a solider and a sailor
sing a lonesome song just for your entertainment
but in it you are betrayed by visions of heaven
shine with the late night ribald drinkers
after all after a few bottles even mortality seems lively
disjointedly you pick your way
through all these salvation's
never quite believing that you could exceed
your worth and standing
after all you can buy a new life for dirt cheap
long as your willing to give up your lifestyle
long as your willing to be disarmed
of all those quick witted answers you think fit so well
and give up all her peek-a-boo paradise's
the solider and sailor buy a round
and toasting the queen they bury the hatchet
no expectations can lead you on to the
brink of such strange bedfellows but you'll try
you can only hope not to be a victim of such defeatism
when all the ribald drinkers have left the saloon
walking in the thin light of dawn
you will remember all these beautiful things
and dream better dreams
build better sunrises from the gloom of days ending

the motionless air hung heavy
with late summer heat
at a distance a woman's voice in song
the rich sound reaching for your heart
with feelings of life lived joyous and bold

i walk the sunsoaked road
to the farm field to find her
where the dusty faces of the pickers greet with smiles
their great baskets filled with the newly picked crop
its thick scent filling the air with intoxicating fresh natural beauty
**** and tangy ripe to the souls tastebuds
they gather round the water spigot
laughing and speaking
a family of strangers
come to harvest the land

they invite me to join them
for the midday meal
so i sit in the shade of a truck
sipping the cool clear waters
eating the thick rich bread and cheese
such people of the earth
their hands worn with its labor
their hearts alive with its loves
such kind souls of the land
sharing their moment with me

the meal done
the baskets for the picking ready once more
they wander back to the field
and she begins to sing once again
as the sweet summer sun lulls me to slumber
her voice a beautiful tapestry woven with her
love of her people and her life
a rich tender sound
she carried me into sweet deep dreams
of the kindness of people who harvest
with their hands and hearts
the bounty's of the earth

the fast car speeds along the avenue
and she relaxes at the wheel
shell tell you she was born to drive
and with a cigarette grey haze
she leans into the telling
a story of her younger days
a summer back in the world
back in the dust of 1958
when the motorcycles rode on main street
she and her baby sister went to see
and stood back of the five and dime
marvelling at at the wild men
and the chrome machines
thouse were the days when
the future was brighter
and the dream seemed like it could be real
this light comes alive in her eye when she speaks
of thouse days
you can see the years fall away
you can almost taste the malted she drank
and almost see her in her blue dress
there at the five and dime
you can see the light in her eyes
when she is remembering thouse days
the sock hop and the drive thu
she is so much a younger soul than i
filled with all these beautiful memories
and as we drive down the hutchinson river parkway
middle of the night
in the pouring rain
robert gordon on the radio
i think to myself that she's right
she was born to drive
and i was born to be with a girl like her
oldsmobile cutlass 440 was her car
i was her man
.and rockabilly was her music

nonsense plays in the background of my thoughts
lackluster little patterns of thought
that gather round and batter at the door
of my perception hoping to make enough noise
to get free out into the real world
but the denied little monsters are thrown back
into the darkness

i reason with myself
try bribery
try threats
but i ignore the dire consequence
and proceed to groom the
versions of what will be and letting them
run through my head
repeating the worst versions
and the better ones become mocking
like making love to sandpaper

dance for me
do the logic shuffle
find a fitting little balance if that suits ya
find a symphony to play the grand design of your scheme
but its a heavy line you gotta tow this rowboat with
on wheels would work better
but whatever is sleezy...i mean easy
we can paint waves on the sidewalk
you can row that puppy all the way home

whatever reasonable rationalization
gets ya thru the night
don't matter much if its occupy something/anything
if you think mocking me is gonna fix you
its gonna be a long long night sweetcheeks
cause i dont depend on what anyone thinks

so i jump in that rowboat with ya
and we can row that puppy home
toast the town with champagne
celebrate our diversity

the road traveled is
often enough written in the eyes
just as the pattern of a leaf may tell the tree
but it will not lay bare to you
what dwells at its root
what you see in another persons eye
is only a reflection
and only you know what lay at the root of that

