Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Sunday, July 20, 2008
elaine on the plain
now i lie in need of a lonely regression. i can't remember a time without her. her cheek bones high like the humming bird's cry. look! she'd say as she point out the bird. i say, i am glad i stayed home from school today. i liked the birds and the bees like she'd liked the v's and the AMCs. mitchum flaunting in knuckles, she'd chuckle at his good looks. "I've always like him" she'd say, "so take a good look." he doesn't go by the book, just an handsome old-fashioned crush. even if we're all just a lush.
driving around hollywood, the home with the note behind the mirror. a cobb salad rests in peace after a 30's kinda feast. turn me around; look where i've been. oh how the boulevard been abused. golden as she whose seen babies and guns. sometimes we just forget how to run. i love you, you're myself. a goddess to history or all lies and a mystery. i know you as the silver vixen who sparkles with stars as you kick aside another's chides. not the svelt young stunning woman that partied and tried; a glancing back era laden with winks of approachability.
but you were never so innocent were you? purest ideals back to the time when chastity and honor were abused with brash, as you say, class. breathing out your smoke with a doctors note and a nod. was it all so much better then? when men were men and women were cats. she says, look where sinatra sang, now it's there where the hookers hang. oh, but it was so much better then.
maybe the pain cutting in on the dance, breaks your backwards glance. you tried to run away but it wasn't the right day. away from the home, from the farm, hollywood's alarm. but what did you think you were running to? from the little town where you were so stunning? gracing the stage in a bitty high school choir. a stage play, you take all the suiters' breaths away. were you thinking about stunning in an hollywood picture? he went off to war, but you couldn't wait to be small.
fifty years later you were never small. more like my star. you filled up my eyes with your beauty and poise. filled up my head with the lies and ideals. the more you gave up. the more empty you turned up. empty inside. like an empty barrel that only a sea could sweep away.
a hollywood star to a grandchild. the star who remembered every note. the little girl who needs. needs you on a molecular level. like onions to your enchilada. you just need more. skip over water and bring home the frogs. skipping generations to bring them home to our world. the world of our ingeniousness stupidity. addicted to this or to that. sticking our heads away from the light. croaking as they infest, pumpkin seeds growing in jest. but we drown in the pool. a pool of fresh lies, cries and diet fries. It's ok to remember the picture in pieces. it's ok to remember the picture through any lens that lends. don't call the gardener. let the weeds grow. they're my favorite part.
and later still i don't even know who your are. and later still, you don't know who you are. you're smaller and weaker, trapped in a bed. from super-hip to a broken hip; molecules? where are you? do you betray our connection? do you remember me like i remember you? i can't run to you anymore. i call you when i cry out for help. a soft spoken achille's heal can't even see you anymore. memories have been parceled to tomah, i think. the part of me that hurts is the part of me thats you. the golden era, innocent and ready. the pre-dawn hours before we are enlightened by the tragedy of hours. the horrors of years. the inevitability of age.
i'm mid-day and your at dusk. we will meet in our dreams and our molecules will be the same again.
driving around hollywood, the home with the note behind the mirror. a cobb salad rests in peace after a 30's kinda feast. turn me around; look where i've been. oh how the boulevard been abused. golden as she whose seen babies and guns. sometimes we just forget how to run. i love you, you're myself. a goddess to history or all lies and a mystery. i know you as the silver vixen who sparkles with stars as you kick aside another's chides. not the svelt young stunning woman that partied and tried; a glancing back era laden with winks of approachability.
but you were never so innocent were you? purest ideals back to the time when chastity and honor were abused with brash, as you say, class. breathing out your smoke with a doctors note and a nod. was it all so much better then? when men were men and women were cats. she says, look where sinatra sang, now it's there where the hookers hang. oh, but it was so much better then.
maybe the pain cutting in on the dance, breaks your backwards glance. you tried to run away but it wasn't the right day. away from the home, from the farm, hollywood's alarm. but what did you think you were running to? from the little town where you were so stunning? gracing the stage in a bitty high school choir. a stage play, you take all the suiters' breaths away. were you thinking about stunning in an hollywood picture? he went off to war, but you couldn't wait to be small.
