Watching the programs take hold
Seeing people go robot
Sensing the depth of the mould
As the rethoric is at standstill
The sidelines are being garnished
For the demise of us
As a dormant rodent in a right state
Is what they’ll end up making you
Believe.
103 – 07
Like a weathering Jesus
Stuck to the dashboard
With a cello between her knees
Her soul kneels to the occasion
I spit in the rearview mirror
As if I could make it think
While the beaten up vehicle tears
Down the dirt road
To another colour hell
It used to be another story
Mostly in another town
Now it’s mostly waiting
For the man to show
By now for all intents and purposes
Are going to be straight up
Some are going to be black
Some are going to be blue
Faced with the utter lack of purpose
She bitches about levitation
Pretending not to see me
Hovering around the clouds
Suspended on the brink
Of her lament in C minor
Now that I have surmised her secret
She bitches on a speeding mission
Where for better or for worse
She smiles like pending doom
As to throw me the curve
In the final stretch I deserve
While the pole position swallows
Hurdling unfinished obstacles
To the finish I grasp
For a cubic foot of a worldmap
So there’s nothing for me to add
Alas she is bitching to the beat.
28nov.07
101 – 07 -
I am over the hill already
Hurdling to make a comeback
And I like it here
Working on the basic soundtrack
Of the making of the elements
That constitute one’s life
A life that’s worth half the effort
Put into making oneself
Worth living as an outcast
Smiling at beautiful young women
Sometimes with a wink
Over the hill there are grapes
There are risks worth taking up
Lazying around bathing in the sun
But kicking buckets of nails
Like truth to the cross
Without any known leaks
I wait to cut always
A new sound deal with ghosts
Around the liquid bend
There are stories that drip
To make your mind twitch
Waiting for a grant
To purchase peanut butter
In this staleness
Hoping for my heart
To get to know it
At the broken beat
That the following seconds will slit.
102 – 07 -
We are the spin doctors
Of our own demise
We are but a singularity
A black rip
In the tissue of culture
We are the problem
Of our lack of solutions
And the world turns
The globe spins
The days drift
How many more hours
Does that exactly make?
Will there be enough time
For these slits
To depart my throat
In the aggressive silence
Where my blood sits
Though minds change
Species evolve
Others disappear
One singular consistency
Is the missing link
That is used
To keep me away
From getting to know you
Away from your eyes
Away from your mind
Away from your being
The blood from my vein
Away from feeling
A connection with the sane
Since the fault
Requires measures
I pray to my guilt
That it surrenders
And that one morning soon
My telephones will screech
With the sound of your voice
Telling me to go
Go to hell
If you want to
And join me here
In the burning comfort
Of regretful abundance
In the story of my love
So many odd years
Too late
This is but a key to the door
Of your dreams
