Chromo Sapiens        Lightening Up        Reading into Things        What to Do

Gasoline Smoker        Bad Methods        There's a Hole in Mine, Too        Sticky Rivers

So Hungry, So Full        What a Drag, Take a Drag        Caged Remains Remain Caged

Clouds Close Up        Glucose        One of Those Dinner Theatre Things Where Somebody Dies



Chromo Sapiens

The trash man sits where the sidewalk splits
And becomes half-wood, half-platinum.
As the circus passes, the unamused masses
Wave obscene balloons and laugh at him.
He pulls a long cigarette, but knows he won't forget
The transition to sandpaper from satin,
So he lights it, then folds it
Quietly into a napkin.

He grins as he says,
"Like my world, it burns red,
But will mean nothing to you
Until yours becomes blue."

The carpenter measures the diver's new treasure,
And says, "Sure, I can build a closet your size,
But you'll have to give up some of your precious luck.
For, there's far too much luster in your eyes,
And you can't be bailed with gold when the Devil's got your soul."
To which the diver replies, "Those are lies,
And sweet Satan signed a contract
That promised me I cannot die."

He grins as he says,
"Like my world, it burns red,
But will mean nothing to you
Until yours becomes blue."

The compulsive teen keeps himself clean
By scrubbing and scraping his hands.
His girlfriend starves. Her skinny arms
And legs were made to dance,
But she's just too wild. Her Tourette's style
Makes the judges take a frightened stance.
Her boyfriend's flesh is so pure, now,
It feels like fire ants.

He grins as he says,
"Like my world, it burns red,
But will mean nothing to you
Until yours becomes blue."

The trash man is tired, so the carpenter's hired
To construct a chair in which he can sit,
And still have plenty of room for others' silver spoons,
Which he polishes and consumes with.
He offers to share with the unperfect teen pair,
But the boy, sensing germs, throws a fit.
While he's shaking, the diver
Teaches his dancing treasure about sin.

He grins as he says,
"Come on. Join me. Burn red.
They mean nothing to you.
Your wild world has turned blue."


Lightening Up

Friend, I don't know
If you watch or read the news,
But last night I heard something
That I thought you should know.
Turns out some kid from
All the way in Argentina
Walked to Canada to become
An Eskimo.

They flashed his name upon the screen,
I looked him up
In the yellow pages,
And gave him a call.
I said, "Good sir, could you
Tell me how you made it so far?"
He said, "You just can't be
Too afraid to crawl."

I told him that the things
He'd done and said were beautiful.
There was some silence,
Then he said, "Not at all.
You don't praise piggies
For rolling in mud.
You rarely thank your baseball mitt
For catching the ball.

I guess there's just some things
You've come to expect so much
That you don't give them
Any thought.
So, you can imagine
The look on my family's faces
When I told them,
'I don't feel so hot.

No, I don't feel like
Feeling so hot.'"

I spent the rest of the
Night in my notebook,
Trying to draw
Some conclusions from this.
I must've drunk a gallon
Of Mountain Dew,
And taken a
Two-hour piss.

But, after some deliberation,
I realized
That the reason I feel
So dead, sometimes,
Is because I squint my eyes
And stare at stupid shoelaces
When the sun is trying
So hard to shine.

You know, if you dumped a bunch of bleach
On a filthy pigeon,
People would kiss on sidewalks
And call it a dove.
But, only when you catch yourself
Cooing to no one
Can you admit that
You might be in love.

Can you admit that
You might be in love?


Reading into Things

One arm around the soul.
One arm around the waist.
Both greasy hands in my pockets;
Doesn't mean that I don't want it.
Doesn't mean that I do;
No, not even with you.

Lace your fingers; pretend you don't feel it.
Cross your eyes; pretend not to look.
I read between the lines on your face.
Your heart is an open book,
But I am blind,
And you're not braille.

So I'll lay in my bed, and I'll watch the fan spinning,
And I'll wonder if you ever really meant what you said.
Wonder just why it would even affect me;
Wonder just how you got in my head,
And why I like
To have you there.