fifty years later you were never small. more like my star. you filled up my eyes with your beauty and poise. filled up my head with the lies and ideals. the more you gave up. the more empty you turned up. empty inside. like an empty barrel that only a sea could sweep away.
a hollywood star to a grandchild. the star who remembered every note. the little girl who needs. needs you on a molecular level. like onions to your enchilada. you just need more. skip over water and bring home the frogs. skipping generations to bring them home to our world. the world of our ingeniousness stupidity. addicted to this or to that. sticking our heads away from the light. croaking as they infest, pumpkin seeds growing in jest. but we drown in the pool. a pool of fresh lies, cries and diet fries. It's ok to remember the picture in pieces. it's ok to remember the picture through any lens that lends. don't call the gardener. let the weeds grow. they're my favorite part.
and later still i don't even know who your are. and later still, you don't know who you are. you're smaller and weaker, trapped in a bed. from super-hip to a broken hip; molecules? where are you? do you betray our connection? do you remember me like i remember you? i can't run to you anymore. i call you when i cry out for help. a soft spoken achille's heal can't even see you anymore. memories have been parceled to tomah, i think. the part of me that hurts is the part of me thats you. the golden era, innocent and ready. the pre-dawn hours before we are enlightened by the tragedy of hours. the horrors of years. the inevitability of age.
i'm mid-day and your at dusk. we will meet in our dreams and our molecules will be the same again.
evoking Grace
evoking Grace
in the morning love is born
with the sun peeking over the darkness
slowly
the presence of loss sleeps awake at the wheel
by rocky night we fight till
the trite understanding of the end
we have
the loss of those come and gone
forever a mother, a lover, another
light
that dies to be reborn in our hearts.
our dreams are our paintings of
a leaf in a tree
nature shades a Lynn while she watches you
play
so let your balloons float high to the sky
and
on that day
the day that it falls,
a miracle will plant itself in an idea
within the day bad news is passed we're
to desperate to take that flight
alone over rain clouds and into the sky
together forever a flight to the future
to obvious to deny she's going home to the moment
that sinks into itself
evoking Grace with a single trace
of kindness shown to a weeping brook
to March in your movement the second
she shows her face.
in the morning grace is born
you've had it all along
a goodwill ambassador from the country of dreams.
Written between March 2, 2008 and March 4, 2008
in the morning love is born
with the sun peeking over the darkness
slowly
the presence of loss sleeps awake at the wheel
by rocky night we fight till
the trite understanding of the end
we have
the loss of those come and gone
forever a mother, a lover, another
light
that dies to be reborn in our hearts.
our dreams are our paintings of
a leaf in a tree
nature shades a Lynn while she watches you
play
so let your balloons float high to the sky
and
on that day
the day that it falls,
a miracle will plant itself in an idea
within the day bad news is passed we're
to desperate to take that flight
alone over rain clouds and into the sky
together forever a flight to the future
to obvious to deny she's going home to the moment
that sinks into itself
evoking Grace with a single trace
of kindness shown to a weeping brook
to March in your movement the second
she shows her face.
in the morning grace is born
you've had it all along
a goodwill ambassador from the country of dreams.
Written between March 2, 2008 and March 4, 2008
I'm Big in Japan
japan, part one.
i can touch the light
i'm not up for the fight
zero in my illusions
already a bleeding contusion
but i'm big in Japan
like i waits, i see a man
awkward here in a cry
a lie for a chance to die
i am tangible, when it's time to come
i feel my animation's flow won
a hint at the lusty devotion
so i cause a big commotion
nothing keeps me from talking
the tonic of my walking
side by side with the dark
is i always leave a mark
i stand at the station
feeling no aggravation
i succumb when i turn
i prefer the blue watery churn
or the fight over the clouds
far away from the crowds
i'll be a devotion or maybe a potion
he's coming out with emotion
japan, part two.
