Monday, February 28, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
strangers swinging from the rafters pouring vinegar from holy pores
a balcony fire that spread to the chamber pots through valleys of cream and sulfur.
the empress violates greasy spoon and fork wisdom. storm clouds stalk the indigent and glass slippers seamlessly line the walk ways of paths unknown. all in the good of the fountainhead says i and we are dancing light years beyond the putrid purple sky.
Fabricated by gasoline and revolution at 10:32:00 PM
Friday, February 18, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
It happens without you noticing, all the meanwhile it's all youre
thinking about; everything is changing. No, you've moved and thought
too slowly already.... things have already changed.
It happened while you were sleeping. It happened when you were out in
the road spinning around in circles like a topsy turvy carnival swing
It happened while you were falling in love, you didn't notice it.
It happened when you got angry and shouted at the clouds
And they just poured out to you
But you didn't notice
Things are changing
No, you've moved and thought too slowly already.... things have already changed.
Fabricated by random strings of code at 3:24:00 PM
the ancient egyptians believed that if the names of the dead were still spoken in the land of the living that they would continue to live on in the next life as well. with that in mind,
i miss you all, and hope the next life treats you better than this one did.
Fabricated by gasoline and revolution at 12:06:00 PM
Sunday, February 13, 2011
I've got some men hanging from my branches, swaying side to side as I walk
Skeletal closet blues
I've got hounds gnawing and gnashing at my back, smaller ones lapping
up the blood
Skeletal closet blues
I'm running away
The blues will stay
And they'll follow
Ain't that a paradoxical
Walking death sentence
The skeletal closet blues
Fabricated by random strings of code at 3:36:00 PM
Friday, February 11, 2011
There’s a ghost & he lies in my bed
He has a beautiful face
but lacks a beautiful name
He kissed me on the mouth
& told me that I myself was beautiful
By morning, his soul was gone
Fleeted with an apology
“Moving on to the next life, mama.”
Throw some change in my direction
‘Cause this scenery needs a fresh take
Everything adds up to dollars and sense
Each breath, mile, sip & smoke
Drags me back for the same price to the same place
I’d like to grow new skin
& exchange my used organs for new ones
like products sold on late-night television
with lifetime replacement warranties
But here you go darlin',
You can have my old ticker,
Free of charge
No shipping or handling
No cash on delivery
You can use it as a pair of shoes
Lace them tightly to your feet
So I can feel where you’ve been
You’ve been vomiting romantic words
Naked in your kitchen
Coming up as bubbles
& I won’t say much
Because my nerves are shot
& I must remain delicate
But you’re the type of bad habit
Mothers warn their daughters about
The kind of guy that'll make
a perfectly good woman go mad.
Do you love every dish
that’s put in front of you
with a side of booze
or am I the only one?
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Tuesday, February 01, 2011
Woody Guthrie wrote This Land Is Your Land
in February of 1938,
hitchhiking through Pennsylvania
on his way to New York. He felt
the mountain range wind laughing.
Over lean miles, he lay on his back,
feeling for the rumble on coming traffic
to disturb the unstirring wilderness.
There was no road but his road,
as I-80 dreamt him along.
If you look for America there, you'll see it
passing you in scenes, standing like billboards on the highway,
moving pictures of the great, empty
The oak doorway straining in the
weather. The toll road charming your
last few dollars. The chyrons pronouncing that
the corners have been turned. It's like the
bookmark melting into the page. The field
slowly becoming forest.
My father brought pieces of America with him
when he left. There was the dirt on his boots.
He held onto the sky in his pockets.
He could throw it on the wall, and it would
slowly drip into a mess on the floor.
This was not something he would worry about.
Remember, these roads are still holding
a space for you. Remember that Woody Guthrie
in the middle of Pennsylvania
and he saw beauty.