her fashionable neatness
suffers at the hand of hurried time
but she will not bend in her method
i cannot see into her thoughts
blinded by my own instincts to follow
to meet my woman's desire
just wanting my lover to be happy

we wrestle the sheets in the hot night
with the other woman joining us again
the three of us exploring eachother in hungry wet embrace
seeking the moments when the hot
rush of pleasure leaves you soaked with passions sweat
and waiting for the begin again of
the sweet play of caress and suckle

it is this third woman
whos dark eye i draw you to
for she is well known to me
we have shared a bed before
she is not a bad person
but i know what dwells
at the root of that
a bedroom of appeasing the cravings
of a woman's hidden angers

they danced as one
under the candles and mirrors
his dark gunslingers boots perfectly matching her steps
her hair flowing in the hot air round his face
entangled in emotion and motion
enduring in passion
they danced deep into the night as one
this was joy

the day a furnace of desert sun
the street a wander path for hardy soul
he sat in thin shadow
and breathed slow thick air
watching the slice of horizon
that he could perceive
he knew that someday his brother would come
from out of the wild country south of the borders
knew his brother would come seeking revenge
for the betrayal

the gunslinger and his lover rose
were the talk of the town
how she had tamed the wild man from the southlands
how he had saved her from a life of disgrace
everybody loved them
everybody wanted to be them
modern day romeo and juilet
but romance is no suit of armor
and danger was at the door

the lawman rode all night
and camped on a hill above the town
there by his campfire looked down on his brothers happy new home
saw the light in his brothers window
and plotted his move

last call at the saloon
and the townsfolk drifted out into the darkness
by one's and two
calling out their goodnights in voices
tinged by beer and wine
the gunslinger and his beloved rose
fell to their bed embraced in love

morning slipped over the horizon
the lawman walked slowly down the hill into the town
reckoning had come
his brother would have to face the gallows
for his betrayal
calling out the gunslingers name
calling out like a voice of doom
calling his brother out to face justice

heritage of her long preamble *******
the quick note stencilled on sticky note
seemed not only incomplete but irrational
'plead not the day to the jury of night
its light deceives the dark into seeking
solace for its own death'
her heritage thought troubles the waves
sending its silent after effects spreading across the
waters to which we fled for safe harbour in evening's birth
we swim to shore
and explore nothing but sand on beachhead
and eachothers fumbling in near perfect dark
before dawn could streak the sky
with the golden lances of the sun
as day wrestles the sky from night
contending with eachother
revealing to our new born eyes
the fanfare that light gives the day
she stood on this stage
and did pronounce loudly
entreat the light to forsake the day
join the night
as she and i had
as lovers
then the golden lances of dawn
would be the stems of roses
from one lover to the other

her mind was as open as the crystal blue sky
but she was lost in the cage of her heart
the one she carries with her
covered with a fine silken golden cloth
the one one  that she has attached jewels to
attached tales of Madrid and the
travels she made as a young girl
it was on one of thouse dusty roads that she found this tale
written on a placard that reads so well
like something Hemingway would have said
that reads like a key to all the closed doors in
any city of the ancient world
forever sealed
by times jewel encrusted hand
by the golden trim left the passing of
thousand pilgrims on the road to divinity
the rain had swept away the tastes of yesterday
and leaving behind a scent to the air like rebirth
like a second chance for this one run filly
all the heads hang low in the humid sun
all the thoughts come to the coming carefree night
but as she steps carefully through the picked fields
carrying her basket of treasures
her soft cotton dress revealing more than it hides
she sings sweetly to me
in a voice only i can hear
of a dusty road near Madrid
of a sweet young girl that she was once
and in her heart still is
i pull aside the golden cloth
and unlock the cage
for some beauty's were never meant to be
captivated by any less than
real love

