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imagine how beautifully I'd sing if I couldn't hear
or see
things
colors make madness on bed sheets & dried peach
color me simply with disjointed piano keys beating against each bone in my spine
plunk out sounds unheard of
crawl imaginations only seen in dreams
where caged birds sing
of
freedumb
holding a cup of water, my least favorite beverage, for now...I sit seated against a wall, it's art deco, or even sort of another country
I sit begging for sustenance
repent, repent, repent
beg for change
beg for change
beg for change
remember when quarters made cents
when daughters made sense
when words became lords upon our tongues & we'd speak of triumphant love
Such that would smite the beast of no nation
He that walks aimlessly with all destinations unreachable except upon the cloud of smoke coming from the drag she took beneath the light of the bar
it brought your gaze upon her, you wanted to know more, hear her speak
you wanted to see her lips move against her speech
you wanted her more than anything, behind her blouse, her slip, her stockings, she seemed
she became an enigma, a riddle a conquerer of your thoughts for just a second
then she fleed
not her, but your thoughts, became fleeting, became jumbled
nonsensical ramblings of a madman at a bar with no drink
holding onto the end of his life
making love to stools & selling a dream to a shot glass
go on
kiss it
kiss your ass goodbye was alays a funny line
we'd chuckle about grandiose statements & proclomations
dramatizations of what's to come in the end
while a simple move would suffice, a sleek slow motion into a sweeping strike
we always found it to be befitting to go like this
Like a flame in the night, bathing lovers in a dream, their own
Lighting the path they've taken just moments ago as they sleep off the sex just made
Begging for air, there is a plant near, suck it in
they give of breath, the potted life takes it in
releasing what's left to the flame, it burns, burns like a scar in the night
scolding the landscape, covering them in softness
damaging, calling, culling all thoughts of something
there's something there, something I'm not playing, something I'm not singing
When I hear what I'm doing, I can hear it, it lays with me, teases my concious
I call my higher being my conciousness when I know it's spirit, but that's neither here nor there, neither here nowhere
& "I know you don't smoke weed, but I'ma get you high today"
_____________________
puttin' the roota in the toota since 98'
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