I guess I'm learning how the seasons change
Leaves fall like lingerie
From the marble shoulders

Twenty two times cursed
But I feel the same
Needle has me feelin'
Right as rain
Don't need no ******' body

But I still got her picture in my pocket
Slap full matchbox made me wanna burn it
Snapped and pinned tight upright
Until I saw the morning light
Said goodbye now I'm feeling there's hope
Shaking winter from my shaggy coat

I was born ten thousand years late
And I'm just a tick off of happy
I know a place downtown
And a girl named Chelsea
One night we sat at a booth
After her shift
Drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes
I bet we could be happy she had said
Move out to the country and finally be wed
But she has her ****
I have mine
I love you
You love me?
Well, that's just fine

she's gold on one side
silver on the other

heartened and free
she runs like a car wreck
racing at breakneck speed
trudging through sand to conjoin
two-fold into one.

little passes by her that goes unnoticed.

she drinks in every opportunity
to swallow what ever happening will feed her today's lesson.

equanimity hostility frivolity passivity.

she knows the streets have taught her more
than she will ever forget.

and she can remember how it felt
to taste ***** in her mouth
when she looked in the mirror
that mocked her every breath.

she tries to back step
and unmake a bed
that she's told she made
and must lie in
for the rest of her life.

she wants to call consignment
and have it undelivered
but they won't take
bug ridden
**** stained
sprung and un-stuffed
pieces of junk that carried
peoples dreams in the dark.

there's no worth, they say.

so she's left
carting around holes and dead air.

melted glass and ***** cartridges.

spent fits and broken tin.

wondering
what kind of legacy this is
for a very pretty tousle haired girl
that trusts her with unfeigned eyes
and believes in super mom?

she cries at night
and tries in the morning
being as tangible as they expect-

but in that socketed place
that holds spun sugar contemplation
she buries herself.

one two-fold parades all day
playing puppet gurrl games.

she lives in a land of
pots of gold and rainbows
clover and blue moons
moving one step at a time
towards what's expected
because she knows nothing else.

day in and day out
running like a car wreck-

gold on one side
and silver on the other.

You should share, more
We must learn from your experiences
You are an example
Share, ******!

We like you.  See?
We use your words.
Imitate your dress & style
Learn all your songs.

Give us more
Show me how to think like you?
Be my guru
*I'll be right back

Oh freddled gruntbuggly
thy micturations are to me

As plurdled gabbleblotchits
on a lurgid bee.
Groop I implore thee
my foonting turlingdromes
And hooptiously drangle me
with crinkly bindlewurdles,
Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts
with my blurglecruncheon,

see if I don't

Compliments of Douglas Adams' Hitchhiker's Guide to Galaxy & Wiki

Men went happily to death
But they were not the men
Who marched
For years
Up to the line.
These rode a few times
And were gone
Leaving a heritage of obscene song.

Against too many writers of science fiction

Why did you lure us on like this,
Light-year on light-year, through the abyss,
Building (as though we cared for size!)
Empires that cover galaxies
If at the journey's end we find
The same old stuff we left behind,
Well-worn Tellurian stories of
Crooks, spies, conspirators, or love,
Whose setting might as well have been
The Bronx, Montmartre, or Bedinal Green?

Why should I leave this green-floored cell,
Roofed with blue air, in which we dwell,
Unless, outside its guarded gates,
Long, long desired, the Unearthly waits
Strangeness that moves us more than fear,
Beauty that stabs with tingling spear,
Or Wonder, laying on one's heart
That finger-tip at which we start
As if some thought too swift and shy
For reason's grasp had just gone by?