my blue sky dream forsaken
i now chase the ever faster rabbit
of promised fairy tale
his pronounced face forever plastered on billboards
and barroom halls wanted posters
after all don't we all wish at some point or another
to chew the gristle of god's little plan for each of us  
to get down to the furry bones of 'who am i really'

get to recognize your soul's signature
they say its your subconscious self speaking through your actions
they say that there is a devil inside every mans heart
but iv seen the better half of lesser men
iv beheld the man who holds the other above water till
he can swim on his own
get to recognize your soul's better nature
live for that
for in the end of your days
you will weigh out the pro's and con's of your life
and its the love given that outweighs your darkest days

so this early sunday morning i chase that faster rabbit
with a handful of questions that have always troubled my soul
should i have gone left instead of right
should i have put a ring on her finger instead of letting her go
all the questions that that have always troubled my soul
looking for the same rabbit as you
the one that breeds discontent that keeps you awake at night

some punk rock band on the radio
plays transparently hopeful echoes of some quick romance
while she lounges on the couch in a see-thru dress
smoking expensive french cigarettes
her dreadlocks spread round in the morning sunlight
but her sunglasses out of context in the small room
she is the definitive architecture of **** cool
tapping a painted finger nail on the wood in time with the tune
her lips mirror the the lyrics perfectly
its a weeping time tale to hear her past out from
the start of her humble jungle of a childhood
to her trips along the nile river photographed so well
she's an open book translated from street etiquette
to manicured lawns of the greasy richy riches
and back again
the room holds many scents
roses from her bedspread
stale leaves burning from those parisian cigarettes
and her delicate and elusive perfume that my mind
wraps itself up in with such intense images of
my lips grazing the nape of her neck
i walk across the uneven floor of the small room
and land myself slowly up against her warm body
we talk softly
the hour drifts by like dust falling in the still air
disappears like the punk song
fading into echoes

the open field before us
was a tall grass of a butternut yellow
it swayed in the breeze liquid almost alive
she lead me forward
calling back to me over her shoulder
with a broad smile
the sun caught in her hair
but her smile overwhelms the sunlight
and she remained to me within sight
as the rest of the world fell to the amusements of the stars
the air full of a false summer
she laughed at such an idea
and told me it was but yet mid-winter
and soon the snow will fly
gentle on its own goodnight path
of histories fallen and left obscured
in a single torn photograph
she leads me on
casting glances and bittersweet smiles back at me
this is your last road she calls out
and she is the gentle soul come to bring me to rapture
she is the love i never knew
the one that fell by the wayside one terrible night
so long ago its very fragments are nearly forgotten to me
but those fragments cherished
in a single time battered photograph
her blue grey eyes haunting
this is my last road
she is heaven
i am home

these pale lips that so
swiftly rob me of my strength
these honey sweet lips
from which such soft words like butterfly logic
do so entangle me
and tie such aching around my very soul
with such a tight gentleness
these pale lips
that i reach over and with one finger
drawn slowly across them
i do shudder from head to toe with desires
these blue eyes
so adorned with paints
so shadowed behind lock of hair
such deep pools of hunger and light
her dream is a village road she has walked
her entire life
strewn upon its scoured bricks are
the romance notions written in french
because its a beautiful language when spoken softly
her paris clothes discarded in the dream
her skin reflecting moonlight
her lips glisten
as she walks the village road