Spit An Image

Spit an image out your well-rounded mouth
And ponder its meaning and colorful purpose.
Does it show a landscape sick with green
Measles or a light pale sweat of feverish hills?

Picture this future with fervent conviction
That no matter how hard you try the hell-infested
Air will fill your lungs to make party shaped
Balloons that get thrown in a corner to slowly deflate.

Spit an image out before it's too late.

There will be no age on the digital screen or
Counting the lines of a fading oak tree.
We remember moments as single bits of make-believe
Space, ever-expanding the heaven of waste.

Mercy comes from a clean brain scan that's
Proof to the doubters who couldn't make a choice.
I wish I knew more of the medical field;
Spit an image out to see what's revealed.

The Quiet Ones

It's time to put on your game face
Your happy face
Your if you weren't just who you are
I'd tear out your beady eyeballs face,
'Cause it won't be my face covered in mace.

It's time to use your indoor voice
Your quiet voice
Your what the hell was your mother thinking
Why didn't she just abort you voice,
'Cause I'd give my voice to give her the choice.

And after all the work is done
The quiet ones have all the fun.

What Moves The Rolling Stone

The dark waves so hard and unrelenting
Move with this bow-less ship and
Somehow seem worse for the wear after
Men have reaped their fortunes and
Left their brides so bare and alone.
The widows paint their faces with the
Colors of fog and rain in winter
And come summer they will tell of the pain
That comes with the changing tides and
Changing lines that men decide to draw on maps.
How sweet the virgin with shapes springing
Forth and a color so deep beyond all eternity.
If left untouched men cannot live, but
The worst of things we do to ourselves.

The Ferry To Holyhead

We never took the ferry to Holyhead,
Though perhaps we did in an alternate universe.
But medieval cities are often the same
So let's focus on the gold rush instead.

We never met the captain upon an English river,
Though his ship doesn't sink, even when it's destroyed.
He's only one of many noble men that
Will still require warmth come december.

We never chased our Russian gods,
Though I have drastically waned in worship.
But over and under in under an hour,
Another kind of Mecca awaits the odds.

We never let a French breeze into our bed,
Though the scent of the sea is remarkably sweet,
And as I breathe it in I cannot regret
That we never took the ferry to Holyhead.

Eleven Ways To End A Man's Life

There are eleven ways to end a man's life.

One is through more conventional means than
Robot bombs from hovering drones.

Two is making him operate the controls.

Three is giving him limitless options
As long as his body is painted in red.

Four is the bullshit you fill in his head.

Five is teaching him how to read words
And telling him that they were written in gold.

Six is the fountain pen getting sold.

Seven is moving him out of harm's way,
Sheltering him from the noblest truth.

Eight is tying the knot of the noose.

Nine is giving him more than he needs
And telling him work can cure his disease.

Ten is letting him soften his knees.

Eleven is letting him make up his mind
And drowning the flower that someone could find.

The Subhuman Equation

Pull back at last seconds to stop motion from
Becoming emotions that could split stone
And wood alike, much like how I say I want
But I really don't want anything but a
Chance to be something whole and unbroken.
Enough is never enough for the barbaric,
Instinctive creatures of the earth that love
And hate and crush and make, all because
Of some ill-informed objective that never
Really existed anywhere but in their heads.
The finches were a fluke as far as my actions
Are concerned; ignite this fat and lazy slob
We call time because patience is not a virtue
If we are dragging animals around by the tail.

A One Size Fits All Future

Shed that dignity like the over worn suit
You throw in three different directions before
The sea of hurried hormones carries you
Into more arms than you have legs to stand.

Perpetual existence is stretching skin tight
The compulsion towards decision and whether
Or not you're ready for it, the fistful of long
Lost dollars will find your awe-dropped jaw.

Disappointing sons will squander your hard earned
Ethics with liquid assets of their own, but
We all end up becoming our parents whether
We bite the bullet or kiss the stone.

Blind men all pretend to sound the same, so
Embarrassingly innocent and paper frail that
You can hardly stand the guilt of sight so you
Pluck out your eyes, just like they wanted.

Soon they'll be so many new shapes you'll have
To rethink the square; geometry is the future
That you willingly failed so now you'll
Have to go back to make a new one.

If only there were a one size fits all that's
Not so dull, because it's really the only
Way to clothe each other in the cold dead
Space that our dimensions inhabit.