child
and there in his hand
balloon of bright colors
not even rain will damp that smile
come on shine like a child's mind
all that darkness you feel is just state of mind
if anyone can smile in the rain you can
he is as free as happiness could be
in the living breathing dream of his balloon
no lonely dreamers in a child's eyes
all just strange wonderful stories in the
wondrous playhouse we call a world
come on shine like a child's mind
our toys will all too soon fade away
let us rejoice in our laughter
rejoice in eachothers dream
child at heart is who i am
lets go find you a balloon
so you can shine like a child's mind

so i took liberty's with my lockpick and freud's diary
and went in search of the reasons for dry thunder
and for pictures of the rain locked away in some peoples eyes
some hearts are waterlogged silent forests
grey clinging to the wet pine needles
some are deserts of the twilight
like dust gathering at the least disturbed path
their hearts are heavy with dry weight

i found her in the cold light of candles
mapping the unknown with her thin hand
her perfections chiseled softly into all of my senses
like a michelangelo paint by number sweet summer dream
her immediate and urgent presence on the night air
makes me breath in deep and feel to the bottom of my feet
that she is tenderness personified
she is light perfected
she is fresh off the pages of some steinbeck novella
she just has a grace that gives
she is in love with its concept and rumor

with lockpick in hand and the image of
old man freud smoking something funny in his pipe
traveled through this place with an eye to the depths
a girl out there provides a sultry version of hopes in a song
from within her place of televisions flickers
as i sit by the window shade as it stirs to life
approaching rain
the lockpick also comes to life
as the complexity's of a strangers smile
fluctuate in the eye
a grain of sand lodged in the crawlspaces of the mind
grinding in the gears of thought
the song drifts to an end
with her smile

an autumn songbird gives voice to the luxurious late day
beautiful its song caresses the ear
all natural world breathing as one with your heart
as the sun itself kisses you tenderly
as if saying farewell to you and the day
and as the sun slips to the horizon
you close your eyes and can feel heart take to wing
with the autumn songbird playful in the crisp air
feel your soul breath and soar among the clouds
floating in the warm breeze of
that eternal summer dream where
everyone is forever young and in love
forever happy and filled with wonder
the autumn songbird fills me with her song
fills me with the strength of possible beauty that the new day promises
fills me with the peace found at the heart of kindness
so will you join me
rejoicing her song
will you take a moment to breath in
the wonder of late autumn summery day

her nails are a powder blue
each finger adorned with a ring
that has a meaning and place in her life
this one she got in her hometown in the south of france
this one she found roadside leaving denver
each has a story to be told
as if her hand is a roadmap to loves secret places
her delicate hands weave her thoughts
on the air when she speaks
the brass bracelet with her moonstone
and the silver ones ****** softly accenting her lovely voice
her elegant gestures flow and ebb with the conversation
but her soft hand always finds its way back to mine
and in that warm embrace of her tender fingers
where i find such joy and love
i could spend a lifetime telling
you about all the wonderful things i love about her
so let me begin by telling you about
her nails are a powder blue....

it was in the darkness that i found her
there by the dry fountain
its basin gathered the paper thin years
like withered leaves
like soul searching written with her lips
like a castle keep penned with the inks of my regrets

the dry fountain flowed once upon a time with a rich river of
all manner of worldly beasts
the fabled ones and the forgotten ones
and their tales like tapestry's woven with heart strings

now the dry fountain was her home
she bid me take my leasuire for a moment from my fleeing
so my bone thin horse could rest his weary heart
i offered her coins in gratitude for her shelter
with a gentle hand she turned such aside
and instead took my hand
and withdrew the pen embedded in my skin

and said to me that
'each dawn requires a darkness with which to begin'
she began with fragments of me
i tried in vain to be the candle that holds back the shadows
but in truth she is venus finding gentle sweet sainthood in her repertoire
like a frail swan of the ethereal grace

she wanted only to see the glory days to return to this place
to see the fountain flow once again
see its thriving life and its deep magics of the heart
we spent that winter camped there gathering each paper thin tomb
and placing them at the alter of the written word
but to no avail
the days had fallen to cold stone
and not even the brilliant light she shed soulshine and heart
could revive the dry fountain

