sometimes,
the shortest knife,
is the sharpest knife.
i stumble around towns,
with head down
cocaine sprinkled summits and wet wet cements,
flybys and drivebys and really short goodbys,
the city that sleeps with more anxiety than,
i've ever seen twitched and stirring
with every closing flower the winter rises.
let bygones be bygones,
and while i'm still here
i'd wish this time to be long gone;
colds and warms and vestigials and de stijls
red is growing greener everyday.
with every leaf breaking the expectance,
a new day rears its head, through the sheets
bells now float through windows and warn the day.
everywhere it is real, and it becomes nearer.
my love, my day, my night, more secure.
these leaves, the reddest and the greenest-
i'm no acrobat. i cannot escape though that window.
where the yellowest of leaves beckon toward me,
sometimes the view from the north sprays a light,
dust etched stainless steel breath-
and i know that i cannot count the times i've said,
one thing or another, and time after time never ends-
paint chips mouth fed fishes swim lap after lap.
i can cross my eyes to focus, but one too many never hurt so bad.
relaxing with arms folded in the sternest of positions
waiting for my legs to become limber,
for the trees to become timber,
and for the entire world to wait, and remember.
sometimes the shortest knife is the sharpest knife
if you haven't noticed the question mark that contorts my face has grown sizably larger.
with no place like home, i am without.
first one's burned.
the next filled with makeshift plans.
if i were a builder
it would be made from wood and tied together
plank to plank
one by one with my carpenter's hands.
the boss
oh my. oh my. the boss. what is it about the apex of a season? the time when nostalgia seems to hit hardest. the time when a song makes you cry, makes it so you dream of lives past not present when asleep?
In the day we sweat it out in the streets of a runaway american dream
At night we ride through mansions of glory in suicide machines
Sprung from cages out on highway 9,
Chrome wheeled, fuel injected and steppin out over the line
Baby this town rips the bones from your back
Its a death trap, its a suicide rap
We gotta get out while were young
`cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run
Wendy let me in I wanna be your friend
I want to guard your dreams and visions
Just wrap your legs round these velvet rims
And strap your hands across my engines
Together we could break this trap
Well run till we drop, baby well never go back
Will you walk with me out on the wire
`cause baby Im just a scared and lonely rider
But I gotta find out how it feels
I want to know if love is wild, girl I want to know if love is real
Beyond the palace hemi-powered drones scream down the boulevard
The girls comb their hair in rearview mirrors
And the boys try to look so hard
The amusement park rises bold and stark
Kids are huddled on the beach in a mist
I wanna die with you wendy on the streets tonight
In an everlasting kiss
The highways jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive
Everybodys out on the run tonight but theres no place left to hide
Together wendy well live with the sadness
Ill love you with all the madness in my soul
Someday girl I dont know when were gonna get to that place
Where we really want to go and well walk in the sun
But till then tramps like us baby we were born to run
To Be Understood With You
Bylaws and structure the end point of a reform process started.
But the same is not true of the city this city and its local government,
which have an infection of rate or rate thereof.
The city is swimming with swimming pools covered for the winter;
and thus, we move our salted homes left, to brine and move for warmer waters due west.
We come home to our highly reformed and pickled houses in the summer when the salt on our bodies likes to shine.
