

And perhaps we intersect for a reason.
Perhaps our paths cross on a cosmic scale.
And perhaps not.

Laying in the sun,
not a worry in the area,
still, you never met a cooler ***.

And the heat is tangible,
naturally so are your fingers.
You hands were sticky with sweat
and I really didn't mind, I mean it.

I would never lie,
not to you,
not to my mother,
not to god.

Well, mayhaps I would lie to god.
After all, the heat is tangible.

Blue skies
and not a cloud in sight.

and whisperings reach far,
mocked goodbyes
and the scent of pine.

connect
with nature,
disconnect from your heart.
we come from dust and to dust we return.

oh! did you skin your knees?
no? just one?
that's OK, brush it off,
return to dust.

lying beside a fallen tree,
flowers grow from your mouth,
your brain; the perfect nutrient
for a sappling.
return to dust.

feel the dirt in your fingers,
feel the sun on your face,
feel the wind through your shirt,
return to dust.

no rain for California,
no relief from the relentless,
we owe gratitude to the dinosaurs
in this age of gasoline.
return to dust;
fuel the next generation's gasoline driven engines,
return to dust.

On the day of worship the Temple filled.
It had been three years since the Messiah left, and nobody had forgotten.

The Priests of Tek dawned their red robes
and Father John Misty took his place at the altar, his heart heavy yet full of chagrin.

He clears his throat,
my fellow children of yonder Year,
my sisters of Sand,
my brothers of Dust,
my lovers of Greed,
here now what I say,
for I speaketh not.

for now speaks The Shrike,
for now speaks The Lord of Atonement,
your God of Pain,
your mystifying Excellence of Death.

Father Misty reached into his black robe and drew forth a small child.
What life may have been left in the infant was destroyed when Father John Misty stuck the unmoving body onto the red spike protruding from the altar, the spike entering the body through the ****, and reaching an inch from the soft skull.

Father John Misty's voice took on a lower town, yet softer, not forgiving, yet all knowing.

This child has a name.
This child is Jesus Christ.
This child will grow as if alive.
And before the rough congregations eyes the child began to grow on the spire. The limbs first lengthened, than filled out. The child's chest expanded and the head grew bigger. Father Misty then hoisted him off of the spire, and set him, bleeding, before the congregation. The body began to shift, jerky movements before the skin appeared to bubble. A low gutteral sound began to emanate from now full grown man. He lifted his torso and head up and looked at each member of The Temple of Ten individually.

He spoke

I am your savior,
I am unfruitful death,
I am unwarranted pain,
I am money being cheated from the desperate man,
I am the brains taken from a lobotomite,
I am the destruction of a hurricane,
I am as dead as the gasoline you **** for,
I am as dead as you are.

I am Jesus Christ,
this is not the first time you've seen me,
this will not be the last.
You are allowed to die now.

And they did.

I cry by the creek
and it gurgles a reply.
I flick an ant into the water,
I want it to die.

The one I want to die
better him than me.
Today I want to live.
Today I am happy.

I hear the creek.
I find peace by the water.
I was born not a man
but a fisherman's daughter.

I listen to the trees,
for they have a lot to say.
I fall asleep by the creek;
an end to a lovely day.

And I miss you so much
my heart rushes blood to my brain
to tell me it's hurting.

You spent time in a beautiful place today
and I made coffee for hippies and businessmen alike because I am a slave to the man made idea of capitalism.
So are you.

I drank this weekend,
I went to a party and I drank and I let a girl three years younger than me rub her body on mine and when she had to leave I drank some more and I didn't think of you until I woke up.

I didn't help clean up the mess from the party, I went and got steak and eggs with a friend and after that I went back to sleep in my own bed, the one you slept in.

I want to know that you're ok, and I want to know that you're healthy and oh how small my problems and desires are and how massive the distance between us.

I miss the time we spent existing in the same place and I miss you, I miss your soul and the way you said my name and the way you held your coffee cup and the way you rubbed aloe vera lotion on my face.

I miss the hairs I found on my bed after you left. I miss the water bottle you forgot here that I forgot on the metro and I miss the voicemail you sent me, I deleted it believing that nothing is as good as it was the first time, I think I may have been wrong.

I miss remembering the first time we kissed, I have forgotten it. I forgot the last day I spent sober. I miss the way your legs felt on mine under the sheets and I miss the way you held my hand in the car.

I never said I loved you and neither did you and I'm not sure I do and I'm not sure I ever did but you were one hell of a friend, you have been, you've been a blessing on my life, your presence is the build up of all the good karma I've received and then some and then quite a bit more.

You're learning, you're thinking, you're organizing your thoughts and I should be too. I've been looking at blank walls again.

It happens that quick.

Run down the stairs
(Superfast, and just in time
for breakfast.)

I hadn't been to a party in about a year.
I prefer what I'm comfortable with,
my friends, our routines.

I drank more than I should have.
Bodies
(Sweat)

I watched her shake her ***,
I watched her take off her shirt,
I took a shot.

I felt her heat.
I soaked in our sweat,
we were never under the sheets.


I woke up.
My head hurt,
she was gone.

She was never there