Tuesday, September 16, 2014

He Can Miss Her Just The Same

He has missed her in the forest
while he showed her all the flowers
and the branches sang the chorus
as he climbed the scaly towers
of a forest tree

And she was somewhere
being free.

There's a man who sent a letter
and he's waiting for reply



He writes:

Wish you were beside me.
We can make it if we try.
He has seen her at the office.
With her name on all the papers.
With the sharing of all the profits.

He will find it hard to shake her
from his memory.

And she's so busy
being free


Now there's a lady
in the city
and she thinks she loves them all
there's the one who's thinking of her
and one who sometimes calls

There's the ones who writes the letters
with his facts and figures scrawled

She has brought them to her senses
they have laughed inside her laughter

Now she rallies her defenses
for she fears someone will ask her

of eternity

There's a jokester and a jester
and a drummer and a dreamer
and you know there may be more

She will love her when she sees them
they will lose her if they follow

She knows she only needs to please them
and her heart is only hollow

While she is busy being free


(Joni Mitchell) /

Monday, September 15, 2014

To Keep Going

In my mind
I hold
a dream
that keeps me going

It was you. Again.
I don't always dream of you.

But when I do, it's a trip.


You and I were in a hallway
in a place that felt like royalty

you were dressed in gold lame

And I walked passed you slowly

a long hall
of many doors

And as I passed you
I turned to you and said.

You are beautiful.


I took a few steps more.

I said.

You know this is true.
Because I said it to you.




Sunday, July 20, 2014

Host of Seraphim - Dead Can Dance

Soft Work

Perhaps the things we do in life
do not add to much
Certainly we try
to make it all pay

We try to be true to our calling
remember our calling is true

But we change
the world changes
even the universe changes
slowly

You've changed.
I've changed.
slowly

I've decided.
To grow out my hair.

This does not count for much.

I've decided.
To play a game obsessively.
Sometimes until I pass out.

People will not be impressed.

I've decided.
Even though last night.
I threw up when I awoke.

The taste of acid was rough.
My stomach felt better without
its contents.

I'm tired of being a blimp.
Again, this doesn't count for much.

Fat Americans are not something unknown.
Sadly.

The angel descends
to your dresser
and knocks over the blessed virgin
so you know
to obey
your mother

And still you don't.

My car is wrecked.
My life resembles broken glass and splinters

I cling to the supercell
of dark hope and driving rain
and lost wishes and pain

And you.
Fading.

Further.
And further. Away.

I dig.
The ley lines coursing beneath my village.

Searching.
Hoping.

The evening brings the mosquito
with soft wing
and sharp tongue
and I know I will need to stop him
and so my eyes return.

Forced.
And now.
Fun.

And one by one.
I make them pay.