Let's, let's keep time, you and me, together,
We can be a little tin can band
With stagelight streams of leftover holiday
And we can blot out the stars with their glow
Until we're the only ones left.

You can't get ahead by staying behind,

So move, so move, you and me, together,
We can be a little tin can band
And move to the drummer boy's beat.
Just turn the little windup key
And follow the clockwork ballerina tempo.

You can't get ahead by staying behind,

But allargando, allargando, calando, you and me, together,
We can be a little tin can band
Wrapped up and forgotten in last year's tinsel
And shelved another year with dying poinsettia petals
Hoping we survive our expiration date.

You can't get ahead by staying behind,

Let's, let's keep time, you and me together,
We can be a little tin can band
And echo, echo, echo till we're nothing but silent wishes
And leftovers of sugar plum dreams,
Gilded, rusted tin sentiments screaming:

You can't get ahead by staying behind

She's crawling these days,
And it's a joyous throwback to
The wordless days, when the
Eye reflects sunshine instead of tonic
And there was someone,
Always someone                                                 up
To take over when it was too much.         up
                                                               up
She's crawling in her own spit-up
And learning how to drown.
There's a certain effortlessness
To a downward spiral
And she's mastered it with the
Dedication of a carnie's mid-night
Reflections in a backdrop
Of cotton-candy and ****** expulsion.

The world has painted itself white
And she's the little blemish
Of hangnails and spilled cognac
When Atlas would rather decorate
With her broken winter smile;
Teeth to match the whites of his eye
And shattered eggshell.

She's crawling these days, amidst
Broken bottles that reflect such starry eyes
The way puddles muddy the sky
And house the most optimistic birds,
Unheeding the poolside signs saying
Shallow end.
The water is dedicated to darkness
And she's dedicated to falling.

I'm wishing I could turn back time,
Wishing life was a Ferris Wheel and I could get,
                 Could get off
Once I'm t-
                        t-
                              tired of bird-blemished wharf views.

                              But
              life                            is
           a                                     hamster
   wheel                                            and
          I                                         forgot
                how                       to
                               stop.

Forgot,
                 Forgot I was in a cage.

Cuz I,
                 I want to become more than myself
But I,
                 I am less than the sum of my parts
And I,
                 I am less than myself, these days.

Time falls away and I am,
                 I am so much less than left behind.
                                  So much less,
                                                   So much less than myself.

I'm wishing I could turn back time,
Wishing life was just a pocket watch I forgot,
                 Forgot to wind,
Sounding t-
                        t-
                              ticking, t-ticking, and t-ticking me off.

                              But
              my                             head's
           a                                         time
     bomb                                          and
         my                                         heart
            keeps                          ticking
                              louder

Cuz I,
                 I'm waiting for the stagnancy of today
And I,
                 I'm waiting for it to fall, fall far, far away
But I,
                 I'm waiting for time to learn to evolve.

I'm waiting,
                 Waiting to get off this hamster wheel.
                                  I'm waiting.
                                                   I'm waiting.

I’m
       Picking you
                 Picking you
                           Picking you out
And
                          Bleeding you, bleeding you, bleeding you dry with
The
                         Sharp sheers of my too clever coffee-lipstick-stained
Lord
                          And the garden variety scorn you Rose-hipped hipsters
Said
                          Your rosy glasses and tinted cheeks proclaimed, and:
               I’m
                         Casting you
                                     Casting you
                                               Casting you out
The
              Immortal, infallible garden of meaningful
Man
            And his poetry-stained bedsheets and love bites
Has
            Taken to candle lit vigil nights and too tall pedestals, has
Become
            More or less himself, of himself, for himself, for nothing, really,
One
            With smug sadness and the proud self-aware death
Of
            Self-proclaimed martyrdom sold to
Us
            Twenty-five percent off at Walmart.
                      I’m
                                 Taking you
                                              Taking you
                                                       Taking you down
To
                     My level, (game over, hit restart)
Know
                    That you were always player two and
Good
                     Intentions are nothing more than fancy dress
And
                    On your sleeve sit a collection of hearts,
Evil,
                    They pave the way to hell.

You watched summer fade
And her petals along with her;
You watched the world die
Without any resistance and wept.
You vowed to learn from it
You would not be a delicate flower
Or the gentle trill of birdsong
Wavering, fluttering at
Nothing more than a breeze
You hardened your heart
Until it became diamond,
Harsh and beautiful
But you forgot
You forgot though diamond is hard
It is also brittle
And one day your heart
Was not hard enough,
And it shattered
Spreading like eternal stardust
Until you were nothing
But a name to weep.

I’ve got dials in my head, clicking like a winding down timer
While I'm finding a channel that isn’t just static
Or a faded children's primer, illegible and bleeding its ink
Like its supposed to be tragic or the ***** Dozen
Resting in the kitchen sink; reduced to vegetables after
An overtly silent war on the terror of omniscient pesticides.
We're the violent, thirsty poor and we're the weeds thrusting
Our roots through drunken misdeeds with the staying power
Of a half-decayed pursuit scrawled in the margins
Of a faded children's primer, illegible and bleeding its ink
Till it sprawls off the page into gin-fueled wishes
And rage till it's only me again, fighting dials and static,
Supposing that I can't be mended as I light another match
And wait for the commercials to end.

