Could law we broke figuratively
Demand our justice?
Like clippings sealed in thick books
Observing penance,
Freely battling justifications
And counting down days until extinction.
A cold winter’s breath blows
While a dainty little pixie dances
Towards destruction’s edge.
Flirting with every step,
Every essence of being,
Until fluttering about in a daze;
Imploding into decay
I’m stuck in a bag of invisible fabrics
Four to a row in uneven stacking
Massively bulging at the edges and pushing
From inside this bag of invisible fabrics
And if I should get to the top of the bag
Can you imagine what it’d be that I’d find?
Perhaps a wild land of unspeakable magic
Or a desert so sweeping I’d fall back inside.
The company’s not bad inside this bag
It’s rather amicable to be all conjoined
Amongst pears and apples, and mushrooms and goo
It appears the eggs haven’t prospered in here
I’m certain that someday soon I’ll find
I’ve been placed down on some solid ground
And as much as I enjoy this exciting ride
I’ll be off and gone, out of this bag
A whisper so hard it broke down my spell
It scared enigma into heaven (or hell)
It washed away dirt with sputtering rains
And bellowed my sorrow into blood diamond eyes
But shivering silently in 2nd hand bespoke
Was a crimson laughter settled in with a smoke
That footsteps sung to all evening long
Fiddlesticks and canyon guns and school yard home runs
Shed not tears into these nostalgic shakes
Be not without faith, my ruby candied cakes
Memories are to guide you forth, a long settled score
Into night’s conquest march with a battling roar (whisper)
Then lifting my eyes to tender so bare
Lightening bolt shine struck with red-velvet boud-air
I shuffled to my flagpole in a partners embrace
And broke spells in a whisper, hardly a trace
An eager atmosphere pushed the Devil to yell
He barked at the moon like he was rattling hell!
And out from the works came scuttling all
To exercise weeping; watch the blood fall
Leveraging our fathers (our mothers) with time
In a forceful toil-workers rhyme
Which consumed a brackishly concocted design
Of feathers and chicken bones and half frozen lime
We beat reason into apathetic institutions
Who spoiled magical innocence and intuitions.
We followed the Devil with dazzling premonitions
And were left alone; a severe lack of solutions
But whispers died slowly as the fog rolled away
Laughter could be heard above those who’d been slay
All in a night which reeked of delay
And the Devil returned home carrying his lay
We each remember our stories just a little bit harder
– A little bit longer in tooth –
With vinegar to keep infection afar.
And in our judgement, our fantasy act
We search for crime, and it’s partner punishment
To soothe our broken bones that lay
About the floor in disarray.
But as lost is all that has begun
If for whatever reason we hold onto none
Then let our hearts beat madness
Pitter-pattering our footsteps forth
Into cold days of snowy forgiveness
That crawl away as we push back the tears
Singing sweet songs to our guiding Archangels
Mischief lept into the hands of death,
Startling perched birds
Into instant explosions skyward.
It drew the sounds of wings
Squabbling on,
And following the commotion
Into the sun
Blindness crept in
And faith began to recoil
Sinking slowly into nevermore
A Lancelot trumped my bourgeoisie
Gallantly racing from glen to glen
His head held high on Concorde
I beg of you Sir, lay easy my hem
When my lover waves on, forever, amen
A needle digs deeper guiding the well worn thimble on
Scaring dogs, singing and howling like Big Momma John
Like she’s snaking about a pale spotlight covered in sequins
Singing the whole time about a blue moon kissing her empty bottle
And filling each patron of the evening with wonderment
A quiet lady, sitting idle at the bar dressed only in pink
Clinks cold bricks slowly about the smoothed edges of her glass
Pulling at her soul for every single bit of truth she has
With high hopes that this very night will reveal all that could ever be
And harness her abandon like the piano pullin’ Big Momma John in
A mood envelops the patrons, sensually gliding from table to table
Touching far reaching itches only elation and jubilation can satisfy
Like the silver lining on a red velvet goblet
Deadly for all those unaccustomed to these desires
And final, like large Gothic keys hung around the undertakers neck
If lights of day
Took me away
Would I close my eyes to dream?
And if this bright
Far off light
Should cease to be my guide,
Then who – if any,
Would be my star
And lead me on my way?
Mimic my every cry
As I let you whistle low
I’m ready for the hunger
I’m ready for the feast
Left alone at the crossroad
Pack all filled with air
A dollar too much down
Dusty register’s golden crown
Felt hard in my left
Checked the other one again
Heard my freight-train-a-coming
Lookin the other way now
Long road comin hard
Off to another day
Felt the executioners tail
Felt the grip to mother-me
Ramblin rose staring at me
My eyes gone, going back understood
Creeking sleep covering me
Lurching stops frightening me
My bag and me settling in
Easy train rumbling on
Lost my voice miles ago
Keeping my whistle down low