Her hand moves in a back and forth manner
as if she were playing the trombone
But she's really just pulling my greñas
spreading more Brillantina
to make her baby's hair sparkle    
even though its color is nowhere near that of brass

Blued, nickel reflecting light,
Shining on the Reaper.
Frosted steel
Open-mouthed,
Longing to swallow
A half-dozen biscuits

1 part Copper,
1 part brass,
2 parts lead,
1 part saltpeter,
1 part charcoal,
1 part sulfur,

The recipe for the dough.

Once masticated
in jaws of tungsten
It spits the metal bolus,
And gives new name to grim.

Bound to a destiny encased in brass,
I await the fateful day,
Standing by,
Feigning my existence all the while,
Holding the beast at bay.

A girl, made of glass.
A boy, made of brass.
Hearts of paper.
Tears turn to vapor.
Not enough time.
They say it’s fine.
Hearts turn to ashes.
Skin burning, from the lashes.
Liars sell their secrets and lies.
While every rose slowly dies.

It's hard out here for an automaton
the sun is hot on my metal
Over heats my copper wire
Causes all manner of motor malfunctions
System failures
In cold winter days the residual wetness I step in
shorts my circuits
and shocks my partners
I am fond of small coffee shop nooks with outlets.
I don't need to travel too far to recharge
And since I'm so shiny
often briefcases and lipstick come around
sit their lattes on my discarded instruction manual pages
To offer me oil
I will let them insert the Nettie *** shaped disk where they choose
it's rough being a clock work boy
I set myself to operate
at three hours before is necessary in case
I'm distracted by some new upgrade or need
to document another error message.
they never write me back,
bronze looks good on thigh plates
I had this woman notice my key today
protruding from my back
the translucent panel showing into all my cogs and gears
she said she wanted to turn it
back, so she could see my program
run it from the beginning again.
I warned her, turning the key
would only turn back me.
I would rather let the program run on it's natural course,
sure, I'll get closer to the end, but I'm a curious construct
haven't seen the end of my functionality yet
woman keep coming up and asking me to turn back the key
and I am weak,
but don't worry I said
if I run out of energy, you can always turn the key back.
I'll play it all over and you can remember.
She didn't like the idea of doing the same thing over either
she turned the key, waited for it to run out,
left me on the doorstep for some other person to turn back on.
it's hard out here for an automaton.
the sun is hot on my metal
over heating my copper wiring causing all manner
of motor malfunctions
and system failures.

there's nothing more unusual than syllables and tones
the movements of the tongue that you can feel with all your bones
if we could be their master what a world we would create
a frequency identical to humans and their ways
where someone else's stories can be ones to call your own
the art of you believing you would never be alone
but even as you speak there is a purple on your words
the portrait of a shadow that should not have been disturbed
for while you're sleeping steady there's a face that's on the loose
with cadency unrivaled and a notion for the noose
the case is in the details, in the smallest of the small
and what is most important - we may never see it all
a feeling is a feeling but a purpose is the sea
so put it all together - it was real for you and me

I tried to stay gold, I tried.
Now I'm left with brass where the gold used to be.
I've stayed up drinking, and swallowing swarms of bees
to **** all of the butterflies he's still sending me.

the damage
has already
    been done
by the time
  brass tacks
rise to
  the surface,
and all the pretty
maidens are stacked
   like Russian wooden
       nesting dolls,*
in an insatiable
  hunger, yearning
   to possess
     the most toys

I am a sheet of music
I start quietly building on the quartet of Strings
the Violin starts a shimmering sound
backed up with the viola
the solemn sound of the cello
and the ground breaking bass
united in harmony

There is a rest a break in note
I am part of a Symphony an overture
out of the heart of the music
a quiet roll
the timpani building in sound
full orchestra building in amazing ******


Fireworks, Percussion, Brass, Woodwind, Strings
Combined together in unity
performing to the quality levels of sound
the amazing Tchaikovsky in 1812

Creativity and Imagination
shaking the core of the earth