.
1. It's time to retreat
    To call off the war, to turn in the trumpets,
    To shut off our hearing aids to those who are bullet-riddled with Ritalin.

2. Leave passion at the door
    The coat rack is missing, but that's what people are for,
    Push them back into the closets with your woolen wares and see.

3. Check in your soul with the desk clerk
    The bellhop promises to bring it up soon, but the elevator is out of order.
    His trolly's wheels were stolen and the stairs are still on fire.

    Sorry.
    No refunds.

4. Lock all the doors and tip your cows
    You're too tipsy for another round of room service anyways and the
    police are planning a raid.
    Tell the too young girls with the too old eyes the time has come to go and
    stitch your innocence back on.

5. Check your bedstand for a bible and a razor
    Ignore the ***** stains; the key to salvation was paid in sin.
    Put yourself on a pension plan because I hear the devil's running a good
    racket.

    Sorry.
    No refunds.

6. Trash this place on Yelp. Trash this place in person.
    The devil is hiding in the woodwork and there's a people zoo of women
    dancing on the yellowed wallpaper.
    The carpet smells like Daddy's cigarettes and Mommy's drunken spit-up.

7. w̶r̶i̶t̶e̶ ̶a̶ ̶m̶e̶s̶s̶a̶g̶e̶ ̶o̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶m̶i̶r̶r̶o̶r̶
    What a proud song:
    Here's to the the nihilists, here's to the named,
    Here's a vague attempt to mark the world in meaning.

8. Break the mirror instead

Sorry.
No refunds.

But they offer complimentary mints.

а воз и ныне там, Nothing has changed,
и а воз и ныне там, Yes, nothing has changed.

Little ****** with your
Parted lips and
      Parted thighs,

хотели как лучше, а получилось как всегда,
The best, darling, I only wanted the best.

Lovely Little ****** Lady
Batting your
      Lively ****** eyes,

за красивые глаза,
Is there anything you would not do for me?

Little ****** with your
Candy apple
      Lollipop sighs,

больное место,
How easily fruit bruises.

Lovely Little ****** Lady
Wearing your
      Dollhouse disguise,

а воз и ныне там, Nothing has changed,
и а воз и ныне там, Yes, nothing has changed.

Little ****** with your
Frozen beauty,
      Winter skies,

бабье лето,
And also my Indian Summer.

Lovely Little ****** Lady,
Sorrowful Delores,
      Smile, my prize,

не вешать нос,
Love me as I love you.

Little ****** with your
Soft little
      ****** cries,

Lovely Little ****** Lady,
Why do your eyes
      Bleed with such despise?

а воз и ныне там, Nothing has changed,
и а воз и ныне там, *Yes, nothing has changed.

I wear a mask
That isn't adorned by any jewels
I wear the simple white mask
That was made from my mother's skin
And it sits uncomfortable and stuck,
Covering the suffering of my father
Covering the suffering of my grandfather
Covering the suffering of my own secret self.
I wear a mask
By no one's choice but life
I wear the simple white mask
That sits stoic and still,
And I tried once to pry it off,
But it was nothing more than skin,
And under was nothing more than muscle
And under was nothing but blood and bone
I wear a mask
That will not hide my blemishes
I wear the simple white mask
That will not define me
And I remind myself of this
As someone asks me what I am
As someone asks me what my father was
As someone asks me what my grandfather was
And my mask stays its stoic grin
And my mask stays my tongue.

She has hair that glows neon
In the midnight chill of the mind.
It blacks out her face from memory
Like the lace of a
Wedding veil dream catcher
Spun like spider silk
To bind her blind.

And she wears polka-dotted
Cigarette scars on painted,
Sallow, yellowed skin,
And her heart is made of patchwork,
Some pieces lovingly stitched,
Some loose,
Some worn,
Some dotted with blood from
Hazy misaimed needles.

She’s swathed in Virginia silk,
A feast for the eyes,
A feast for the moths,
And as gauzy as
Bandages, as gauzy as
The swirling darkness of her mind
As it whispers
Frightening, beautiful thoughts
From behind her button-black eyes.

She needs mending, she says,
Needle against her skin and
Eyes shining like marbles.
She needs loving, she says,
Stuffing herself with OxyContin
Laced with lies like the lace of a
Wedding veil dreamcatcher
Spun like spider silk
To bind her blind.

Oranges and pink cocktail explosions
Stain your eyes so bright,
Reflecting your hopes for tomorrow
And dreams for tonight.

You and I, we make our own stars
For those we could not reach,
And they blossom upon themselves
Towards heavens they cannot breech.

And though they cease, ever-fleeting
And are darkness in the end,
For a moment light our paths;
Our illuminating friends.

You see, this is our mayfly moment,
This, our human right.
These are the short lives of fireworks
Where darkness becomes light.

I gave my vows to
Commit, commit to memory.
I married the ideas of
Then and now and I,
I had and I held these moments
And death,
Death could not part them.

