Deciding FateThe ghost climbs atop the battlementsThe pains of a lifetime, blind his tear-soaked eyesOn inches he stands, feeling despair battle hope
Dark GirlDark girl, with the soft black eyesLike shadows, behind her bobbed raven hairWhich she stole off an ethnic mannequinat a funeral home last weekNo, she doesn't really need itBut she didn't really need the despaircaused by such a murky prognosisAnd she could have done without the dripping I.V. bagthat made flinching shadows in the dying lightAnd she loathed the shine of her bald headas it reflected onto her black ribboned-wristsBut it's the start of another dark seasonand she likes to accessorize.
Dead Trees in the TwilightDead trees in the twilight,standing rotWith hollow stocksand bent limbsthat have born the weight of manya public accusation,When planted,"hung"never referred to a jury,and the only thing"sequestered"was the humanityDead trees in the twilightplanted by ideology,watered by misconceptions,preserved by bitterness,their deep rootsstretch ever outward,into the poorest hard-scrabbleand the richest top-soilDead trees in the twilightcast long shadowsover the whole land,shadows which can chilleven the warmest passerby,and break-up the unityof every fertile farm-landwith the jagged edges they create,Dead trees in the twilightcan frighten both childand parents comforting them,with their monstrous suggestions,and the knowledge that daytimeis only the eyeof a never-ending stormTill one day,When all those dead trees are cut downAnd we;Every man,Woman,And child,Can share a peaceful summer's eve
Crazy FreeGive me your crazy freeAll those people who can't quit fitWho've seen the storyAnd know the taleWho can't do small talkNo matter how easy their smileAnd sooner or laterStop tryingRealizing the bliss of one's own thoughtsBring so much moreThan shallow chit-chat;Give me all those discardedBy the popular,The bland,The boring;Give me the fat girl who knowsGive me the artist who hidesGive me all the castawaysYou plastic people have no use forAnd we shall dream togetherAnd pretendAnd laughAnd cryWe who know youBetter than we know ourselvesWe shall all hide togetherDismissing age limitsFor children's magicAppearing in capesTo masqueradeIf for only a nightWe are madYou and IYet there is a geniusIn our madnessFor it is not maliciousOnly inquisitiveWith jingles and janglesHarmonicas and lip-glossPrefect renditionsAnd emotional impressions;So give me the craziesI'd rather have heated debateThan smiling betrayal,I'd rather have soulful eyesThan a perfec
Cobblestone TuesdaysWhen the hip hopMeets the clip clopTheir noise turns to beat,When shy eyes stop seeingThe heart struggles believingAnd silence fills the street,But when a passing strangerShows no sign of dangerIt might just be a friendYou haven't let yourself meet
Casual LoversWhat was I thinking?I can't quite remember,Must have been the drinkin'It's cold as DecemberShe's taken the coversWhile I was asleepDamn these casual loversAway, I must creepI don't know her nameIf I did, I have forgotBut don't give me blameI swear it was the shotsWhy won't you go awayMy God, is she snoring?I didn't think she'd stayHow long till morning?
Can You Dig It?Orange street lights belowa muddy, blood-red skyNight's passion pronouncedto close doors, days from nowListen to the wordsthat don't come from my mouthHate the noise of my voicelove the voice in my headI control the puppet masterand my strings are dirty from walkingSpin the revolving doors compulsivelypeople will stop, and noticeBeg for deliverance from the darknesswhich seems to always fall this time of yearPull the knife out of your lovesand nurse them back to healthKnow who wants to loveand those who can only love friendlyShort roots can't bare the loadof the thimble floods that run this routeNo roads lead to paradiseonly buzz words and interesting companionsYou are a shipwreck of past glorywith treasures you refuse to relinquishSo make your own map dig where " I " marks the spot
Blue Monkey FrescoesWhere did all the blue monkeys go?Probably packed it up with the griffinsAnd went looking for greener pastures.Or a least frescoes devoid of that meddler
man.They probably got tired of the worldBeing based on causeInstead of
just because.They probably got irritated with menWho kept confusing excessWith ecstasy
Between Sunrise and WakingBorrowing againsttime and sanityI cheerfully gave upmy shepherd's postround 3BeforeSilence and Itraded blowsas we searchedin vainfor theghosts,magicians,and unicornsWho populatethe dew-droppedmeadowsBetweenSunrise and Waking
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