We are the tin men
never the thin men
we walk in lines
within confines
never to weep
seek emortal sleep

A simple shape to hold the world.
As hard to hold as light and warmth,
The life that lives inside a shell so brittle.

Crack it open and steal its worth.
Take the gold that held the sun's light
Scatter the pieces of sky
Crush the life that lived inside

An ant has no quarrel with a boot it seems
And dreams weren't meant for life with out wings
So clip the feathers before they form
Take the bird and don't let it grow

This world is a terrible place
Yes, this world is a terrible face.
Better to die than grow in times gone lean
What difference does one sphere make?

We have been invited to a masquerade
We take a moment to halt this crusade
In life There are ups and downs, side to sides, like plaid
In order to find the good inside of us, we must get through the bad

We have been invited to a masquerade
Even though we may feel as if we are being betrayed

Rivers that separate rich folk, poor folk, your folk, my folk
I think it’s time the world finally awoke

We have been invited to a masquerade
We stare, never moving, without a choice, like the milk maid
Dance, sing, anything! I shouldn’t have to persuade

We have been invited to a masquerade*
This is not a time to maim, blame or downgrade
We no longer spit our deadly lines
These life lessons should be taken as signs

Be careful what you think, because your thoughts are not your own
“Where did you get this inspiration?” You ask,
Well dear, from my home

I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it----

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a **** lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
0 my enemy.
Do I terrify?----

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else,
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.

It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart----
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash ---
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there----

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

Take me away.
Lead me to a little house
on a hill, picket fence
enclosing the fresh lush garden.
Lead me to the front door.
Let's make this our home.

We'll lie in the meadows
during Sunday afternoon picnics.
Children's laughter chiming,
while I'm wrapped in your kisses,
embraced in your warmth.
Let's make this our home.

When the rain storms down
on the roof ahead, and
our frustrated words like
lightning darts around the room.
Open your arms and forgive me.
Let's make this our home.