I gave my vows to
Commit, commit 'cause I'm greedy.
Greedy for life.
I gave pennies for thoughts
And shoved them into
My pockets, saved,
Saved for rainy days.

I gave my vows to
Commit, commit but they,
They run together,
Run like ink and then fall,
Fall away like leaves,
Like a sweet, soft sigh
Off the edge of my mind.

I gave my vows to
Commit, commit but then,
Then the lanes of my memory
Were overrun, overrun, running
Like water, jogging like memory
But time, time is desperate
And I, I am desperate.

I gave...
I gave my vows.
I gave my vows to commit.
Haunted by memories,
Haunted by forgetting,
I gave and then I lost,
But I...

I gave.

You asked me what I was
And realized:
        *Not
               Enough.

I’m a hallowed insubstantial husk of words,
no substance,
no foundation;
I’m a tower poised to fall.

I’m an irrepressible force of whim
Fighting to break free
From my own silly trappings

I'm a scrap from your table
And crumbs are so hard to catch
And the vultures circle
Like a dog chasing its own tail
Waiting for me

But I grin and bear you
Bear you bare
I swallow my bitterness like a cyanide pill

But the bile won't stay down.

And I'm a tower poised to fall.

I whisper, but first:

Nimble little feet, these,
Racing through the fields in silent murmurs,
Crushing the grass and soft buds underfoot
And in echoes of quiet unknown, overlooked ants mourn a world lost.

Nimble little hands, these,
Pluck
      Pluck
             Pluck
Little wiry strains of music sing, stinging, till a bouquet of blossoms and stalks
Are contained by grubby fingers, roots trailing to the ground.

Nimble little fingers, these,
Back against scratchy oak and like spider legs they move, weaving a web of their own,
Head bent and concentrating, occasionally stopping to smell the flowers,
Stopping to
Pluck
      Pluck
             Pluck
He loves me not.

Nimble little girl, me,
Crown of oak above my head, necklace of flower stalks roped around my neck,
I am queen of the sod, and flowers grow all around me.
I am queen of the air and for a moment am flying.

And as the world sits quiet, my lips move in soft whisper.

Sit with me awhile,
Watch the stars fade out
One rotten tooth after another
Because the sky just can't
Afford any more dental care.

The sky is falling!
The boy who cried wolf would scream,
But no one listens because he's stumbled.
He's stumbled into the wrong story,
And we want our raining reign of sparks.

Smile defiant with me awhile,
Watch as hungry progress
Eats each star from the smog,
Plucking them one by one,
Tasting heady, smoky flavor.

There was a fish that granted wishes,
A golden flounder, floundering on lies,
A golden flounder, a monkey's paw,
A magic lanterned murderous Djiin.
But wishes are best served silent.

Eat the rot with me awhile,
Watch me go blind staring into
What remains of a sixty-watt bulb,
Pretend with me awhile that this
Can be memory enough for us.

Because all that's left is the faint,
Hollow, hallowed, heavenly glow
Of Haloed street lamps and
Bargain Barn wishes and
Nothing, nothing, nothing more.

Sit with me awhile,
And please, don't go away,
Let me tightly grasp your hand
While the world fades to black.

I'm tired of dying alone.

"All is fair," In-anna,
Inanna, Queen of Heaven and Earth
A rose in her wisdom,
A rose in her hand,
Inanna Queen of Heaven and Earth

Roses or rosettes,
Thorn scars or eternal stars,
Stabbing beauties or
Bright white hot
But all is fair in wisdom,
All is fair in blood

And Inanna, Inanna Queen,
She gives me roses upon roses,
Thorns amongst thorns,
Inanna, Inanna, my Queen

Inanna loft me high,
And cast me low,
Bruised and ******, love,
Bruised and ****** for love

"All is fair" In-anna,
Her echoing voice, just shadows,
Sweet shadows, wrathful shadows,
All is fair, Inanna, my Queen,
Queen of my heaven and my earth,
Queen who, in her wisdom,
In her wisdom holds flowering thorns.

Momma can't cry right now.
She's got too many kids that beat her to it.
                                                       beat
                                                            ­beat
                                                            ­     beat
Like the thrumming of her heart.

There's too much poetry for pain
And songs riding the waves of grief.
That's what it is to be human, Momma whispers,
Even if no one hears here, even if her children have g    o    n    e
                                                ­                                             o   o
                                                               ­                             n         n
                                                               ­                                 e            e
Scattered to the winds like her hopes and dreams
And she's afraid she'll never see them again,
That the lump in her throat is cancerous with grief
And it's stuck like she is and she'll choke.
               stuck
               stuck                              fear
she   is  stuck      in       her                       self
               stuck                         grief
               stuck

But Momma can't cry right now.
The tears would splash like broken glass
And splinter like her h
            (beat)                    e                        ­                  (beat)
                                        ­     a             (beat)
                       (beat)                r
                                         ­            t                            (beat)
Murmurs like her soul.