And, maybe, the fanlight will shine down upon me --
The answers lighting up my pillow and hair.
Or, maybe, it'll cast shadows all around me,
And I'll see my silhoutte, and I'll get scared,
Because it no longer looks
Anything like me.

I'm going to focus my thoughts, and see through to the present;
Going to try and sort through this mess I have made.
Time to balance my brain without chemicals or cutting.
Yeah, I'm hoping that, this time, I can be that brave
Without the aid
Of cowardice.

You're looking to me with those terrible wolf eyes,
And I want to make you sit, so I can pet your fur
And transform you from a werewolf to a terrible kitten.
Then, I'll tell you how I feel, and I'm hoping that you'll purr,
Because I don't want to cause
Another catfight.

You're listening to me, but you're not hearing what I'm saying,
And I'm speaking to you, but I'm not saying how I feel.
I know that it's physical, but physical is something
That can be made emotional, and become real;
And then we'll know
Just what we've got.

I've got a fish hook for a necklace, and I'm hoping to lure you,
But I don't think it'll work, because I've eaten all the bait.
I'm afraid, if you get too close, I might catch you,
And make your lips bleed, and tear up your face.
And, I won't want
To throw you back.

And, then, there is her, and we're all swimming in the same school --
Avoiding the sharks, and trying to keep afloat.
And, I wonder if my tears are waterproof at all.
And, through this running ink, can she still read what I wrote?
And should it mean
The same to you?

I think I'll destroy all the letters before you find them.
And, I'm going to deny all the truth, if you ask.
You know, I find it hard to look you in the eyes when we are talking,
And I feel a little dumb for failing at such a simple task.
But, it's kind of hard
When you stare right back.

I guess the funny part about this is that none of it is true,
And I guess the truth is that none of it is funny at all.
But, Honey, I think you better open up a window,
Because it kind of stinks that I have to build myself this wall
To hide myself
From what I feel.


What to Do

Painting stigmas on your forehead
And whispers on your lips
Kneeling down onto cracked concrete
And giving thanks for This
Pull sweaters past your pimpled face
And clench your teeth in shame
Rolling snake eyes everytime
When satisfaction is the game
Sketching ghosts and goats and fairy tales
All swirling in your head
Bubbling for a final breath
With swimsuits made of lead.

Falling from a freight train
With no soft grass in sight
Jumping from a jagged edge
To kiss the clouds Goodnight
Babies in a laundry chute
Snagging as they go
Shaming my obscenities
As though you really know
Face your crimes with carving knives
A smile becomes a frown
You turn the television off
And watch the Moon melt down.


Gasoline Smoker

Red signs hang from scarecrow throats,
Warning you not to put that fire to your mouth,
But you're a crow asleep in shadows,
And you can't decipher what all these scribbles are about.

So, you puncture a steam-heat balloon,
And the vapors rise like tension, but they never reach the sky.
It seems you've had your bubble burst too soon.
You should've let that ego fill up; you almost learned to fly.

You should've told your friends that they meant something.
You almost learned to fly.
You should've warmed their lungs when the cold was hurting them.
You almost learned to fly,
But now the fingers you broke grips with
Are the hands you need
To not let go.
You need to not let go.

Green letters are tied to railroad tracks,
But taking time to read between the lines might make a train come.
You've seen the light; there's nothing left to do but get smashed,
But a wasted mind and broken body can't run.

Now, your friends, they all pass by.
You see, they've learned to fly.
Are you still having fun?


Bad Methods

You never played Cops and Robbers.
With you, it was always Weak and Dependent,
And despite, or because of, all those who loaded dice against you,
You always seemed to win it.
You counted on others like cards,
But, when they turned around, they turned out to be wild.
So, why were they so surprised to see you face down,
Like a king of hearts, with no reason to smile?
Forgive them; they don't understand.
You were dealt an awful hand.
Now gambling's made you lose all of your sense,
But you don't believe in luck, so what's
The difference?

Make yourself up like a rooster, now,
And strut around the coop,
But every chick in your radius
Knows exactly how to see through you.
It seems your beak is dangling,
And your feathers are all falling, too.
Everyone knows that cocky persona
You display is not the truth.
Oh no, it's a skeleton.
It'll come back again
To fill up it's sagging bones
With the marrow of your existence:
Being alone.

