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.