There's too many questions in the dark
And monsters hiding behind words.
That's what it is to be free, Momma whispers,
Even if
      ven if
            en if
                 n if
                       if
                           f
                           You    d  i  s  a  p  p  e  a  r

To be (not) seen, not heard,
To be the silence at a wake.

Momma can't cry.
Momma can't cry.
Momma can't
She
She can't
Can't cry.

Today God wears pajamas.
God is world-weary and hides in a fort of blankets.
Perhaps tomorrow debts can be repaid
And everything will somehow be okay this time,
But for now, God could use a cup of soup
And a God of God’s own.
Perhaps a Dog, because this jaded world seems
Like perhaps it was made backward,
Because nothing seems to fit,
Like a stretched knit and square pegs
And a lost sweater God grew out of.
Perhaps today it will rain, reign grey
And align the storms in an angry sky
That’ll smoke out the worms from the mud.

Today God wears pajamas.
God hopes the universe can rule itself this time,
But the world is cruel when its left
With only a mirror and its own whims.
It’s hard not to be tired with
A universe rotting from the inside out.
The worms peak out from their feast.
For a moment, God forgets to breathe.
Does God need to breathe?
It’s difficult to remember when your name
Is Always and your age is Time
And the final stage of Never has a curtain call
For the one-person show made up
Of a God that wears pajamas.

I was born under the sign of

The Forgotten

Destined for dusty shoe boxes: Cut up photographs, Desecrated loves

I am: Nameless
          Voiceless
          Faceless

Because I bought into my fate for the cheap price of:
neglection and bitterness

Inaction is my parasitic friend
                   My spoiled lover
                   My favorite excuse

I have too much
But
Not enough
And
I am too much
But
Not enough
And

I was born under the sign of

The Forgotten

and

This is my anthem

I think, I think, I think therefore I think I am
Mechanical little workings, I tick I am I think,
But there are no certainties in thought, that's why it's
ff*     uu       nnnnn         nnnny,
   ff       nnn           nnnn                        honeyyyyyyy     yyyy         yyyyy
                                                       ­                                 yy           yyy
She asked if I found Jesus, but he's laughing
Ha      hhh                                          ­                                  ha
     ha           aaaaaaa                                                         ha              haa
'Cause he just wanted directions out of the tomb,          *Ha
He don't have Alzheimer's or nothin,'             HA
He was just trying to find himself.                                                    ha­

My pockets are heavy, heavy, heavenly heavy
With prayer stones and dog bones
And secrets that tick,tick, tick therefore am
Am, am am amamaMAMAMA
                                                   ­    M
  I                           ?                           A                             am
         Who am                            M                           who am              I
                                             ­           A               *I
       ?                                            M
            ­                    Who                  A               am I

Wailing like a helpless baby                                                 WANTS
That at least knows what it wants.                wants
What do you                               YOU
you           what                                        you            ­                        wants
    WANT           do                     you                   wants      YOU
  you         what do you                               YOU         wants  you
               **want?

Drink up, Mister Bailey,
Your scotch has lips paler than yours
And the moon is howling brighter
Than the shine of a dime
Spent on the sweet succor
Of the candied poison
You still suckle,
Splendid as the white hot stars that
Scream maddening blindness
Into the silent pitch
And the depthless pools of black
In your surrendering eyes.

Drink up, Mister Bailey,
The wolves are back,
Backed by bleeding broods
Brooding in the bar;
It isn’t just your wistful warped
Reflection dimmed by dirt
In the half-chipped mirror
Behind the bar.
The warmth in your belly
Is the gift of ghouls and gods
Whose promises of the world
Died like your deadbeat dad.

Drink up, Mister Bailey,
Red Riding Hood’s put on her rouge,
She’s inviting you to tango
On the sordid street corner,
Begging you to hit a green light, gyrate,
And pass ‘go’ while you’re still lucid,
Lucky lord of the lost, you.
But you’re a day drinker, darling and ******,
And the fogs and fears serve to
Mend your mind
When the moon refuses
To rise.

I'm fileting this city from the inside out,
She swallowed me whole and this is my revenge,
Stripping her bare from dust and sandy pavement.

Her scaly city of skin drapes well across my shoulders,
And her meat reeks smoked flavor from burning angels
And slow cooked beaches left to simmer under towels.

I'm feasting on the sky as she looks innocently down,
Trails of stars glimmer elsewhere,
Hers are flashing siren calls of life, of life, of life tonight.

A slice of abandoned hotel seasoned salty with sea
Is a decedent ghost of last year's revelry,
Traded like yesterday's lunch in the barb wire schoolyard.

And I'm sorry, because I'm cracking her open and
I'm pouring out her slowly well-tempered marrow
Because all I wanted to find was a singular wishbone.

And between the two of us, if we're lucky,
We can desecrate another burial ground searching,
Searching for life in something that isn't yet dead.

I want to consume this world of yours,
Greedy eyes swallowing the moments of millions,
Digesting the only air you have to breathe.

I want to find a wishbone in her very soul,
Want to hold your hand in my own,
I want to take it, break it, and then make it mine.

I want to
       Take it.
            Break it.
                 And then
                       Make it mine.