loyalty spills
into into a jar
to be stored for the winter
or a freak stunning blizzard
or
maybe an earth shaking
to free up my
my history coming and going
in a night or a fight
kiss me hard on the mouth
then glue a collage completed by ads
and lulls and the glimmer
intertwined
together
it's glowing and light as a feather
contradiction appeals to me
i draw in a box
to keep quiet my deals
confined within walls the color bleeds into
corners
unfortunate monseigneur
i can't enjoy that again
oh but i will
over and over
take me to your sea.
take meds. take a fee,
take a key i've got three.
i stare at the men not a green thing in sight.
not one like a leaf.
It's fall don't you see.
no. then they'd all just be dead.
epilogue: past & present, here & there:
i just noticed i grew into the clear
Vice Parade
trying to catch a flea. one of life's great pastimes.
trying to kill a vice. one of life's even greater pastimes:
there it is!
get it off!
it moves to fast.
it lands and it multiplies and it drains you of blood.
you tried.
you missed it.
so you itch it some more.
but i'll make it a circus.
i'll give my vices little pea coats and whips. I'll teach it tricks and to do dances and even some feats for the crowds.
you would have paid for my show. but i don't know who else would agree. they'd say, "Ew, you got lice, I can't stand the sight of vice!"
So, at last I am alone, with my miny entourage of vice. Just me and some worms and hermione and ron. a little magic could go a long way in making visitors stay.
but alone i'd rather be. it's chock full in my head any-way.
even if i got lonely today i'd say the parties pretty full.
How could you compete with a circus of tricks taking my lobes and playing feats that outwit my own hopes!
so thorny it is when i think I'm in love! i crave cavernous inklings of poetic mainstream! I give credit.
even when i talk to people i feel separate.
i feel like an outcast.
i just want to admire butterflies and hold them on my knuckle. i want to be in the rain and look up at the clouds. i want to walk around with music in my head. the singers understand what i feel.
i feel to much sadness, it weighs down their balloons.
i want to discover things.
i want creatures to help me chase this drink, this existence. to understand why its hard for me. don't criticize oddities but enjoy flaunting them like a paint brush to the sky.
there cant be two of you. you should have died so you say?
everyone else has a normal problem. maybe they just don't like fleas....
i feel so blue while seeking for green.
"you'll never it find it like that!"
"no, but maybe my color is black?"
she looks down at me, eyeing my black t-shirt and scoffs.
"for someone so black, you paint a colorful woe."
so poetry I get, as a partying gift of death. poetry and a circus and a bowl full of chuck.
the vacuity without you is daunting. at least before i had my heartstring attached!
i am not sure where you are, but for a while i was. now i'm confused, and the fleas are selling out every night!
now i am alone again. caught up in a nagging addiction that will hurt me to hell. i pray for the strength to make it go away. i can't. it's the only thing that helps.
pills every night and dinner isn't down. my teeth hurt and my brain is confused. it's not really pretty, not even "heroin chic."
it's better in the dark no one likes you with barf.
especially me.
trying to kill a vice. one of life's even greater pastimes:
there it is!
get it off!
it moves to fast.
it lands and it multiplies and it drains you of blood.
you tried.
you missed it.
so you itch it some more.
but i'll make it a circus.
i'll give my vices little pea coats and whips. I'll teach it tricks and to do dances and even some feats for the crowds.
you would have paid for my show. but i don't know who else would agree. they'd say, "Ew, you got lice, I can't stand the sight of vice!"
So, at last I am alone, with my miny entourage of vice. Just me and some worms and hermione and ron. a little magic could go a long way in making visitors stay.
but alone i'd rather be. it's chock full in my head any-way.
even if i got lonely today i'd say the parties pretty full.