the last i saw her she had glanced back from her road leading away
with a kind woman's smile she gives to friends
she once said i was too reckless with my heart
now i knew what she meant

oh chest pain
oh chest pain
what a pain in the tucas you are
your no fun
your no fun

oh chest pain
oh chest pain
dont come knockin at the door
really hate having drop by
such a pain in  the ***
oh chest pain
oh chest pain

oh chest pain
oh chest p[ain
dont make me pick up the phone
call the paramedics
they make all kinds of noise
and make such a mess
oh chest pain
oh chest pain

oh chest AAGGG!!
(and the chessy poet drops dead pen in hand)
and oh chest pain roams the land
being a pain the tucas
to young and old alike

protect the moment
when her heart kisses mine
trying to find my home in the stars
protect the moment
when the gentleness that i love in her
gives me that beautiful moment when i can believe again
protect the moment
because you never know when till its gone

filled with shades of yesterday
the river road's thick air labors
in my chest
as the intangable wall of
blind rage
strikes again and again in thoughts
too powerful for wishfull thinking to deny

fists clenched slamming down
on the ungiving pavement gives only
voice to the uselessness of this rage
it has neither reason or goal
it simplly bleeds thru awake mind
it simply breeds like a disease
an infection of the moral soul
with shades of rationalizations

they printed a book
and built a church to their
god of lies
and the misguided truths others hold as
a path of reason

scape goat to their inadequacy
lambs to the slaughter the fresh recruits
stare in wide eyed wonder at the drawn blades
dont it look like nirvana when what your leaving behind
didnt wear such a sweet smile
some things will never change
they learned that in the great war
they learned that in the feilds of cambodia
the monsters feed and their
lips red with blood
...smile...
death is never frightened
its allways has a smile

the river road far behind
but its taint lingers
as all evil men will
long after their due date
rotting in plain sight
but nobody can afford to strike the tent
and bury the corpse
after all he was a celebrated smile
he was a devil to dish the news
and loved to lend a helping hand
but only if that hand held a blade

if i had only closed my eyes
if i had only turned my back
i would not be here today
wither that be a good thing or nay
waits in the wings

get me out of here

i followed you along the silent train tracks
in the dark cold rain
stepping on photographs of sunshine
watching the world wash away the graffiti of possibility
cause you promised
you pinky swore
that we are a heartbeat away from love
that we are in the way of knowin what the heart dreams
i followed you into the winters night with romance on my mind
you never told me that i would have to leave it all behind
i still believe we will find love
still believe because
you promised
you pinky swore...

the days all seem to blend into one
long song of regaling minstrels of mixed temperament
and poets of a different tongue
all she can say to you as she shows you the door
is that she wishes you well
and hopes you enjoyed the ride
cause you know its the right thing to do
and she kisses your cheek
out into the night you shuffle
you wander the carnival of the city streets
and wonder at the creatures of night
who don't need a home to know who they were born to be
who don't need directions to know right from wrong

the passive shadow
retreats across the floor
as the day slips
my gaze rides the rays
out the window to
breathtaking panorama of sky
but after few moments
the skies silent awe evaporates
as day crowds back in

these are days in the length of my years
that i pause to ponder the small ripples
the slight thing that becomes a tidal wave
later in life
sets in like the worn heel
of favored running shoes
its bitter dregs taste sweet in comparison
to the taste of her eyes as she rejected the venture

its a fine gift
like a box of gold
like a treasure of the soul
but it is not real
it is not true
it is simply a feeling of comradeship
a heartfelt desire that things could be different

late afternoon sunlight
through the narrow window
falls on the burnished oak
bringing to life the the beloved scents
of childhood home
my parents library
of books spread through the house
and all that knowledge that once thought was so precious
has turned into a phone that dont ring

the passive shadow
retreats across the floor
as the day slips
my gaze rides the rays
out the window to
breathtaking panorama of sky
but after few moments
the skies silent awe evaporates
as day crowds back in

and i remember that i was once a footloose son
and once danced in the dust of a summer sun
with a girl wearing a rose printed dress
and all seemed so right and true that day
and it was
and it was