Pavlov must be getting old;
His ears keep ringing and he's can't stop,
Can't stop his own spit-up drooling self.

His dog isn't as well trained as he thought,
But Pavlov has run off the pages and fallen out of energy
To do anything but listen to a worse bark than bite

His dog is chasing Schrödinger's cat, he thinks,
But he can't go to the window to check, can't go to see
That perhaps he's only hunting his own tail

And down the hall, Aesop is telling stories to no one,
His words floating across creaky floor board seas
While Occam simply bleeds out in the bathtub.

And Plato, in his man-cave, watches the tv flicker light and shadow
While he wonders about the world he'll never know,
Wonders about the ****** dog that won't stop barking.

And Pandora is coming to collect her matchbox rent,
Tears still in her eyes from a deck stacked against her,
I guess 'cause Chekhov never loved her.

He's holding a gun to his head, eyes clenched tight,
He's wrestling with his own existence,
Challenging the story his god has written.

And Achilles is tripping on his own feet,
And Montezuma has plugged the lavatory again
While Maxwell bashes in another skull.

And Pavlov must be getting old;
His ears keep ringing and he's can't stop,
Can't stop his own spit-up drooling self.

And down the hall,
Schrödinger still can't find that **** cat.

Take needle to flesh and pleas(e)
In prayer to part like legs and seas,

Put aside tears, bled into the lost and founded on pain
And add insult to industry, smoke out the liar, ****** his brain.

Make them sing, muse, tarnish what threatened to be
And capitalize the bonds of rust belt, razor hungry.

Two can play at this, tame eggs, wild geese, lame ducks, all,
Spoiled dinners and children to be thrown to dust and fall.

This is the interstice between you and sea,
Your flag will not be raised in hell but for agony.

Deign to dance of carrion while Corvus paints the sky
Show the world, my devil son, that you know how to die.

I am World Eater, Erysichthon, insatiate father-king,
I have challenged god and man and cut the fate of string.

I am World Eater, Erysichthon, insatiate father-king,
I have challenged god and man and cut the fate of string.

You're too sweet,
Like too much pollen weighing down the honey bee
Or the confectionaries my body has excised like demons,
Too rich and I retch;
I feel taxed just looking at you.

And your eyes shine too prettily,
--Like volcanic glass--while the men at the bar
Brag about a shiner with a swagger;
They wear wife-beaters like proud children wear scars
And you know, your eyes are too much like mirrors.

You're much too proud,
It deafens me like water in the ears.
It crushes me like water in the lungs.
I'm swept up in your current like a too far gone metaphor
And I suppose the wind sounds too much like your scream.

And your thoughts move too quickly;
Your brain is a lovely little thing running out of sight
And Beelzebub knows; he winks at me,
Slips something in your drink and says he'll help,
Says you're too much too little.

You're much too tired,
Like the world is much too the same,
Or the sky is tired of birdsong,
And mirrors of reflecting you.
And I'm much too sick of looking at you.

You punish yourself, Baba,
Tasting the power of life in your veins,
Tasting it as it drips quietly away, but
There's no life for you in these chains.

Perfection is a smooth, round pebble,
A cutting orb trapped in your sandal,
But as the blood pours trailing on the ground,
Clothed in tears, I will light your votive candle.

Your skin sags its sorry sighs,
But in the lying mirror, a trick of the eye,
Sunken eyes and a skeleton
Are once, twice bitten, but never shy

Have you achieved Nirvana, Baba?
Now that your body has gone away?
Have you left behind earthly terrors,
And the fears and cries of today?

And from your withered lips
This answer will eternally resound,
That you've seen final salvation
And for a rotting tongue, been crowned.

I met the devil on the razor edge of Pembroke and Third
While the corner cafe stealthily sold me hunger
In the scent of overburnt croissants and coffee spills.

You've got flecks of him in your eyes, you know,
They're the color of an impassioned yellow sky,
And your mouth froths a bit like boiling water.

And your laugh barks like a mangy dog
That's found another final meal
In a pool of scraps and pigeon blood.

The ground is too flat here, and the world too grey.
The wind whistles too loud and cars
Are leaving me behind in too much of a hurry.

But this is just a stop, just a chance meeting
With another glimpse of the devil
Until the bus unfreezes time in this toy town.

Until I can hide with the rats in the darkest
Corners of buggy bright lights
And share a bed with another devil in another station.

He's got a neck like a turkey, I think,
So small, so easy to wrap fingers around to choke.
Daddy always said to have an escape plan,
I just thought mine would be a door.

I could wax poetic, like I wax my body,
I could wax poetic and rip away everything
Until I'm left with the bare skin naked ugliness
Of this man with a neck like a turkey.

Momma was raised on the Devil's farm and she knows ugly.
She always said that turkeys were mean, proud things,
Mean with beady little false Thanksgiving eyes,
And he's got the neck of a turkey.

And I suppose this is his revenge after a life spent as the meal
And It's my turn to be the prey, and it isn't beautiful,
I've waxed away the poetry and now it's just us,
And it's almost funny.

