I want to spit my tongue
straight out into the wind
Because I'm better stricken dumb
  than smart-mouthed or thick skinned
Straight on to the edge of town
  I will chase my temper out
There, we'll talk about the "whethers"
  We'll talk the sun down
And I'll hope that's the last time we speak

Walk across the bridge on 5th Street
Half reflecting on past choices
Glimpse the moon on Goose Creek's surface
Spy a ******.
Recall voices.
Like the one my father used before last April blew his chest up
Or ones I can't remember 'til I heave my boiling guts up
                           in some yard.

A tinny crash through piled leaves,
          I just want to make it home--
The S.P.D. are everywhere
          and we don't get along so very well

It's gotten late and gotten old.
It's gotten cold the heat is busted back where I make my home
I've hit my wall, I hit the pavement
Stand me up--two streets to go

5th and Bellevue ain't so bad
I'm nearly home.

Spill some wine on the season--
He's walking home at 1 am
And full of well gin and reasons
     for both staying and leaving
and dripping orange lamplight
He thinks he'll try and dry out
                                     (sure)
Try sinking in ideas and a couch
                      on his back lawn

Same old thoughts just circle
     overhead in lazy patterns
Synced with beats made by cars passing
   on the street at 2 am.

It's a passion play he's caught in
Passing days with failing stances
Whilst the nights keep passing faster
   into blue-black blurs like bruises.
Open lids to empty coffins
With those thoughts' befuddled movements
--And he's introduced again

And it gets a little lonely
     sitting on that couch with only
     empty bottles and neuroses
     for to break that pattern up
     with another worn out pattern--

For to keep him in cold company.

The world ain't all stage--It's sad to say; but Billy Shakes
   He just could not be any wronger
   When he states what's right or wrong
   Or what could not be any stranger
   But, still, he wasn't fooled by hardened faces painted grey.

It's more like half of life's a stage
   with a few upon it dancing
   and they sweat and count their crimes
   and squeeze out gold from flesh of backs.

It's more like half the world's at audience
   billions crammed into one room
   and we sit in dumb amusement
   just well-fed enough to watch
      and growing number with each act

It's 9 am your throbbing eyes
     pull you towards awake
The town hums hot outside
     to a tune of 13 minutes,
     buzzing nerves; roll out of bed
     and try to calm the ******* shakes
and 6 times
     in the last hour,
tried to swallow
     those distinct, familiar notes

          swollen throat won't go away

You're drying out. You're mopping up
     the yolks of eggs with half-burnt toast
And hearing snips of songs on radios
     down the alley from your home.
But the paint's all dry on this one--
     and this breakfast's monochrome
One more time
     choke back the losses
   on a streak that's growing long
         and ever thicker

It's 2 pm and coffee's tasty
     it's making your eyes ache
The town shares your migraine
And streets laugh at your footsteps.
     with the strangest sympathy
Try to still the ******* shakes
     as you cross the Lewis bridge
Just to shiver with the spirits
     while they howl about your head.

          But, outside, the town hums hot.

The sun is awfully mean these days
     and the time for talk is past--
Fades aging, yellowed memories
     reminds nothing ever lasts

I told you once, You did not heed.
Perhaps I spoke too loud.
But I'll speak from the best side of me
If you'll cool your temper down

Who knows where we'll be in 5 years?
I can't have it be here
Can't pierce the brine and murkiness
But today, it's warm and clear.

So let's wreck our heads
     with Red Hook Lager,
Pedal down the road...
'Cause it's all that lies in front of us
that we can ever know

The clouds are overhead, my friend
     but, bleak as this day seems,
We will not came undone because
     we are made with stronger seams

If you tell me once, I'll try and heed
The very best I can
To what tops your list of memories
As we go hand-in-hand

You won't dwell upon next year
If I don't hole up in pride
That starts to seem so easy when
We think back on that time...

When we wrecked our bikes
     on Gould and Brundage,
Laughing, walked back home...
And gingerly cleaned bleeding knees
then watched movies alone

And everything's okay
     I prefer that, anyway
Everything's okay.
     And we're better off that way
It's better than okay

Summer never ends, these days
And days drag on until
     You spend all night just wondering
When Fall will cool off all
     this lovely strain
     and sweet distress--
Will just bed down in burnt sienna
     and sleep off sepia tone headaches
so you can sleep all through next Summer,
     store your dreams in sweet October
--keep them fresh while the rest decays.

Flip the card and snowy streets
can keep you company through winter--
Keep you smiling through Hot Summer--
     because we don't have Spring no more--
Until it's time to wake at year's bedormance
                                           once again.

All the seasons start to look eerily alike
     after so long at one latitude,
But at least there's still one as speaks
     with seeming silence.

Welcome to the club where there's no clapping
And shouting's just beneath you
     when you've raised yourself so high
And not a soul here is into moving--
Just standing with crossed arms
Because it's all "alright (you) guess."

Now be careful with your mouth corners,
     A smile could crack your face
You're not a joke unless you make one,
and we "don't get it anyway."
Your pedestal is comfortable
And comfort's where it's at--it isn't boring...
It's your birthright--
     You do things the rightest way.

Always so amused, but never laughing
You're not having any fun
     'cuz it's business anyway
Doing the right thing for the wrong reasons
Don't make you Chief-of-Scene--
Just chief on its list of flaws

Now, be careful with your egos, boys
They're fragile. Say you hate--
     all that ******* rockstar *******...
I'm getting all your "jokes," today
Your pedestal is lofty and
You built it all yourselves--"That's D.I.Y., kid."
You're all you've hated...
     You do things the "rightest" way.