Wednesday, May 30, 2007
/ Black Dog
What have you gone and done again?
Why the change of pace, why this and the end?
Old Friend
I will miss you most
I will miss your sloppy kiss, and your bouncy boast
Old Friend
Why have you gone the way of the wind?
Why have you went and left me with this sin?
Old Friend, I will miss you so.
Old Friend, I hate to see you go.
/ For the Love of Metal
The lead coats the floor.
Mechanized destruction.
old gears worn by the work of ages.
quietly the steel pierces the stone
and the machinery walk alone
clanking and screeching their way onward,
walking with no friends
smiles light their way
beats of burden they are called
without a soul they are formed
years pass when steel outsells gold
still we progress and see the holes
bullets rain down as if gifts from heaven
machines walk no more
rats like people scavenge the ruins
walk along the skulls and shells/ Purple Feathers
A Purple feather in the trees
Through the window pane
And out into the breeze
Insert it here?
In utero?
Or beneath the knees?
take humor in this
if you liked banana pudding too
then I would like you
like you liked it too
To all of those who didn’t think I could
To all of you who didn’t think I would
Waiting here, longing here, always hungry and such
Hanging, dangling, swing above the much
Wanting and wasting my broken luck
As the scars of the monsters creep up my body
Living no much longer
flame is just a bother
It’s Alright Riding around in the breeze
It’s Alright standing at the mouth of hell/ U, U 2
Been sniffing alcohol
Writing poems to pass the times
“There’s a hole in daddy’s arm where all the money goes”
Trees covered with snow in mid April
But why then did I write late?
Weather patterns got me thrown
All out of whack
The sound feels good, against a weather soul
And as it moves, the ripples of the ring
Underneath my glass move also
To the rhythm of the rain
Being poured out so that we continue
The soul of a lifeless liver, traveling from
Town to town. Never seeing the same stall
Twice. And still I set, with beer and ashes
That surround. Writing.
Where’s my keys.
Returing home at this hour. Sometimes they will just
Pull you off the road in sheer boredom.
Ticket after ticket they write,
And they accuse me of stealing this. After
I infact searched for days trying to find
Something similar. Many days, like 90.
/ Death as it Rhymes
Gun to my neck
Knife to my throat
Save me now
Only for the cyanide
Kept in my coat
/ if i ever wrote one, it would be this
the things i regret most
having glasses that never fit my face
never being able to remember the important stuff in life
seeing things from the view point that no one else sees
the immorality of society,
the way she twists and turns at the every whim of the masses
anger; damage
i hate most
pompous people
everyone is the same, but no on believes
peace is for sell, but no one purchases
anger; damage
other things, indifferent in nature
never knowing the full potential
having tact, and not having tact
illnesses, and their fake cousins
anger; damage
you know, i feel like i just wasted my day
hundreds of dollars spent on souls
that one day will lay wasted like the rest of the earth.
Why is blood red? makes me smile and cringe at the
same time
never having the satisfaction of getting what I want
never, the women, never the fun
being bigger...being smaller, never any luck
never any gratitude
i never wanted anything, i never complained
why not this one thing?
one thing I ask, I did not receive
a smart child you say, obedient, never seen someone
with as good a head on their shoulders as me
but they are the captain of their ship
mind what they say, and do as they ask
i never hit anyone with an umbrella,
she blew a whistle in your ear and I told her what I thought about it
and like last year, words for flatulence
a disruption in order, come on?
other things i forgot to mention
the ones i loved, knew it, for i told them so
sorry if this is a selfish act, but damn
there is a song for this, can't get no
but you know how that goes, and you seem to not care
reading was more fun.
walking back to, there were dirt roads, gravel, and some loose cement
i remember the bus ride there, with my clown shoes
a tooth paste fight and the like
but it was what i said, the fact that you know
i really did sum it up, and you laughed
we could have been good, but you know, you have your bf
and I had my science fiction or whatever sad pass time owned me
i say, i told you, and made up a lie i told more than once
there was horses there, and the name of a prominent family all around
we didn't seem to care, except for the rules that some broke, and I had to keep
except for the lies we were told on more than one occasion
you weren't the first, and certainly not the last
so much so, your name is not even in this, my last
i just wanted to give a synopsis, something saying
i can't cope, my best ideas were a t-shirt, and some arson
why was she like that. she could have been cordial, she could
have just said, sir please no, but nah... she prefers the other
the other method, let's get the stick and stir some too.
i was told once, by several wise me, several things
but i never really listened to any of them, i had a fear of
a fear of making someone from up north right, even if they never
knew. i was afraid that i might realize the truth. so i followed
the advice of a man that was not wise, probably not even smart
i realized, i sat, i grew farther from the truth i knew what was happening
When you are seven, and asked about your future you say something neat like
fireman, or astronaut, or baseball player.
(because of society,
and the way that professions are portayed at an
early age to the youth, probably because we actually like child labor)
well, my major flaw was that i was no where near this
at first
i said i probably wouldn't ever see a career
not because people in my past didn't have good ones but because i could see
i wasn't built to carry on
then i decided that hitman was a noble profession and no one found it necessary to
tell me that this was not noble
that, vision problems, the south and others made me, me.
i tried to write a conclusion, but this is long enough, i should have put
chocolate syrup on it or something, it tastes bad like this
and it ain't like i am gonna have to clean it again.
and at some point
it's not like i want to be whiney
and it's not like i want to complain
i know the kids in afrika or whatever suffer
but i cant take much more
tapping beer bottles at a soft pace will eventually
break them
just keep putting it off, and let them deal with it
deal with it
/ The Reprise of Saturday, Deux
the strokes backward and
the paint returns to the tube and to the store
and the truck drives backwards to a factory shed of
its pigments, and I.
sit, here alone with nothing to do
trapped between the oak trees by the
road that leads up to a rustic house
and barn that I can never reach
trapped in the distance by glass, another pane
that enshrouds the splendor of my land
hanging, on the wall
since saturday is gone, I can no longer
travel back
my being is forced here, and I might
as well make the most of it.
leaves perpetually twirling, still, and I.
with time will begin to slump. my
presence in the shadow.
subtle blues come through, and
in the shadows I'm caught.
I don't belong here the leaves become angry
And the tree turns its branches to shield
me, my soul, from being seen.
but as a fire burns blue I am set free
In the smoke of the smoldering oil paint
my spirit runs
and no more can I be trapped behind glass
unless I chose to