He's hunting, and I know because he said so,
Feathers fanned out, Turkey playing Peacock cocky.
Daddy always said to have an escape plan,
I just thought mine would be a door.

He's got a neck like a turkey, I think,
So small, so easy to wrap fingers around to choke.
And it isn't beautiful and it isn't poetry,
I waxed it all away, and it's almost funny.

Hey, hey, hey ****** ****** dee
Sing this little song with me.

Pull out your worn fiddle and bring lethality,
I've put on my dancing shoes.
Hey, hey, hey ****** ****** dee,
Hurry, hurry, not much time left to lose,
But I'm tired of this **** ritalin musicality.

We were supposed to grow out of it and history.
Aren't you too old for another
Hey, hey, hey ****** ****** dee,
******* on thumbs, clinging to mother,
Screaming, crying, bathed in **** and finality.

We're recycling *** and morality
And pretending we invented the
Hey, hey, hey ****** ****** dee,
Crusaders, solving the eternal dilemma,
Self-righteous smiles bleeding duality.

Here is the prophesied castration of personality,
And I suppose you're best for being self-aware
Hey, hey, hey ****** ****** dee,
Dance a little closer to me if you dare,
Bathing in **** seems to have a certain sensuality.

Hey, hey, hey ****** ****** dee
Sing this little song with me.

I am the blustery winds of autumn,

I am the inevitable leaves that will fall,

I am the slow, crystalline freezing of the lake,

And I am the southbound geese as they call.

I am the sky's reddening, fresh flavor,

I am the trees endless corridor hall,

I am the song of crowd-muffled laughter,

And I am the grass where children will sprawl.

I am the bear as she eats her last fill,

I am the farmers last greatest haul,

I am the cold noses and sweatered long johns,

And I am October, October great and small.

My ears close up over themselves
Like heavily lidded fears and pots set to boil.
Memories, escapist messes from some forgotten Houdini, these.
You can close your eyes and watch the pictures dance by,
Portraits of thought that don’t cost a penny, just a moment of now.
Take a picture; these are free moments sorely given,
Give a second and develop the still dark.

Angels pouring air assure the empty pots they’re filled
While broken brothers decorate grocery bags with flimsy presence
And water-paint day stilled by frozen sky.
Broken, the world sinks into itself and backdrop rain
To become a solitary memory for only a cat seeking shelter.
It’s greyer than the weight of Atlas sculpted into myth.

I’m living like I’m already memory,
The gentle swell of sidewalk swallows empty
Pavement and houses and husky shadows.
The air is flavored abandoned and sweet,
And it rustles hair in the breeze like it tastes
Us too, and leaves its wet rain shower kisses.
I hang myself with lace, wrapping around my neck
Like a collar, heavy presence, weighted promise,
And it drips from me like the rain clings to lashes,
Cupping the cusp of morning dew left in
The darkness by fairer folk than us.

Three times, your grimy nails click across this table, miming funerary chimes,
            Three times, you began, according to plan, clicking the number of man and a second,

A second more and you might have reached this poor core of this sore heart of mine,
            But a second less meant one yes less than a first caress.

And here, we're putting shells to our ears, revering hidden purpose in our own austere inventions
            The Beasts' beauty increased with every delicious warning from the now deceased sacrilegious priests.

A gross of Gods toast to the ghosts of their creations, morose men and mavericks that left their posts
            And a hundred bones creak from the sound of their moans, because they've reached their completion of the known.

That's how many times the heart beats in a minute, we admit, playing hard to get,
            And that means something, we insist in our in-betweens behind the scenes.

Yes,
            That means something.

I suppose I'm supposed to be more
Than a tired husk of soul.

I suppose I'm supposed to say more
To fill this empty hole.

But how do you write a silent letter?

How do you sing a tuneless tune?

The sky cracks open like a skull and
White hot lightning pops out like teeth

She's a dragon, and she's breathing fire and
Her smoke of clouds is stained by a teary wreath.

And I suppose she's supposed to be more
Than a moment's will-o'-wisp

And I suppose she's supposed to say more
Than cries, clean and crisp.

But how do you write a silent letter?

How do you sing a tuneless tune?

The worms aren't here to feed the birds,
They just don't want to drown.

And here, they crow, they've made their choice
Between a bullet and a tarnished crown

And I suppose they're supposed to be more
Than Christ's last meaningful meal,

And I suppose they're supposed to say more
Than a final prayer to heal.

But how do you write a silent letter?

How do you sing a tuneless tune?

How do you write a silent letter

When there's nothing left to croon?

Maman tells me the things she misses;
Her eyes older than the skin that holds them
And hands weathered from life, not rain.
Glasses firmly balanced on the nose,
She says it seems like the little things at first,
Marbles and playing cards, a stick of gum,
But it builds on itself like calcite and plaque
Until virtue and minds waltz off the edge
Of finely tuned memory echoing in the abyss.
And the harshest losses we choose to forget,
The abysmal lost in the forgotten
And found only in sold out memories,
Like the lonely ring in the middle
Of a silent, empty room
While fallen trees quietly ponder
If anyone waits at the other end of the line.

