One strange spring day
In England
There behind a field bushel
All is blue and purple
Three butterflies
Varying in sizes
Touch down on
Inspector Morse’s
Car which was also blue
In this painting.

The space in between time is filled with fish,
swimming through dimensions.
They say hello,
if they see a friend,
but mostly they're just red.
All the girl can think of is colours and the wish
to pay attention
to what's moving in the yellow
abyss of distent
in the continuum of dread.

She can not perceive the reason why she'll cry,
but in her heart, there is a cloud
and in her head her own blue voice
that sings to her
day in day out.
When in the young parts of the dry
december night it speaks aloud
by twisted choice
the fish consider
what tomorrow she will smile about.

I wander through the broken door,
the red paint of which is split.
A room I've never seen before,
in which strange faces sit.

They sit and smile, yet do not speak;
I blend into the crowd.
My face, it melts, my breath grows weak,
The faces are so loud.

I try to ask them who they've been,
But cannot find my voice.
I search the room I'd never seen
For some form of second choice.

As I navigate the careless room,
My body disappears.
I'll be one of the faces soon,
A smile forms through my tears.

The burn of the past is in the pain of my fingers
as the clouds of tomorrow loom overhead.
The fear of today should have died, but it lingers
and the key to control is in the purr of a cat.

It asks: “What's that sorrow that you speak of so fondly
and profoundly you cling to in the depth of the night?”
And you cringe and you crouch and you cry so resoundly
that the stars' tumbled tears fill with wisdom and fright.

“Even spiders have hearts that are deemed non-existent,”
says the cat who's own heart has never known cold.
The traces of truth in its words are insistant,
so you crumble and crawl to turn heedless things gold.

Lugosi Béla is dead.
Ligeti György is dead.
The bat flies past the closet door.
The closet is filled with corpses, screaming to let them out.
The grey house cries out in a voice of silence.
The wood cracks under my feet as I break through the door.
Relative ease getting in, but I fear getting out might take all my power.
I look towards the door, but it is so far.
I decide to go in, towards a familiar stench.
I hear screams from the attic and moans from the basement.
Ligeti's breath. That was the stench.
Wonderful. I take a huge whiff and feel high.
I meet him. He is dead, yet he's smiling at me.
I kiss him on the lips, for he is deserving of love, like the others.
I leave the room and let him sleep in silence.
I hope my love got to him.
As soon as I get through the door, a set of red eyes.
Wings, chapping my shoulders. I am pinned against a wall.
Teeth sink into my neck.
It is Lugosi. I kiss him on the lips, as he demands, and begin to leave.
He disappears, for he's dead. Undead.
But that seems like years ago and I'm still not at the door.
In fact, it's been a decade.
It's the morning now, and I cannot leave.
I feel like... I'm dying? But I feel more alive, as well.
As I reach the door, I fall.

I wake up in an unfamiliar room.
They are both there. They don't present me with a choice.
They are leaving all of their belongings to me.
White on white translucent black capes.
Black on black glasses of *****.
The bats have left the bell tower.
The victims have been bled.
Red velvet lines the black box.
Virginal brides file past their tombs.
Strewn with time's dead flowers,
Bereft in deathly bloom,
I'm alone in a darkened room.

I am Ligeti.
I am Lugosi.
I am neither and I am both.
I am dead and I am not.
As I live and breathe.
I am...
The count.

A white fancy rat
Stargazing from its
Cage out side the
Window
Slips into a psychotropic
Dream
Where the
Land is full stars
Of all sizes
And all the
Colours of the rainbow
Or chakras.

Melanie of the morning
Sailed by my parapet
She says, “there’s no use in mourning
When the world is your puppet”

Won’t you come through my window?
For my legs feel frail
She says, “just moan like a minnow
And I’ll be in your mail”

And what a lovely day it is
Flowers taped onto a sign
When the sky is an orange wisp
I’ll be by your side

Oh, I long for her
Searing, fading hair
Still-flowing, spotlight fur
Delouse my glare

I spun around in my chair
Until the white walls caved
I’m ready for her stare
To hold me inside a grave

Soon, the bottom of my ship
Will hold gilded fleece
To keep her warm for a trip
Can a sailor only love the sea?

Melanie, Melanie will come to me

In another hour or two
I will elect to make a choice
That may leave me in ecstasy
Or mind-numbing misery
And I go to this choice in content freedom's slavery
I'm playing out the patterns that were set in skin
Here's the song, on repeat from within

I need to see where dragons be
Here's the maps, where's the me?
A deeper search for centricity
Swallowing itself into infinity.

---
If you were in a cage, and you knew,
What would you choose to do?
It seems that maybe that's the key -
The only way to be free is to learn to play,
because even searching for the exit is just another way
To get caught up in the plot and grime and crust
An inevitability - maybe there's no way to be clean
And trying not to play is just the same old game
Biting our own hands doesn't make us any less tame
Because these are the colors we're meant to spark;
You can't steal the song from the throat of the lark
because it's meant to be sung and shared and put on display;
If my life is just a splash of color against the gray,
Well that's okay -
I don't need a time share on eternity to have a life well lived
All I have, I freely give.

Time to leave
Break the screens
And find our true eyes
To live the dream
Leave the clean
And head out for a ride

The American dream we seek
To go out for a week
And look for some hell to rise
Get drunk under the stars
Stare at mars
And smoke all the grass i can find

For the American dream
Is were the real people meet
And talk about the times
To do drugs with a couple of thugs
And meet again up in the sky

To discuss the cancer
That grows in our homes
And molds itself to the young
That has done went
And ruined their minds
And destroyed them
Of their good times

For they will never understand
That long travel across the land
Looking for those great friends of mine.