these are days in the length of my years
that i pause to ponder the small ripples
the slight thing that becomes a tidal wave
later in life
these days are long gone before they ever came
aint that just like her

one kid shoots another
for expensive headphones
while the guy who put his name on them
sits in his beverley hills mansion
and counts the hundred dollar bills
obscene

looking for forgiveness in the eyes of strangers
in every train station on the hudson line
breathing the beauty of the rush and hustle
of every train in the pouring rain
scribbling heartfelt worthy lines in a dogeared notebook
with her name etched with loving care into the
weatherbeaten cover

while standing at the top of the stairs
the faces shuffle past
offering absolution to the pawns
offering escapism to the bishops of twisted truths
gaze down the halls of forgiveness
looking for a familiar face to unleash your hearts burdens
to unwrap the tear stained words for
hoping like hell its somebody who could tell her
that you weren't so bad after all
if she only see her way to giving you that
holy grail of the heart known as a second chance

but in the end you catch a glimpse of your
reflection in some woman's poem
makes you look and see the state your in
see how far you have fallen
how far you've run from the light of day
carrying the weighty truths close to the heart
but never looking them in the eye
live again my friend
forgive yourself and live once again

she was
a glutton's for a sadness feast
so i spun her a tale from my years ago
the wooden toy boat
ice bound in the stone fountain's water
trapped in its flight across its own vast sea
the sound of her sailors wrestling the seas
and her captain forever standing lone watch over his beloved craft
all there in absolute detail
the wooden toy boat

the statues of cherubs in perpetual dance look down
on this stranded voyager
from their grey unwashed stone tower
their stone fingers clutching at the hem
of some goddess of the ancient world
as if to plead for some favour of her attentions
for her to free this voyager and give her kind winds
but in this barren winterscape
nothing is without its semblance of shade
and the cherubs were a dangerous jealousy
their childlike eyes forever longing to be grown
forever longing to be free of such cold stone pantomime of life

barren trees are blackened and forlorn against
the frame of a slate grey sky
a few flurry's of snow scatter and dance on descent into
the absolution of their frailty in the eyes of the wakened dreamers
that all such frail things like the promise of dreams
slowly fades with the dreamers tears

the wooden toy boat
carries with it still the images of its makers dream
its proud sail unfurled
and its standard flowing in the crisp breezes
but the child who abandon it here
lay in his room miles distant in mind from
this cast aside toy
dreaming his own dreams of
building great towers from which he
could look down upon the world

the wooden toy boat
its forever seeking of a fabled port
its forever wishing for its safe harbour
i dream of this moment thoughtful of its strange fate
am i the boy moved on to create ever greater towers in the sun
or the toy locked forever in a yesterday's dreamers eye

forgiveness
the empires silk wraps the parchment
blue and gold ribbon of such regal device
but this neat folded apparel
tangles in my mind
with fog of memories frame
door table tray
the parchment bears the blessings
but the ink is as black as his heart
cold as his intent
child i was
child no more
forged instrument misshapen
blunt
a single paper cup of jungle juice spilled
haphazardly on the clean lines
the parchment adorned with the
phrase and emblems of republic
stained with my child's mind
child i was
child no more

illusions soil damp with summer rain
we are silence creeping softly
in halflight carrying a farthings worth of sugar
for his bitter tea and stale buttery breads
our stealth footprints leaning to the shadows trail us
the thick scents of tilled earth
and the fresher faster scent of rain
turn to whisper your hush-now's and stifle the laughter
tis serious things afoot in the majestic night

seed lain with casual grunts
by the farmers son come of age
till foolish boy reckons what hes done
but storm riding in and no time to dawdle
bread in the basket and skittles in the cookfire
whats to be done whats to be done
he sweeps his mistakes aside and plows onward
like his pappy would have done

illusions soil fertile
and fools will take to heart any tale
so we have come sneakin' and creepin'
to harvesting our due
in halflight carrying a farthings worth of sugar
for his bitter teas and stale buttery breads
feed the fools mind with all manner of delusion
and while we sit and sup in the heavenly scented field
the thick scents of tilled earth
and the fresher faster scent of rain
he will be singing and dancing a madwoman's jig
under a lunatic moon