Life is one long strain of chemical sequence
Compiled in a trans neurological equation
Beginning with alpha and ending in binary
Infinitesimal mathematical truth of
Eternal division, internal tessellation of
Fission, fissures, halving into countless universes
Of possibility till nothing is left but the remainder,
Parts of the whole,
Expanding, not imploding, slow death
Spherical dimensions beyond
Comprehension
Improbable inventions,
Explosive beginnings with no beginning,
Particles creating life, cellular,
Molecular, birth in light,
Death in darkness
Ideas formed from eternal truths,
Theorems not yet disproved.
Cycles of growth and decay,
Meaningless processing
Lead those capable of thought
To the forever struggle of
Why.

We who are the dancing, we who are the free
The laughing singing multitude that bears the song of the earth on our tongues,
That bear the soul of the earth with our hearts
And march to the melody of our own invisible song
We whose anthem christens the sky with the fullness of our boldness, of our voices,
The children born of the song of the spheres
That align with the stars and swim in the moonlight of forgotten gods
And pray to the miracle of the clouds, painted and forever traveling
We who are the awakened many
The harbingers of forgiveness
That do not shudder in the glorious face of eternity
And who wash away our tears along with our fathers’ past sins
We who were muted, who were muzzled and mauve
The silenced, shackled dreamers once hooked to the drug of complacency but
That chose to follow fate’s thread out of Asterion’s dwelling
And wander forever onward into the beautiful unknown

• We declare a peace that consumes us, white hot and burning
Without fear of our waxy wings soaring our spirits into the glowing sky
But with the joys of love and voices lifted in song
• We declare an equalness between ourselves, springy and pure
Without angst over our mortal trappings
But with the knowing in our stardust selves
• We declare a justice pure and blind
Without deafness or a commitment to her own fear,
But with a feather-soft understanding to temper her wrath
• We declare a world clean of human spite and neglectfulness
Without revolting sedation or penurious derision
But with the heart-worn life and long-wrinkled smiles of deep-rooted love
• We declare a dedication to truth and knowledge
Without the cowardice of a narrow, a cramped, a self-hurt mind
But with the mantle of honesty;
A mantle of honesty;

it makes us light as the flutters of butterflies

Here she lies, they'll say,
They'll say at my funeral,
Here at the corner of happy and hopeful
Here at the street between bitter and sweet

The sun will be harsh
And the rain will be soft,
And the winds will scream
Their blustering, bugling calls

Birds won't stop to say their goodbyes;
They have other places to be
And other winters to outrun
And they know they must move on.

And that day another hundred thousand
Will sigh and breathe their last breath,
Breathe their last breath and join me,
And together we'll watch the birds fly away.

Belts and wind and whistling teakettles,
--thus sings the gas-stove daydream--
They were all in the same league,
Forever-time winners of loudest screams.

But there are louder streams to drown in,
Deeper oceans and darker seas with harsher flow.
Moses opened up a red one once, I hear,
Someone whispers the name into another Merlot.

And life ain't fair to poor old Atlas,
He's sitting prostrate on the floor,
And he wonders if the world was worth it,
And he forgets this room ever had a door.

Listen to the static buzz topped with a 'v,'
The only window left for their escape.
The only window that won't open,
But they always denied that it was ****.

John Wayne is dancing by through the night,
And the world fills with his earthly glow.
With scalp in hand and women in tow, he says,
"Son, great oaks from little acorns grow."

And life ain't fair to poor old Atlas,
He's sitting prostrate on the floor,
And he wonders if the world was worth it,
And he forgets this room ever had a door.

Television flicker is the only company to nightly moans,
Reruns of memories and dreams run like paint
And the fumes hurt their eyes and burn their skin
More than the stench of day old saint.

I guess they forgot that skin was more than feeling,
They forgot that eyes were more than seeing,
They forgot that surviving was more than forgetting
And they forgot that living was more than being.

And life ain't fair to poor old Atlas,
He's sitting prostrate on the floor,
And he wonders if the world was worth it,
And he forgets this room ever had a door.

You are here* the words on the map read,
And they must be right, you tell yourself they must be right,
Because if they aren't,
Then you aren't anywhere.

Your eyes reflect into mine and then back into yours,
And all you see is swirling fear as you wonder,
Wonder what you'll find.
Wonder what you're searching for.

You are here the words on the map read,
The words on the map show a red dot,
But you aren't a red dot.
There must be some mistake.

In the back of your mind, you wonder,
Wonder how a body can see stars in your eyes
If they blot out the sky peering in.
A solar eclipse of the soul.

You meet my eyes again and wonder,
Wonder how we got here,
Wonder if we're really here
Simply because the map says we are.

Your eyes reflect mine and mine reflect yours
And if someone were to take a picture,
Our eyes would shine red,
Red like the dots on the map.

Our eyes do not reflect the stars and
They do not reflect our souls,
They are anchors between us, you and I,
They remind us.

Remind us we are here

And we are alive.

Looking in the mirror, you see the glimpse of another man's narrative before he dies;
He steals every motion, every thought; He stares with those bright inquisitive eyes.

