Is it too late for a third beer?
Why wouldn't it be?
I've got the time to waste
going nowhere
and somewhere
at the same time.

What about the motels we missed?
I remember the bed spreads weren't stained;
strangely immaculate given the circumstances
especially when one considers the hookers
that were most likely in that room.


A tip of the hat the the maids.

I caught a sickness
on a September morning
when the grass turned white.

This world belongs to us;
  those who steal kisses 'neath the twilight thunder
while chemicals in plastic
melt in lesser ghost's guts.

I saw a white boy crying
about his broken metal music box
while I read the news that
dead men came crawling home through sand.

Though it didn't make me weep,
     it made me wonder
how glass would look
with them inside.

I pushed the roses through my eyes
to see fluorescent beauty die
on the broken wings of sunshine wasps.
I wonder oft why they sliced my brain,
why they sliced her ring,
and why the bluebird sings
of devils dancing sweetly
on the poor, dead morning dove.

Walking in the bandit's orchard one might ask
is this really all that strange?
Are we only wearing masks?
But the question arising to be seen is not within ourselves.
It only lives in others, and in others it shall dwell
This fantasy eludes us, yet we follow it till death
And this fantastical journey we'll follow,
follow until our final breath.

The lands in which we wallow are tormented with this wish,
and the people who live here are only thriving off the fish.
It's December in September and Winter in July
We'll never know what our lives hold,
so until then we'll only lie.

Oh follow me now
where the barrels were hid
for these are mistakes,
and the peasants are dead

Listen to gunshots
echo so slow
these are the dead children
of the Future of Old

And if, you lay, me down
stand up beside the lonesome playground.
Speak to the street vendor,
        ask for your change.
Pray for the autumn wind to
                         wash for the rain

Shall I make do
while they're laughing at you?
Throw it away and go
kiss the Sun for blinding fame.

Will you feel the eyeballs
that make you so high?
Throw it back at them,
and you can kiss it goodbye.

Will you forbid
what the graverobber digs
                 or will you awaken
                     the farmhand's pigs?

Neptune's white mistress
holds out shattered stone.
She speaks so softly.
This is her new home.

And for forever more
shut your wives out, avoid petty ******.
Wash down your happiness
with a cognac of love.
Feel sin around you,
                it fits like a glove