this devilish craft
by which you lead me down the wet road
down through the spent leaves littered along the side of the pavement
some with their open faces upwards
fine lines intercepting
trace them with fingertip and craftsman's eye
paste them in scrapbook
keepsakes of a fall romance now that its spring
but they resurface
bakes a sunday morning bread filling the house with earthen tones of scent
and filling the mind with cravings from childhoods fable
and i pass this dark bread to her
but she refuses it
i eat of my own conversation within my mind
going over and over the exchange of ideals
that have never been held
beyond the borders of thought
its within this madness she foils my defences and
pulling me forward into the afternoon's slow lazy breath
and rifled through my brazen pocket treasures
thinking to have daring crimes of her own
from which she would someday
be an old hand like me
foiled by my poormans lint
out of my pocket and into
her device of night
its forced lock lay broken against the breached wall
but she is the pretender's delight
and make great noise and show of denial
seating me at a banquet for hungry hearts
her healed hand burnish and clean
leaves me at last
sitting among my peers
with a rolls royce of romance
she just laughs

a fire breaks out in his pants
whenever she walks into the room
but she just laughs
at how quaint he is
she has eyes only for the old man at
the end of the bar
his beat era leather socks are just up her alley
his pocket protector lifestyle is just
the thing for her wedding plans
she could always see herself
with his type of narrow shoe smart fella

he leaves her and her lover
at the dark bar
and wanders the lobster cages
looking to trap the feelings
that made him feel like
unconquerable king john
with his magna carta series pen
but this night is too full of babe sweet
and her pocket protector cowboy
so he goes home
to lay on his bed on imaginary nails
and suffer all the trials that good men should
wants to be worthy for the pay off
wants to be in line for the pearly gates

babe sweet and her man
live up the coast now
they own a bed an breakfast catering to the insane
who write great novels
on the walls in crayon
and spend their nights
hanging out on the roof singing ballads
to babe sweet
and her cowboy who lasso's the moon
its a wonderful life plays on the tv
every night year round
cause thats the dream they are sellin
that if you work hard
someday itll pay off

jerry garcia's picture hangs
in the lobby
he looks out at the changed world
with the shocked expression
of how did all these people miss the point
as they just go on beating eachother up
and crashing the gates
he is in the back room of babe sweets place
hiding from all the gretchens
and trying to redraw the lines of reality
we all got lost out there
gotta reinvent yourself
before the gretchens and the hangers on tear it all down
gotta bend the road before it bends you
just like unconquerable king john

synopsis of trajectory type tragedy
the day after the dreaded day
and the meals limp leftovers now
stuffed into the bulging fridge
our new neighbour taps at the door with a
synopsis of trajectory type tragedy
she spills her daily story with soft sounds
all over the living room glass table
and plays with its entrails
while trying with halfhearted desperation
to pry certain monies from certain people
without being too specific cause then that'd be rude or something
her projectile vocal charade slowly subsides
into a vapour trail of trying to get her get well
out of the spare change the sing flier has left behind on
the last beer run of the night next door
he is passed acknowledging himself
her feet ignite the carpet
when the bag achieved is glory in her ***** pocket
she cooks her dinner in a spoon
and the night is
spent chasing the fluff across the spaces in her mind
and deep in bathroom mirrors
fascinated by the focus
and delicate operations it takes to get
the place into what it shouldn't be
she falls asleep with her hand in some old mans pocket
as the sun creeps over the lost horizon
she admits in a whisper
that we have become the lost children
that we have become shadows of what we once thought so grand
filthy clothes replace
the latest threads from the fashion house
and the newest thoughts are fresh off the press too
the defend the empire of the needy
and require the few to to fend for the many
but the reality is
we live hand to mouth
day to day
desperation is measured in moments
that you cannot answer the tears in her eyes
she rattles around the kitchen
making me coffee
and two eggs over easy
but her own breakfast she cooks in a spoon
the projectile tragedy was the last
thing i wanted to relive
but here she is on my living room carpet
my ex chatting with my current
and im in the other room
holding
out hope that someday you will cease
this and come home to stay
the candlelight denied its own shadows
it moved with the wind but resisted change
it was a late fall evening
and the wind had grown cold
with winters first touches
and there in the only light
she showed me her face full of trackless tears
and the troubled things that lay within her mind
the choice of changing words
never spoken clear never spoken quick
but the story they gave me was
a dark tale flowing from her past
the places she had been in the years
and how she was
hoping to come home at last