You used to sew dollies for a living;
You gave them little button eyes,
And every dumb girl who thought she was a princess
Wanted one as her birthday surprise.
The secret was stitchin' with real human emotion;
Every "wah-wah" was another lie.
And, wasn't it your cruel vision that decided
Any babe on her back's gonna cry?
The lips and legs hummed with love
To which no one could live up.
So what if your idea of wealth
Meant All-American Ana damaged
Some teen's health?

Now, the spotlight's swooped itself around,
And focused the heat on center stage.
You stand there with a blank expression
That's been carefully painted on your face.
You fumble with your sleeves and pockets,
Trying to detract from your disgrace,
But you're choking on everything, now;
You don't know your character, lines, or place.
Just then, from where the director sits,
You hear, "Screw the script.
As they say, all life's a stage,
And, if you're not by now, you won't ever be
On the right page."


There's a Hole in Mine, Too

She used to hold pens between her teeth.
She'd put skirts over shorts
And cartwheel in the street.
Now, she looks away from me.
I know I'm a creep,
But I can't wait to hear that she's choking on ink.

Whore.
Whore.
Fucking whore.

She used to hold dollies between her legs.
She'd comb and braid their horse hair,
And pray for a fake face.
Now, she dissects their bodies,
Giving each part my name.
I hope that, someday, every one of her fantasies breaks.

Whore.
Whore.
Fucking whore.

She used to hold me between her sheets.
She'd forgive my shortcomings
And gnarled trackstar feet.
Now, she toasts and drinks my sweat,
Saying, "You used to taste sweet,
But there's nothing less spectacular than a wound that just bleeds."

Whore.
Whore.
I'm your whore.


Sticky Rivers

These hills
Form the silhouette
Of a woman
Laying down her body
And spreading for the sky.

These clouds
Accept her offer,
And spiral down
Into her
Only-somewhat-
Trembling ravene.

These trees
Rise up
In ceremony
With blistered branches
That, somehow, never tangle.

These boulders
Roll off her
Body
Like tumors,
As passion erupts
With a thunderclap.

These white
Dashes on the road
Blur
Into a line
With no end
But my beginning.

These visions
Are cruel
And terrible
When all I want to be
Beholding
Is you.



So Hungry, So Full

Making melting butter sexy
Is her favourite art.
She is a tasty, hot addition
To your artichoke heart.

There is a cool, refreshing wetness
In her dripping words,
So you up-and-down, plunge in, pull out;
A dirty dipping bird.

She squeezes fruit between her tongue and teeth,
Letting all the juice drip out.
I've seen you kneel for this Communion
And catch it in your mouth.

With her damp thighs she crushes coconuts.
Her legs slurp at the milk
As it surrounds her and consumes her
Like flypaper made of silk.

She screams your name from her coccoon,
But you've closed up your ears.
Actions speak louder than words,
And there's nothing left for you to hear.

She squeezes fruit between her tongue and teeth,
Letting all the juice drip out.
I've seen you kneel for this Communion
And catch it in your mouth.



What a Drag, Take a Drag

Somebody once told me our brains are just mist,
And it leaks through our eyes when we cry or we're pissed.
She told me, "You don't know how lucky you are
To be blessed with an over-sized thought reservoir."
But, I'm tired of this sloshing flood in my head.
Wanna let it spill out till another sea's dead.
When I told her this, she said, "Boy, you are a fool.
I should not have assumed that you played by the rules,
But I should warn you, before you are martyred for art,
There is no race that you can win with a false start."

So I'm sitting here with white knuckles wrapped around the wheel,
Because I don't want to think, so I'm just trying to feel.
But, the only thing I feel is my foot on the gas,
And suddenly seventeen cylinders seems too fast.
I shatter my foot trying to slam it on the brake.
I spin out, run off, wind up somewhere down in a lake.
I try to pop a window out, but it won't give,
And, as the fish swim by, they nod their heads and say to me, "Kid,

The liquid in your head is really more like a gas.
You've gotta have some pressure, or you're gonna collapse.
We know it sometimes feels like you're going to drown,
But, without some water in you, you'll be crushed by what surrounds.
When you feel suffocated by air that's too thin,
Just lift up your chin and make your own oxygen."