And He'll mouth the same dilemmas and burn the same dreams
And he'll nick the same scars and swallow the same screams,

And you put your hand to the cool unforgiving glass,
Banishing you to the forgotten side of the morass,

And by the by, He will go on his own way,
He'll abandon you, he'll let you decay,

And the walls will close around you
In this endless game of guess who,

And the door will start to close,
You're the only one who knows

That here you sit, all alone,
Reflection cast into stone,

Just a shadow.
Just so.

My body is like an ark,

Swaying in tandem to the devil's music:

Satanic, secular, lustful,

Arms raised and face towards

The cracked ceiling plaster,

Shrouded in artificial light

like a discount martyr.

I'm addicted to your madness

I'm addicted to your prayers

I'm addicted to the envy in your voice,

The knives of iron in your tongue.

Take me apart, deconstruct me,

Consume me in the eternity of

Your boundless lies,

Your gluttonous mass that oozes

With false promises, born of

False belief, false idols, false pride

Yes, and I, the false martyr,

And you, the false prophet,

And we, the wrathful,

We, who are consumed by that

Which we have consumed

Until nothing remains but

The dust from which we came,

Sloth and tired,

Groaning wearily into the four winds

As we are dispersed between them

Till nothing is left but the irony

Of our own greed

But yet,

Like an ark, I sway even still,

My prayers to your deaf ears.

Look at you, with your picture perfect polaroid smiles,

Twin lips like butterflies pressed against cantilevered dreams

You can’t take what I can’t give, and we become exiles

In photographs, frozen in time and paralyzed thought streams;

We're captured lies of smiling faces pressed on flat screen

While televisions flicker, static reminders of broken men.

And a hand murmurs silent symbols, lines straight and clean,

And they profess miraculous meaning in but a humble pen.

With the writ of a word and the painting of a picture,

A cage is wrought around each enraptured mind,

And moments in time are taken, still no richer,

While only a perfect polaroid picture remains behind.

He always thought his heart was too delicate;
It was transparent, glassine, a window pane
Framed in soft petals and tears made from rain.

He lived in fear that it would shatter, unfit
For the world he was unapologetically thrown in
Amongst the chaotic, massive, earthly din

That spelled him into singular being, all alone,
A creature woven in fear and inaction
That once dared to chance interaction.

The outcome of this he couldn't have known,
For the true reason his heart was undone
Wasn't the splintering of glass or ambition.

It wasn't until he collected each every part
He saw what remained for what it truly is:
Only disassembled and altogether his.

Mechanical, but still, no less of a heart,
All it suffered was a little rust
And side effects of too much lust.

John Wayne is eying my soul.
He's the American God sent to save us,
And Papa worships him to save himself
From remembering we're the enemy.
It's a tiring chase,
And those movies always use the same old deserts
In a gaunt world set on repeat.
It isn't poetry to say it's a broken record,
But poetry cracked my bones to make a broth long ago.
It steeped too long and my mind is rusty
Like a too long forgotten horseshoe.
I don't know where I came from;
Papa prayed hard enough to forget.
Our creation story is the movies now:
In the beginning was the word, and the word was John.
A script resting on the shoulders of a beautiful new story
Where Papa worships him to forget himself
From remembering we're the enemy.

I cut my teeth on death.
Opened my eyes to a too-tall casket
Filled with the fresh scent of funeral home.
Cried, cried, cried because it
Smelled like my own little hungers.

Time was recumbent and rusting under its skin
From the words beating again and again
In the mouth of the old man from the funeral factory.
They were singing on fleshy metal meat
About what pain cuts like.

Too hard benches and too angry light
Shooting from the many-colored windows
With half-rate pictures recycled
From a time like this one
Hurt like a god to these little eyes.

The beams stretched and grew like a Gospel of Pain,
Eating, eating, eating my grandfather's casket
Into its hour by hour growing light
Like a painting dooming a moment to swell
Into an imitation of forever.

The light was angrier outside when we left.
The old man had banned it from witnessing
A husk and a promise of rot
And every would-be-martyr that had been called
From the depths of just-below-heaven.

It was like a nap, someone said
When they remembered to feed me,
Remembered to answer all the usual questions,
Remembered to tell me that the worst of things
Only happen to the worst of people.

Shaking shake shake quake quaking
Quake
         quake
                  quake

Falling like
         falling like         I’m burning like
                  Alexandria
Gonna lose it all like
         Gonna raze it all
                  like
         Alexandria
Gonna
                  gonna
Gotta
                           go
It’s         an
         act
                           shivering
Shimmering like
Falling stars
                  beautiful like
Burning like
Falling stars
                  we love pain
Like
         we love Jesus
Like
         we love
                  paintings of mangled flesh
and starving bodies like
         Streaming red on white flesh
It’s gotta be white flesh
                           with
                  red
         like apple candy red like
Seas like
                  Wine
Like
                           ****
It’s         an
         act
She said she said
         momma said
                  shut
Up
         shut
Stop up
                  Jesus didn’t cry
He
         Ate bread
                  didn’t blink
Didn’t think
         Drank wine
Burned like a falling star
         Gave up
Shut up
                           Died