she was a desperado's tale waiting to be told
she had it nailed down to the cold hand drop dead eye
she swaggers into the song
with a loud preamble that she will brook no delay
in the proceedings
the fat man just laughed and broke into another barrel
wine soaking his paris hewn three piece suit
with jewels encrusted by the professional eye

her drunken violin sweeps you along the winding road
of the heroes return
sends you crashing through the pearly gate
and walks you through the dancing beggars
their rags a fine linen
their riches a feast of a frenchmans table
and the sweetest and darkest of wines
her drunkards song weaves in and out of your conscience
with her theft of jewels too many to count
with her rescue of babes defenceless in the wood
she makes her rough love a lullabye
she makes her hard bent hand a soft caress
she is a feast to the starving mans eye

by the final hours of night
the fat man was laughing his way through
the very last barrel of wine
his soaked suit no longer such fine thread
his poorman eye no long longer filled with such easy mirth
he knows she will come collect her due

at the end of her song
the henchmen of karma are approaching with the
steady thud of steel shod boot on the cobblestone
and the fat mans laugh slowly dies in a puddle of
regrets and well wishers sorrows
her song was over and it was time to pay the piper
he tries to run
but as we all know
you cant outrun yourself

true to the soul of your years
rough fabric hewn from
a life filled with bitter days
and desperately lonely nights

her worn eyes look thru me
as the candle flickers with nightbrezze
dances light shadows across walls
and amplifies the emptiness
and the window to the world outside reveals
little but the skies wheeling silently overhead
and a trail out of the wilderness
away from her glass cage

hollow hearted she is bent over the page
beads of sweat pepper her brow
her lips flicker with silent phrases
as she labors thru each crafted word
weaving her barefooted form out of the
crisp white page
showing her carefully posing her hands
in the gestures of birds in flight

while her words are in broken french
her soul is fluent with all the seasons
that one finds on the harsh streets
and in the hallways of institutions for bent thinkers

as darkness breaks the soiled sunlight
and the shards sharp and swift
it sheds all premise of innocence

the light is unclean
it breeds children of shadow in the mind
that run laughing thru the memory's
tearing at the fabric of her image
scrawling obscene words on the walls of sanity
and breaking the dusty windows along the road
between your today and all your yesterdays
the essence of its cage bound in place by shadow
know its child of misgivings
see its motherless harlot of fears
and sour the milk of reason with its poison eye
leaving me hungry of the thirsty floor
leaving me angry on the grieving hardtack

like so many who hide themselves away from harm
she became trapped in her illusions
and now spends her days trying in thought alone
to break free
i pity her
as much as i fear a monster like her
your ****** moments fade your smile from my mind

the day done
she drifts in with the tide
washes up on my shore with
the tattered remains
of her girlhoods smile
in a keepsake box in the
pocket of her long grey coat
she speaks her thoughts but they are
tangled like seaweed
worn and worn like driftwood
she tells me her intents
and the lost sailor aspects of her soul
and her words linger on the air
like kestrels in the breaking of a storm
wheeling high above
wheeling high above
and the tears flow quietly
each one burning slowly into
my heart
I turn out and set sail
into the inky sea
blind to the trail
but rather than face her downfall
I attach myself to the darkness with a passion
of the task of finding my handmadien
of scorned empire
and saving her from herself
and all her internal wars
she was a shy young woman
in the years on denvers river road
a shatterproof demo for the better living
to be found just the other side of that
infamouse greener grass
that keeping up gets you in the end
a byproduct of the heart attack they give you
at no extra charge
standing naked feeling all kinds of uncomfortable
they question everything except your sanity
they are sure that's the one thing you've lost
I get her home at last
only to find she is nearly only
a chocolate bunny that's been chewed on
and her words telling me she must leave
are just forebodings of nightmares she gets
about Easter egg hunts
and viper roughness of being eaten alive