How could you compete with a circus of tricks taking my lobes and playing feats that outwit my own hopes!
so thorny it is when i think I'm in love! i crave cavernous inklings of poetic mainstream! I give credit.
even when i talk to people i feel separate.
i feel like an outcast.
i just want to admire butterflies and hold them on my knuckle. i want to be in the rain and look up at the clouds. i want to walk around with music in my head. the singers understand what i feel.
i feel to much sadness, it weighs down their balloons.
i want to discover things.
i want creatures to help me chase this drink, this existence. to understand why its hard for me. don't criticize oddities but enjoy flaunting them like a paint brush to the sky.
there cant be two of you. you should have died so you say?
everyone else has a normal problem. maybe they just don't like fleas....
i feel so blue while seeking for green.
"you'll never it find it like that!"
"no, but maybe my color is black?"
she looks down at me, eyeing my black t-shirt and scoffs.
"for someone so black, you paint a colorful woe."
so poetry I get, as a partying gift of death. poetry and a circus and a bowl full of chuck.
the vacuity without you is daunting. at least before i had my heartstring attached!
i am not sure where you are, but for a while i was. now i'm confused, and the fleas are selling out every night!
now i am alone again. caught up in a nagging addiction that will hurt me to hell. i pray for the strength to make it go away. i can't. it's the only thing that helps.
pills every night and dinner isn't down. my teeth hurt and my brain is confused. it's not really pretty, not even "heroin chic."
it's better in the dark no one likes you with barf.
especially me.
Tomorrow. I Throw my arms around blunders.
Rethink my name.
Reframe my game.
Retrain my brian.
Beginning to remember.
Beginning to feel tender.
Beginning to sleep in a blender.
Just don't be afraid baby.
I just don't like Maybe.
Light now, in a poets corner.
Call the coroner in a horror.
Just another bloomy foreigner.
Just don't be afraid.
He forced you to get Laid.
She didn't want to trade.
Tonight the words are the fire
Don't be afraid I posted my flyer.
Yesterday my heart drank to mend her.
Yesterday I waited for your sick tender,
Yes, Today I cleaned off the blender.
You speak to my number.
all butter and cucumber.
no toast, not a time to slumber.
remember my name or try to
remember my game or try to
rememeber why i came or...try two
cubes of sweetness
they say, hey!
be afraid baby,
it's still only maybe;
just one cube will do.
one drop'll sweet the sting.
Tomorrow. Love in the time of thunder.
I don't worry 'bout blunders.
Look south. Because it's coming from North.
Tomorrow. I Throw my arms around blunders.
I don't worry 'bout Thunders.
Say Cheese! I smile bout my mess!
Tomorrow. I grow hearts around troubles.
I don't worry 'bout the bubbles.
Look west! I like to kiss him with mumbles.
Warning! Please read note!
Note: Sugar made in the shape of yesterday. Mold responsibly!
Reframe my game.
Retrain my brian.
Beginning to remember.
Beginning to feel tender.
Beginning to sleep in a blender.
Just don't be afraid baby.
I just don't like Maybe.
Light now, in a poets corner.
Call the coroner in a horror.
Just another bloomy foreigner.
Just don't be afraid.
He forced you to get Laid.
She didn't want to trade.
Tonight the words are the fire
Don't be afraid I posted my flyer.
Yesterday my heart drank to mend her.
Yesterday I waited for your sick tender,
Yes, Today I cleaned off the blender.
You speak to my number.
all butter and cucumber.
no toast, not a time to slumber.
remember my name or try to
remember my game or try to
rememeber why i came or...try two
cubes of sweetness
they say, hey!
be afraid baby,
it's still only maybe;
just one cube will do.
one drop'll sweet the sting.
Tomorrow. Love in the time of thunder.
I don't worry 'bout blunders.
Look south. Because it's coming from North.
Tomorrow. I Throw my arms around blunders.
I don't worry 'bout Thunders.
Say Cheese! I smile bout my mess!
Tomorrow. I grow hearts around troubles.
I don't worry 'bout the bubbles.
Look west! I like to kiss him with mumbles.
Warning! Please read note!
Note: Sugar made in the shape of yesterday. Mold responsibly!
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