A static hum buried in the question,
always there, never shows itself.
Eagerness teaches another lesson,
while you gain another welt.
Greif and love combine into confession,
under undulating twilight, smell
the roses and release this tragic session
to a happy hell.
I’m not welcome, or am I
what have I been doing near the sea?
A child so tantalized by fire,
He reels it in, and won’t release
Another clump of wet earth launched out of the trench finds it’s way back to the ground.
Thank you, dear gravity! The man with the shovel wipes the salty sweat off of a furrowed brow, then stands on his tippy toes to steal a glance at the community sundial in the quarry. Half past ten, quitting time. The second sun is just beginning to rise. He can smell the dew beginning to form on the lilly farm across the way, the sweet scent dancing around his nose hairs, sensual.
"I can’t take another 15 months of this mindless grave digging" he thinks to himself with a reflexive sigh. And it was true, he really couldn’t, as this was the last moment before the opalescent black stone came rocketing out of the abyss and connected to the mans skull with a thunderous thwap and
teams of shiny white stones
arranged to bone in a horseshoe pattern
vibrating as they will, so proud
who turned the speaker on so loud
gnash away, split that sustenance
yeah, that’s the ticket
we hold real covenant
just drink from the spigot
"yes, I believe it’s true"
a bowl full of peaches
all singing the blues
with leaves as a bed
i made mine as a reason
to season my signature
simple and pure
with a deafening hue
don’t have a paradise to lose
don’t need one
subtle movements become
the most powerful potion
and i become one with an ocean
shouts out to Lucifer for
such a useful expression
I’m tired as hell
But not from staying up so late
How many times
Will I ponder what it is
I just need to read another book
It’s out there
I know it
At least I found a nice little island
To rest on in that software programming
Yeah that will tide me over till dinner
Yeah that’s nice
The sun set a few hours ago
Havent heard the oven buzz
I need a nap
This next song is about a little boy that learned to fly over the sea without ever even flapping a feather, very minimal effort. That boy is not me, I have never met him. Living in the ocean isn’t any better than such a strange variety of why am I so ANGRY the guy from Hawaii at the show last night was just a huge fan that’s all. There’s nothing wrong with spending $385 at the merch booth. “Don’t beat yourself up over it, you were tired”, I tell myself, staring in the mirror, face flecked with tiny little volcanoes. Lava gets pretty fucking hot sometimes you have to let it spew I’m so damn irresponsible with my belongings that tire was long overdue for a fill fill fill fill fill me I’m empty out of steam dropped the marbles again. Friends are nice and all but whatever I’ve got an internet connection.
I don’t believe any of this. I got a ride home and slept through the night.
A bed of red and yellow leaves, 6 feet deep,
I’m buried in it.
Encased in a tube of plexiglass filled with warm water
5 feet across.
Steel Knifes of various shapes and sizes
dance around in circles outside of the container.
I see them through the translucent surface.
They wave at me, cheerily.
A thunderstorm rolls in.
The sound of hair getting snipped, smooth and clean.
Each drop is a shift in vision, a darting eye.
Each flash a deep sigh, a flume of breath.
Awake much later than he should have been,
the scribe tapped away at his stone desk
with the bottom end of his pen.
Each dull thwap marked another precious moment slipping away
into the great nothing.
"Where to begin?" he thought.
“This used to be effortless.”
Another chirp of the cuckoo alerted him
that he might find himself dozing off
during tomorrow’s luncheon.
"and with nothing to show for it."
The nights continued to slide on in this manner,
as he lost sleep to the beckoning spirit of the moonlight
and lost daylight to the unscheduled naps.
"and still I have nothing to show." he lamented, stricken with sour regret.
His existence become worn to a sepia tone,
reminiscent of the stacks and stacks of parchment
amassed in his study, so aged that it had begun to curl at the edges,
as if reaching out for a missing lover.
His eyes pooled black with the excess of ink
he had stowed away over the years, which sat, by the barrel,
in the corner.
He was stunted by no lack of resource,
not a single drop had been spilt upon a single page,
as he lay awake another night,
eyes bright as the waxing moon above him,
I haven’t really had the time to think about it.
I haven’t housed this much doubt, ever.
I’m feeling better till the dreams come around again,
I found my friend hiding in my mind behind the lion’s den.
You might know the name, know the history, and what he did.
You might want to know I didn’t do that.
Courage is a hot commodity.