we started out in a
in a parking lot
with no shopping cart
look at us now
appeal to her desperation
for a moment in her sunshine's bravado
she dose not think beyond the moment despite my effort
i drink her in
and she is such sweet nectar
it is thinly disguised that she is no
snowbunny as she pulls herself from my bed
her deep rich tan only flavours my desires
as i pull her back in
her thick musky taste so intoxicating
flawless in her unique beauties
we lounge in the sun's dying breath
and quietly marvel at the skyscape of colours
she places casual hand on my arm
and i catch breath
isn't to be read into
but see that allure inspite
and with that desire lingering plunge slowly back
into her subtle skin
into the long sweet night of her lips
once again i float the rational
shes as smart as sinfully beautiful
but with a quickness
towers of the absurd fall under pretender's preface
she entangles me with the most sinister of **** laughs
and we spend the night deep in eachother again

her maudlin ******* clad emotions
moved across her vivid motion face
she paused to fumble with the settings
but her steam engine heartstrings are
trying to re-write themselves

like a derringer she carries both smoke and fire
concealed in her compact chrome adorned form
i kiss her deeply with adoration
i kiss her with loves longings
she denies such things have realities
she says that its only the oily taste of aftersex with an unclean woman
that is real and good
i cannot wish away her versions of reality

she caged her fingers
with pewter rings in the shapes of skulls and dragons
but the real danger lay not in her blades and devices
but in the lingering i would do admiring her
so used to the vestibule of her carnal delights
i would venture no further
into the amazon jungle of her forbidden fruits
and i would forever one of her
treasured trophies in the neatly appointed sitting room
with the ticking clock and chipped fine china
with the blurry photographed crying faces
and a carpet adorned with images of plagues rampages
death is no mere stick figure
with some wicked blade
he's a carpetbagger selling cheap potions
in the twisted carnival of life

her thick tears are slow to escape her eyes
as she looks off into the oncoming night
and the face of the unbearable
her maudlin emotions vivid to me
as my hand holding hers in empathy is to her

she decorates the flawed image she sees in her mirror
and with mock flair unleashes herself
into the alleyways silence
she turns back to me and without a word
pulls delicate fingers across my cheek
in a gesture almost intimate
smiles and walks into the shadows

she is a figurine in the circus of night
a danger of delights
a mouthful of wonders and razors

she walks slowly back in
the thick grey of dawn
her step weary
her gaze downcast
i hold her in my arms trying to restore
but you cannot fix what was never whole enough
to get broken in the first place

i kiss her deeply and with gentle adorations
she looks into my eyes
and remains unseeing
this is not how love is supposed to be

birthed in toxic soup
of nesscessity and lust's needs
her own words haunt her
with simple phrase pronouced
clear and heartfelt
sorrow fear hope lust love love lust

like her little ballerina musicbox
such an entertaining little toy
such a long daydream to wake in such a
strange place
with its strange names and faces so flush with anger
why are you here
snowbunny go back to your mountains
go back to cold serenity
and the dream that she could care
for a malfuntion like you
snowbunny

clear and heartfelt in the morning
are full of doubts and questions by nightfall

in her dream
they lay in candlelight
and speak in whispers
though they are alone
they are as one with love
they are as one in heart
she awakens in a trash littered feild
by the highway
wet from the long night of rain
cough
the latter days of her sainthood
had faded

she wakes in her bed
and alls right in her world once again
for the moment

snowbunnys come to paradise
seeking new lives and easier living
in the sunshine state
but when they arrive
its raining
rain
rain
rain
rainy season in the tropics
sunshine state is an advertisement
not a reality
nothing friendly
nothing real