No More Make Believe

A rude comparison to man's best friend comes to mind
Like the song everyone has stuck in their heads
But wouldn't dare to sing out loud.
If words become scattered as they escape
My lips how does she expect me to show
Anything but the same range of motion that's
Part of their limited range of vision?
There's no changing the fact that I would cry
Infinitely more at the loss of a pet,
But maybe admitting it makes up for the
Causal nature of our final and lasting separation.
So let's not pretend there's any tea in those cups
That daughters set out to impress their fake friends;
Call it what it is and just let it end.

The River State Sideshow

Sick the dogs on those dirty sinners!
No mercy for the law if the law is mercy,
But what you sing isn't a song it's a
Hellish roar in the face of those
Who were once the precious thing
That you want so badly to call life.

Your absurdity turns the world into mimes,
Somehow laughing and crying at the same time
At your angry clowning of the truth.
With a suicide bomber disguised as a
Proposition, your best attempt yet was met
With a counter attack of a compassionate reality.

And for once I'm proud to know that voices can
Be heard over the loud droning of ignorant slurs.

Roger Had It Right

How far do we scale back the model before
We can't even see the things that used to
Tower over us like glass giants with
Steel skeletons and revolving shoes?

Even the sizably extreme could use a little
Perspective, but my fear is as cars become
Earthworms I'll be the bait that lures in
The future that's hungry for an afternoon snack.

While I was sailing over cardboard painted blue
I knew there was a limited supply and
We all know architects pretend to have more
Than what was given to them to use.

I'd much rather have what children create in
Their hearts but when their parents take over
They ruin the dream because they think the
Imagination isn't all it's cracked up to be.

So what if there aren't any flying fish?
What forces us all to be more or less stiff
In a world thats lucid and fluid and rich?
Just because it's not real doesn't mean it can't exist.

Knowledge Is Power To Destroy Or Create

Men make certainty their deadliest weapon;
Nowhere are trenches filled because of
A mind that was open to the endless
Starlit sky of possibilities.
If it were so perhaps the voiceless could
Empty their arms and throw them up to
Defend only life as it is on a day
To ever-changing and growing day basis.
Imagine the melodies that might have been
Sung if water was the knowledge to
Not make up your mind and bread
Gave us eyes to see through ourselves.
Rain could fall from all kinds of heavens
To wash clean the decisions that destroy us all.

Midnight Fever Run

The moon stays steady and swift along side you

As it traces its fingers in and out and around

The perfect grid-like lines of corn.

The rolling hand swims with the hills like

Some men who have to live on the road do at night.

Surely we've shared this midnight fever run,

In different places, in different times and 

Frames of mind. It's hard to get upset

When traffic slows because somehow it

Knows what to do before you do.

Conversation can't help but lean on the 

Heart of things that plead to be spoken.

The harmonic hum can come from nothing

But the beautiful eye that gives us the night.

I'll Be Bald Next Time You See Me

Old friends gather in familiar places with
Faces not yet too weary from the harsh
Winter of age, but I have left that
Place and many others and wouldn't
Recognize their voices if they spoke my name.

There can be no more talks of lunchroom legs
Or untapped ideals, no more naive solos
Or gawking at stringed idols; the session
Was stopped so abruptly by an
Immeasurable yet measurable thing.

Our once wide river has split into
Thin vein lives that carry different
Colored cells to very different organs.
One is spitting fire and skinning his dinner,
The other blowing smoke and contemplating winter.

We've come full circle on a half circle moon,
With the sun setting quickly but waiting
To return on a whim or a dare.
We might split hairs for the rest of our lives,
Wrestling with the idea of whether or not to care.

There's More Than Empathy Around the Corner

The cheering crowds won't sound so loud
When no one knows what to say.

Around the corner the very thing you hate
Is taking place under your awkward hairy nose.
But I suppose it's easier for all of us to
Let real life keep rolling down the
Hills that burned clean, wiping away any
Evidence of a suffering-free reality.
How is it that we're all afraid of doing
Something that no one can stop with tear gas
Or guns? Everyone and everything will go on
Living or not living when the signs are in storage.

But of course my ass is getting sore now,
So I'll go inside and make myself bored.

Putting Up With My Shit

The heart-breaking buoyancy of all this
Dead skin and liquid I shed from
My mind smells like a cross between
Bonfire and a bowel movement, and like
The latter it's a regular thing, a part of life
That's unpleasant but seems to be necessary.

Only there's no jokes or funny sounding words
Concerning my daily removal of a thin
Layer of confidence that's replaced by
A hard-to-crack shell that lets in only
Slim amounts of light and happiness.

I know the hammer I left for you to swing
Is unspeakably heavy and a burden to bear,
But when I see you raise it up it's easier
For me to let love split it and start to break free.