Not in the way I Look through these eyes which water but instead Of sadness entranced upset Near to death love making where though and Design laugh at their own Gluttony and ill usage and away from me i say no not here and away from itself i hear nothing for you are here within me but away Comet and the see to hear blues with Everything to give but nothing to lose And the far off sights are much too bright And inside you hear yourself crying Not to mtters or mold your soul With what your parents said to you Ordered you to be bold and The aftermath of your own tightened slack Makes you wonder if growing up was an actual Choice in the matter of the batter which is The family foundation were games are played For keeps and children weep as they keep Toiling on as adults just for bigger and better things Come into the waves of a brain malfunctioning No face for ye' faith meand nodding to the higher Ones whose noses are broken and the lips cracked The spinning brain of hurts doughnuts and Americana Rip offs selling the flag by the millions to turn a profit For the moronic billionaires who think no one is watching. Watching with their hats turned sideways and trying to Escape old age and grey hair and sagging ball sacks and Poor english and worser bread, stale with their mother's Ghost hovering on the shoulder of their pouting diamond Drenched wife as if madness grew a larger pair **** within the Hilarity of connection of concoction of happiness and Satisfaction and a longing to burn the entire ******* down Just to rebuild it the way you see and you do see it and the way You feel it used to be and perhaps, maybe, could be and where Experimentation is now a center fold for the dock workers and the Laborers of the world to spit and ******* and cry over in their Twisted and rusty beds for inside their pea brains and melted Mouths filled with colgate and beer, they slobber over the excess And humiliation and celluoid dreams of **** and *** and spreads That would make any grandmother of 37 weep and Mozart meander On the veranda, contemplating smooth jazz and the way he would like Not to be buried with the hat trick hockey nick who swore he saw You fall in love before and that sobriety was the touch of the Christian Way of life and ye' far out and tormented young ones meant nothing By what they said at the rally and they do believe in the good of the White government and we are headed toward a technological maelstrom Of the golden age of the HUMAN RACE but alas I hope I decipher I pray to No God but whoever has the ears and eyes and arm fat to listen with their Splintered consciousness and their painted red toenails and girlfriends who Whisper they have always loved another and how TRUE UNTRUTH IS and How vindictive we rant on and read on and hope and believe that the end Is the end but it is only the end for you and their will be new blood and new eyes And new minds and we will grow old but the rivers water will be recycled, as we Will be recycled into the dust and the mud and the rubble to further build the streets As the street makers and the bread winners will smile as they think they are the First ones to think up such a crafty, inventive invention but hierarchies are on the horizon And I remember I was born with a name that I never grew to know or fall in love with Or defend or keep close to my heart for the heart is weary hunter and it ventures on With or without the body. Note to self. Recall the last rite before you begin on to the next one. History has spilt its blood and its fair share of orange juice, try not to remember the numbers but remember the amount of burned chairs. Note to self, returned. The heaters on and the soul is not dancing but jiving like icing on a three year olds birthday cake. Submission time to the chief, submission time To those other guys, whose faces I've never smelt, but who are there waiting and whining that the times are no longer a changing. Keep up the smiles, keep out the frowns. Negativity is the attribute of the terrorist. Don't be a terrorist. All fine men and women have once in their life been truly scared. One ten till the train leaves.
Good night major split hairs.
On the second of the fort Nights beckoned a call dim Lit by ill fated mechanisms that Were men and women and Children and the forgotten dream of What was meant long ago and was is Meant now but not followed through.
With heaven comes hell and hell fire and Clouds of white with shelling from Wars not of this world or the next or The one's thereafter and lingering history, With its bells and trinkets and tombstones, That have been weathered but are still not gone.
Memory not mourning, pictures in a frame lit From the inside out and drinks were there When we were not meant to be there like a Kiss on a flower you picked at an age where Life was not known and death was even Farther away for it existed not in the eyes of yours But in everyone else around you, except for the Other children of course but oh' of course.
If your trying to get the part of the stuff That makes you recall the upstairs of the Idiocies of the room romance that restricts but Contains life and halters life and stifles life with That one must recall a past life where tears Mean nothing when you produce them too often.