Caged Remains Remain Caged

Unfastening my buttons;
You don't even blink.
You're pouring your sympathy for me
Down the kitchen sink.
You don't care if your fingerprints slip,
So long as the bottlecap still twists.

Is it any curiousity to you
Why I flew?

You wielded serrated scissors,
Clipped the tips of my wings,
And said, "You'll never be like the lullabies
You so desperately sing.
Their tones are beautiful and bold.
You are a broken-throated crow."

Is it any curiousity to you
Why I flew?

I wrote you poems, I brought you roses;
Everything you said you'd need.
I guess an empty soul takes a whole
Lot more lies to feed.
You were eating my emotions.
I regurgitated smiles.

Is it any curiousity to you
Why I flew?

Now, there isn't a horizon,
And the sun has disappeared.
I've only been gone for the weekend,
But it feels like I've wasted eighteen years.
Still, the weariness is less
Than when we were at our best.

Is it any curiousity to you
Why I flew?
Because, it is of curiosity to me
Why I fly and fly and fly and fly, but I'm
Not free.

And, is it any curiosity to anyone
Why, even when you're with your best friends,
Nothing's fun?



Clouds Close Up

The wind has turned sour.
I'm walking away from Damascus.
I'm sorry you're tired,
But you're helpless because you don't ask us
To give you advice
About things that you know we've been through.
You call me a coward,
But I'm vomiting because I want to
Be one of those girls
You look at whenever she's talking.
Damascus is small
Now. Or, maybe I fade when I'm walking.
The gates have slammed shut.
I guess they went bankrupt or something.
Well, that's what you get
For putting all your stock in nothing.



Glucose

You offer me a candy
That I know will not taste sweet.
Oh, I don't want to be layed down
If it's just to kiss my feet.

I do not trust your tired eyes;
I do not trust my sleep.
I need to be a field for you
To land in when your engines weep.
I offer you my dancing;
You can have my twirl and leap.
And, you can just get high off me
If mountains are too steep.

I'll hold your tongue inside me
Till our pillows overheat,
Even though it is a candy
That I know will not taste sweet.

I'll paint your thin, red racing stripes
To help enhance your speed.
I will not leave the sauna
Once the temperature's increased.
I'm here to stick through thin and thick;
Through sun, sand, slime, and sleet.
I'll chew your foreign banquets,
Though they may seem strange to me.
And I will gladly step aside
When you request to part my seas.

I'll soft-boil and swallow bullets
So that you will never bleed,
Even though each one's a candy
That I know will not taste sweet.

So, you've got some land
Where the mountains turn blue
And expect me to not
Want to run free with you?
Let's get out of this city,
Stop drinking bad coffee.
Go to where history's over,
And rain shakes right off me.
You can have wild horses
If that's what you choose to ride
But, if your body's too gone to gallop,
You can come lay at my side.

I will break every tastebud
That's telling me how to feed.
Because, I just want to want sour,
If you insist you won't taste sweet.



One of Those Dinner Theatre Things Where Somebody Dies


I'm tired like a flower
That's stuck in a womb,
Trying to reach the light face-first
So that it can bloom.
You're done like an infant
Trapped under topsoil
That's sprinkled with salt
So that it won't spoil.

When you leave the door open
And unplug the phone,
That doesn't make this
A more comforting home.
When you lock all the windows
And turn on the stove,
I'm feeling the burn,
But I'm ready for love.

But, you cook like you're killing,
And everything's turned.
How do you keep so cool
While your childhood's burned?
What happened to train sets
And astronaut dolls?
I hear boxcars collide
While the dollies all fall.

I'm an opera libretto
That nobody knows.
And, when you don't have the words,
It's all too fast or slow.
But, I'll wear my tux
If you powder your nose.
In my head, I am gone,
But the music still goes.