in a world
where we
all crave to be
understood,
but different
and complex,
all at once
i was left
feeling as if
i were in
a cat's cradle -
undeniably
wrapped and tangled
around myself

for many moons
i tried to
believe
that it was me
and my lack
of an explanation
that could not
be translated
to the language
you had begun
to speak
that was quite
different
from my
native tongue,
but i began
to realize
that speech
had nothing to
do with it,
and it was
your refusal
to open your eyes
fully and drink in
all that i had
laid out
before you

i contemplated
myself often
and the idea
of change
flitted around
inside of my skull
like birds trapped
in a cage -
i knew i had to
set them free

it's been said to me
and i've said it
to myself,
i will find the one
who wears no
blinders,
who speaks my
language,
who wants me
fully

i will find that one
in due time,
when the timing
seems wrong
and i haven't
the time,
he will show up
and drink me
in and fill
himself completely,
and snip away
the strings
that have rendered
me useless
when it comes to love

On slick steel strings
six of them gather.
Around the electric hum box,
the muffled distortion buzzing
of suave spear-like poses

We are so green
and so mean.
The dance of divinity
in-between drum filled paradise
and a pair of hi-hat smash
the opening line to our razor's crass waving
our mantis praying

Drenched in reverb chorus shimmer
lightning dash with the blast trimmer
our boats the bass on the river melody
In reverie, Minced the mic
our barely audible voices shivering
our mantis praying

Strap stable static through magnetized
cords of magic
getting picked up on the down stroke
the shift bend pinch harmonic
capo for the overture
the reprise.

Fallen leaves in the back of the half-stack
octave raving
our mantis praying.

"cease fire" spouts microphone,
hot blood on tongue,
the wheels whirl,
dramamine for my ex-girlfriends,
dramamine for my future binge--
will this time do?

"listen, listen",
nah-- there's a war on,
we've got **** to do,
dramamine for the foothills of Dakota,
dramamine for the brothels of Orleans,
will I make the sun?

the vultures feast prematurely,
the death masque,
the collegiate, the *******, and the cry--
dramamine for the funeral singer,
dramamine for the swollen shrapnel,
let's just wait for the savior.

coldshoulders abound,
the gowns gather moss
on the carpeted plains,
with a snaggletooth
and a plainface,
         I kiss your blue lips--
         I kiss your blue lips--
         I kiss your blue lips--
if you love him,
why do you spend your time with me--
if you love to dream,
why have you been overindulging on grief,
we can build a family,
a torrent,
a tree,
a yellow bird,
and three graves--
call it real estate,
call it legacy,
just call it more than it seems--

coldshoulders abound
circling like vultures,
circling around the maypole,
taste turns mundane,
so we bite with sharpened teeth,
so we pull hair with renewed vigor,
         I kiss your blue lips--
         I kiss your blue lips--
         I kiss your blue lips--
until the hot red liquid of time solidifies.

With hearts in our hands
we pound the sky

the world burns below
and us atop our
mountains of greed
can know nothing
of the crumbling towers

the peasants rejoice
while their homes blaze