The Blue

What has come out of the blue is not what you expected
So says the tracks on forgotten night walks
The fatigue we feel after a long but good day
When Brad Pitt plays a gangster I think he might just be making money
Something on the sly. No one should get perturbed.
The special effects were pretty great but not real
Time doesn't slow down that way or does it. Can't say I know for sure
Though I've seen these moments be a little slower
Some of those who come back from the beyond say they know it does
That we are all careening off into some deeper place and it is slower
The mind is not able to keep track of it. The man with tie caught
in the slow moving machine knows the dread. The absent mind.
Are
We
To
Know
our
fate
has
only
elasticity
or
it
is
frigid
pink
.
.
..........

Last Rites

they bog you down with paperwork
which looks more like words on a screen
until inside there is a scream
a shredding interior and they say please do it
and you do because there is no way out of it
the forever tunnel of smiles and gestures and scowls
until you bend over in a bow that wasn't planned
you grab your ankles and kiss your ass goodbye
as it is said by so many pulp novel characters
their mouths turned sideways and spilling teeth
Hurricane had to have sex with Travolta to save me
from a beating from pulling the prince nez from a balding head
It is autumn again and the cold is refreshing on the nerves
dreams pop up instantaneously and woven women cry over tall balconies
not a real balcony but woven one at an rate
Hear what they say. It is all made up. Their words are rags
thrown off back alley trucks that careen
we are all a little shaken up. It is time to leave this life
someone will perform last rites on the poor animal
it is not your fault, you just lived here for awhile

Dark Barn

there's always the potential for holes to present themselves
the halves are present/we have sown this together with breath
so if I ever leave you it is but a flake on a mirror
the radio gets a little untuned and shuddering at frequencies
of a not known future/glance back in the glue transparency

she became a little unrattled which was nice
blue smoke parted from a scarred reflection
sitting is not always an option/standing a privilege
we put on our coats to leave/ reminiscent of smoke
the partial head of the shadow dancing in flame

tomorrow I will come here again and look over
vast possibilities in the deep green grass
summer slowly seeping out of veins/ winter voices
she brought the duck to the farmer today
she was fluffy not hard and hollow as I thought

the dancing at sunset/minus a specular nothing
we turn in again and again all woolen and forgetting
was it I who told me to look before I made the mistake
getting a little grizzled and sometimes with withdrawn
the solid wood smell/that is/a longing for a trip

when I visited them it was hard to relax from excitement
couldn't adjust what was inside to fit what was on the outside
and looking in as if I was outside the house
the textured air/presence of something else
stepping down to walk up into your light

Your Birthday

You are thinking about that song and its true meaning
All of this leads somewhere maybe
Like, why were you looking for Guy de Maupassant?
The beautiful librarian who holds the key to peace
You think about the way it is pronounced, Gee with a hard G
Which brings us around to "gee", the expression
Gee it was a beautiful reception at the bank today or
Gee we were so let down by the story of the famed librarian
Who gave up the use of the Dewey Decimal System
For some other guy who lives in the data processing world
Something lies beyond our lies, right? It's all a guessing game
A coat closet at the far reaches of a grand piazza
There is a smell of fur and a class war of perfumes
Yesterday, it was your birthday and people showered you with affection
But do you deserve such warmness, does it belong to you?
Looking into the darkened mirror, there is de Maupassant
Just another reason to float in the vast blue of a day dream
That is somebody else's imagining of a day dream
Yours is described without color, without words
No rainbows or wanting to go out for icecream and a hotdog
a can opener or a belly flop, just learning to swim

Half Century

I looked at the hangman looking back at me
Someone to cry my half baked tears to and not the mirror
One man's joke is another woman's whole cloth
and the swords laid on wands know the secret tellers secret
Discover everything you need to know behind it
You sit under wishing to stay up a little longer
This time it will appear as it did before
Don't ever bend to the will of another unless you're a willow
You will never know until it is known
There's another truth to be told but it is not yours
A keeper of the tall branch where birds alight anew
When the sea changes we billow and fall
It is not my truth/It also is not your truth
A ship need caulking every so often when the wind is blowing
But you pull that face drowsy lost forgotten
Forced to be kind and inside a hot packet of evil
Our masthead cracks and the cupboards empty themselves into
One man's joke face that spreads itself like a blanket of stars
The sights are always unseen as big pillow nightmares descend
All I need in this world is a cup half full and my wah wah
Wells up in you the force so strong it brings tears to her eyes
The night before yesterday when all was calm before the clown came
The hangman hangs upside down and the hermit lights the night
And the heat comes on as the day is so cold and fierce wind
Then into the evening caves you go to sleep with the bears