Can of the hypocritical malice of mis-informed family Foundations and we break into the minds of the way It should be and the way it shouldn't be and yet here When we gaze out across the wide spread of the world And its many ways it spells out with a God's own language The morning of the ear who listens and speaks when not spoken To breaking every single rule of the word and smiling Throughout the whole ****** thing.
Canons of repetition where life winces and the wife begins to wheeze And fall, her dress is now clear and her eyes just don't seem to be Where we are now I believe that money is the root of this soon to be dead Tree and streets are now empty as the moon casts its silver glaze and The breeze is now naked with her bra on the floor cast in straw while The wizards write their spells and comb their hair and draw out plans For the next great fall but watch the fireworks and the way they hail and Crawl throughout the entire bawl and Ol' Ezra P. mass amounts of rage To bring to the stage but here ye' O great one this place is for us all.
Here in the house of the not that is shared but all is seen here Where the wind blows to no east and no west and no south and No other way that you believe to get headed to the world of The no names and experience makes you wise and yet old And remembered for the drinks you paid for but especially for The ones you forgot to pay for but that is what friends are for.
Omnivores in latitudes that matter not to the public eye but To the ear of the Lord that is not everyone's savior but Chosen just for the right eye so within that decree of mastery We entrance the light and shovel up the leaves leaving the last Way of things to be the first way of things when the lights Are quickly turned off and on and off and on again and again; Stars are naked until the sun rises in your hometown and the radio Turns on.
And the background music chimes with a willingness of a cockroach but Holds the beauty of a **** statue found in the under toe of a lost Beach in a lost land forgotten in time but embraced by eternity and Though does not dwindle its numerous names or its many ways Of being for the hour does shackle us all but here in high array of None other then eight times the way through the cobbled up in the Attic of the fiercest neanderthal dictator with ideas holding truths upon Truths that in the end mean nothing for advancement is not determined But continued upon as long as we forget the past and look to the future hymn Of the childless winged' beasts that were once forgotten but now embraced Angels.
Not of this world but of the entirety of the reality of banality Breathing back and forth inhaling and exhaling releasing the Mind of the mares of the wandering rewinds of infinite space And inside the eyes of the highest levee which has broken but Has not yet spilt holding back its power for the remainder of the Year and catacombs upon catacombs of forgotten text of never Forgotten men recalling their former lives and their former passions And the hastiness of their possession of the word and the avoidance Of the death touch the death mark the black spot upon us all.
Dog on a hill cloud high in the sky nut on the ground no not a sound Frost on your fingertips toe of the boot covered a steel dull mud Suds from a water rushing miles away nodding branches of a dead tree Wind through the high grass birds in the sky that fly but not chirp Sun in the sky rice fields burn brown crickets rub their thighs together Not here but in the corn stocks and pig stocks brown in the reverse order Platters of pinch salt and pepper underneath the floor boards creek for Creak and dollar for dollar we make the rounds and we do not frown.
And the meet of the neat make their rapid conversations in dual order Where they tell themselves this but I hear that and you make what you want Unless you ain't got the stuff but if your lucky and if your smart you'll Grab the oven and bake that **** but in case you don't see the sunset and Your buried without your toes look for your voice because that's the only Way you'll get to know the stars in the sky or the dirt on the ground for The fun is growing but the lurkers are smirking for they got the pennies and They got the nickels and these streets are breaking so you gotta' start thinking Of a way to get outta' this place and FAST or else you'll be staring down the Barrel of a 33 to ONE typing and writing and peeping around the corner of Your dear old ***** that hasn't found in a home in years but don't look too Down because one day that ONE will come around either by taxi or by train Or by some kind of war and if you've got the gut and the money and the honey to Keep her tight and alright and flying that lovers kite then your bound to keep Yourself from the giggles and nearer to the harmony of the way things ought to Be but may not really be but perhaps can be if you will it around and swill it with Your will making sure your lies and that white or ain't that black or ain't that real Or you ain't lying at all but stay truer to the truth with the water resolution of the Insipid insecurity of the first love you thought you knew but now see that it was The one three or four later and how right I am in knowing nothing and knowing Everything and letting the mind skip and play and register new friends in the new Cities and the new alleys and the smiles that break across the ice like a crack of of a Whip and counting the days ones gone blowing through the high valley and the low Trenches of war I do not wish to go to but may be forced too because this man believes Just what he says.