Americana Tropicana

 does it even matter...
their anchors couldn't even reach
to the bottom of the bathtub?
she will kiss till your lips cry,
but she wont take her dress off,
and at the bottom of the barrel,
they cuddle with their missile,
running out to sea.
americana... tropicana...
and the sail could fly the sky,
its such a strange job, it is,
playing blackjack on the decks.
americana... tropicana....
oh, does it even matter?
that she can see you wearing your
best tie out to sea.
crying out to the good ole girls,
stay with me.
and the slippery prawn slide on the deck,
trying to win your nets.
americana... tropicana....
atop this giant puddle,
we are dressed in white
and waging a war.

Embrace

imagine a day when the fire was invisible, but the shadows still danced.
and the pictures were clear in our minds, as clear as the glass wall dividing us.
on a brass plate the fire curled, cuddling with the air, two lovers in hold,
and every time the wind whispered in the fires ear, it shivered with excitement.
when the glass is crushed, the picture is broken and fire is able to take hold.

Water

although i speak in riddles,
its clearer in my mind.
i know i question things too quickly,
but i have never questioned love.

im not a skilled water carrier,
you've seen my spill the water from my hands,
but in a month as cold as ice...
i have learned to carry you, learned to carry love.

the queen of cups is watching...
i spill the vessel from my arms,
but there is water on my lips,
water in my heart.

Trevor

       Trevor rushed through the forest like a wolf on the hunt. the fox darted back and forth between the trees, terror flitting in its chest. the sun light filtered through the leaves of the canopy, blurring into the white bark of the pin-straight trees. the leaves under Trevor's feet crunched and crackled in his tread, and his hands stung where the wood of the pike stabbed into his palm. the foxes eyes flew around in their sockets, surveying the area for possible escapes. trevor spun on the ball of his foot and swung his body around, his feet slipping in the underbrush as he turned to pursue the fox who had switched direction. it darted into a hole, and trevor flung himself into the burrow, his hands grasping for the fox. as he picked himself up, the dirt in his hair cascaded down onto the forest floor. the hunt was unsuccessful.
      

the virgin queen.

merry are the horses heart,
they have it way better than motor parts,
and the darwinists are the virgin queens,
and the colonies of mechanical bees.
the virgin queen, shes mother nature.

were running as fast
as we can,
and the ground is cold

and our hearts grow grim
but the queen is bold.

men who shoot their horses are the same
men who would kiss your hand
are same men who would
pull a gun and shoot your freind.

the virgin queen, and her colonie
of goose and birds and trees and bees.
in the end, they try to rule,
but their blood runs thin,
and their mouths grow cheap.

the virgin queen.

in the end
its just a throne
and the things we have made
have begun to fade

and the locomotives are

after all just steam,

the virgin queen.

Hallowed signal receptions

My minda lwft behind,
its a whole 'nother day dream.
its another town, its another world,
were the bills are paid
and the lawns are mowed,
wha'd you think just cuz this song is done,
theres always another one?
waiting right around
the bend ,till this one ends.
and over and over and over again.
oh my world, its tossing and turning,
and the head line are warning
and warning and warning
of flash floods in my head.
and possible leakage from
news publications and,
possible leakage from
news TV stations and,
that very same morning
right next to her coffee,
she noticed some bleeding
and heard hallowed coughing,
the national geographic
was being too graphic,
when all she had wanted
to know was the traffic.

StreetSong

in the streets i always stumble,
that is unless, im walking straight.
and in the night i fall in love,
that is unless, i fall in hate.
and and in the garden im staring at beauty,
that is unless, im starring at guilt.
and if you are an apparation
of my past... then walk right in.

Ne me quitte pas

ne me quitte pas mon cher, ne me quitte pas!

think about when you were young and things were right

with veins so tight, and stumbling through the street

your walking, looking for your little light,

and no you wouldnt let it go, and no you wouldnt

let it pass, and you sing your ballads oh so sweet

echoing through ever-night.

ne me quitte pas mon cher, ne me quitte pas.

down in ever-night, the kids go sledding down

snow covered slopes. freezing noses, frozen toes,

ever night will start to glow, and waging war

for five years past, the soldiers marching

home at last...

ne me quitte pas mon cher, ne me quitte pas.

Swizzerlands.

in dusseldorf i met a dwarf,
his nose... it was red,
and in the cookie cutter village up north,
i found a pair of selkies in a sled.
and in switzerland i ran by,
seeing the druids lying in their bed.

and the little girl watches from the train,
watching apple heads bobbing by.
and in belgium the little boys brother,
wouldnt let him give the game a try.

and running along side the sled,
the selkies waved as they passed along.
im in a little bakery,
but it wont be here for long.

Hallucinating

i had a dream.
crispy crispy
benjamin franklin,
... came over
had a talk with my mom.
and in my dream,
crispy crispy
benjamin franklin,
talked about insurance policies,
the dead will be okay...
anyway.
and in my dream,
truning in her grave,
grandma talked about...
saving her boy.
the dead will be okay....
anyway.
hes back in world war II,
the nurse is his soldier.
and the black IV...
is his gun.
no thank, no thank you,
she dont have to pay for this shit,
break the operation,
burn benjamin franklin
and grandma's rolling in her grave.
the dead will be okay....
anyway.

SlimJim gets slimmer.

My mind, its getting slim...

slimmer.

my gloves caught in the machine.

im getting choked in the gases of,

civilization... of this generation.

oxidization of thoughts,

don't come easily no more,

im being autopsied,

by my doctoral doppleganger.

leaving my lungs,

on the end of a cliffhanger,

books.

they now drift away from my eyes,

lipped mouths fall into sight,

whispering their lies.

TickTok.

tick, tok. tick, tok... clunk.
singing songs within the silent mechanism,
and everyone is yearning...
...to get out to the inside.
to sing another different song completely,
so different from the one their always singing.
gears meshing against each other,
tearing apart brother
from brother, to one another.
and the clockworks part will fail completely,
the pendulum is constantly never swinging.
the colourless green things are sleeping.
and the clock, has stopped its stillness completely.
and everyone inside the mechanism,
has finally stopped their yearning yearnings.
and they are out.

in the style of literary nonsense verse.