the world cries sellout in a blackout and fades our scene into white background, no space in which we may free limbs to twist, all vice no voice left n’ i’m all hoarse shout, but it won’t keep the blue birds holding up my words from flyin’ out
twisted so hard my eyes just flew south,
please ignore the tongue twisting up my mouth.
frontman with no front teeth croons his demons loose for an empty crowd o’ chairs in some tavern band,
and numbed down drummer, trips all over his beat until it sweeps the lost soul from each empty seat,
band’s one note song begs repeat ’til no end on these endless days
and unplugged jukebox in the corner never even asked to play.
a fresh corked bottle stands up in the middle of undressed table and gathers dust like dinner guests,
and not a scrap falls below our, level elbows to the unrest of gaunt n’ roving graveyard pets
but the gristly feast ain’t over yet, and i know this cause popped cork just grazed my sober head.
in thaw of moments, ever notice the pitch in bird’s tune shift at least an octave,
when frozen lemon beams hit the cheek like some boxer’s old wool mitts?
in the jaws of quiet moments, ever notice the pitch in bird’s tune lift up night’s hostage by the belt pinchin’ his neck?
it’s the sorta song that’s easy to respect, in spite of fever risin’ from its depths
i picked it up and just stuck it where i thought it best fit,
then hasty me, i picked it up again and tried to stick it somewhere different
then the regret hit, but tight space in which it once forced a fit had gone and filled in on itself without the very it that once fit,
and what’cha want, love? there’s nothing more to it,
you wanna read somethin’ different then go write it.
aspire for what you admire and not for what who you can hire
to stoke all your fires n’ poke your bears sleepin’ and pedaling in circles on broken unicycles feet worn swollen hot wheels in crisis-
can’t feel the brake through its molten metal, dead bus speedin’ round its track, sound’s so damn loud
he leaves muddy circles cropped. in crispy grass of wasted playground
coral ribbons twister ’round a formless girl who’s seashells whisper the songs that bridge me to her world,
where dove flags ripple to unravel like bashful gaze over shy girl.
sky blisters blue and dreams up a whole new world.
cloud dancer’s glow so graceful-, bobbin’ charged wires with swagger n’ shimmer
a slow-burning simmer, reducing snowy cap on pointy hill to wisps of steam
dust a pinch o’ powdered sugar and pour it in like some creamy whipped up dream.
the pale birds of haunted heather
have flown the flue for a tall glass o’ fresh squeezed water
and palms of pleasure’s balmy coves somewhere other than home where trimmed branches warp in droves,
she fails in freeing clipped wings time’s sewn into sofa’s leather,
n’ wipes her blue nose on. old starchy cloth she calls new clothes
cat burglar men manicuring lives for for the non living with fungus in gritty bloom under their nails,
kicked indents in so many bulges in fuck’it buckets, spilled hot garbage from jaws o’ many many tipped over pails,
IV bag kid’s missing out on the cloud of butterflies unleashed in each stumbling fail,
chasin’ all those nuthins through blazing hoops, in hopes of catchin’ a twitch of cat’s own tail.