bang bang bang!
one shot in
one shot out,
she fails about,
one shot in
one shot out,
now i’ve got two,
the sorbet is cold.
bang bang bang!
on shot in,
to the throat,
poor darling couldn’t cope,
on she crawled,
cake is on the left,
once outside a treaty was reached,
the border was breached!
one shot in,
on shot out,
bang bang bang!
three lumps i felt.
six tears i spilt,
no mens i kilt,
bang bang bang!
to sleep, to sleep.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
southern boy riddles
1.
i was consumed in it,
like wine i scurried through the cracks in the pavement-
but it is ours, not theirs.
it is coming,
quick, the pens.
2.
we are separated by a fine red line-
it's strength is untold,
we must not learn it,
i hide your letters in the box,
they are embarrassing.
your questions,
your heart,
your secrets,
i cannot keep them.
he said woman: won't you have them?
i said boy: do not ask me that,
you will not have me.
i cannot be had.
he said go! temptress.
3.
red ribbons slip out of black envelopes;
i tie my hair with memories quite vivid
the red runs through my hair and then the ribbon is white
and i am laced with the passion, our passion,
gritty and cold.
we cannot except it,
you cannot expect much,
but your ribbon i will cherish,
[i am laced in your desires.]
warm and tangible.
i should hate, sadly i can't
oh my southern boy,
i cannot keep them.
4.
it is as follows.
one two, no more.
one two, no more.
one two, explore.
one two, no more.
you must not love like this,
i shall write to Venus come morn-
for now i will wrap the ribbon round.
5.
darling we can ride the seven glass,
sun pierced by the edge,
dripping lust upon the roses heads.
we can ride the seven glass straight into the rabbit hole,
down into her wonderland, following the nightingale.
we can ride the seven glass around ye, trolley car.
trolley pulls heavy weights,
he said that was a man's car.
i was dismissed: go!
temptress.
6.
wine runs, runs, runs.
trolley pulls heavy weights,
ribbons bear heavy hearts,
he said go!
temptress.
i was consumed in it,
like wine i scurried through the cracks in the pavement-
but it is ours, not theirs.
it is coming,
quick, the pens.
2.
we are separated by a fine red line-
it's strength is untold,
we must not learn it,
i hide your letters in the box,
they are embarrassing.
your questions,
your heart,
your secrets,
i cannot keep them.
he said woman: won't you have them?
i said boy: do not ask me that,
you will not have me.
i cannot be had.
he said go! temptress.
3.
red ribbons slip out of black envelopes;
i tie my hair with memories quite vivid
the red runs through my hair and then the ribbon is white
and i am laced with the passion, our passion,
gritty and cold.
we cannot except it,
you cannot expect much,
but your ribbon i will cherish,
[i am laced in your desires.]
warm and tangible.
i should hate, sadly i can't
oh my southern boy,
i cannot keep them.
4.
it is as follows.
one two, no more.
one two, no more.
one two, explore.
one two, no more.
you must not love like this,
i shall write to Venus come morn-
for now i will wrap the ribbon round.
5.
darling we can ride the seven glass,
sun pierced by the edge,
dripping lust upon the roses heads.
we can ride the seven glass straight into the rabbit hole,
down into her wonderland, following the nightingale.
we can ride the seven glass around ye, trolley car.
trolley pulls heavy weights,
he said that was a man's car.
i was dismissed: go!
temptress.
6.
wine runs, runs, runs.
trolley pulls heavy weights,
ribbons bear heavy hearts,
he said go!
temptress.
Friday, May 25, 2007
cloud coffee (minor duet)
who am i? well i see clouds in my coffee,
i see patterns in the sky, and there
are dancers in the grasses moving in the
ancient step from the history that defines me
to the notes that outline me.
see i could point you out in the masses
as the one who would complete me, and so I let
you stay around. i said, come here boy and
follow me down, we’re taking it slow tonight.
these people is headed towards the easy light.
work it out girl.
i will show you the way. boy, i know how to play
that music you like- come here boy and set with me,
if i wanted to cook the gumbo with lives,
would you let me? prevent me from telling n
the word down the street? who’s bringing the
foreman’s whip down with a crack, for generations not one
of us has faced the world with a bent back.
woman said, “let her go child, she ain’t talkin smack.
she’s got the history down pat don’t y’all know?”
she giving it to you smooth,
like black coffee’s flow-”
clouds in my coffee,
clouds in my coffee....
so i do not idolize that set. i despise
those who can live without the word
in their blood and honey i always find something,
to write about and then i sound it out.
guilt is never mine. and tonight,
we’re going to have ourselves a good old time.
you gotta preach it to sell it,
gotta feel it to tell it.
and it if it wasn’t for that damn cream they’re be no-
clouds in my coffee,
tell em carly.
clouds in my coffee....
i see patterns in the sky, and there
are dancers in the grasses moving in the
ancient step from the history that defines me
to the notes that outline me.
see i could point you out in the masses
as the one who would complete me, and so I let
you stay around. i said, come here boy and
follow me down, we’re taking it slow tonight.
these people is headed towards the easy light.
work it out girl.
i will show you the way. boy, i know how to play
that music you like- come here boy and set with me,
if i wanted to cook the gumbo with lives,
would you let me? prevent me from telling n
the word down the street? who’s bringing the
foreman’s whip down with a crack, for generations not one
of us has faced the world with a bent back.
woman said, “let her go child, she ain’t talkin smack.
she’s got the history down pat don’t y’all know?”
she giving it to you smooth,
like black coffee’s flow-”
clouds in my coffee,
clouds in my coffee....
so i do not idolize that set. i despise
those who can live without the word
in their blood and honey i always find something,
to write about and then i sound it out.
guilt is never mine. and tonight,
we’re going to have ourselves a good old time.
you gotta preach it to sell it,
gotta feel it to tell it.
and it if it wasn’t for that damn cream they’re be no-
clouds in my coffee,
tell em carly.
clouds in my coffee....
Sunday, May 13, 2007
For her.
And here's to you, Mrs. Robinson,
Jesus loves you more than you will know.
God bless you, please, Mrs. Robinson.
Heaven holds a place for those who pray,
hey hey hey.
Simon and Garfunkel
Jesus loves you more than you will know.
God bless you, please, Mrs. Robinson.
Heaven holds a place for those who pray,
hey hey hey.
Simon and Garfunkel
regarding mrs robinson
mrs. robinson was jaded.
she decided she couldn’t take it anymore
so mrs. robinson jumped. she landed on
the bottom floor, standing straight up.
mrs. robinson was dreaming.
she walked around the garden in a square pattern,
said that the boy didn’t even matter,
so mrs. robinson dreamed of an ever after,
where only she would lie. where only
the men would die.
mrs. robinson was tired
of the house that she built with gloved hands.
of the dining room she hosted. the
bedroom she romanced. the
living room where she toasted
the wedding of her daughter to the other boy.
so mrs. robinson filled the tub with water
and sat in it saying she would stay there
for the rest of her days.
yet to mrs. robinson’s dismay,
the water ran out through the crack
under her leg. she exhaled one last time
then hid the white tub away in the closet
with the bones and the grandfather
clock chimed twice three times.
mrs. robinson watched the sun drop
in a boysenberry sky.
mrs. robinson was jaded.
broken down and worn. her
dress was dirty and torn. her
pearls chipped and dull.
so mrs. robinson decided to dull
her senses with the magic wine,
the one they hid so the children wouldn’t find,
the secret elixir that keeps her awake.
with a shake of her purse she shook
out a cigarette to smoke away all her regrets,
she took out her tortoise barrette,
and removed her pointed stiletto shoes. oh
mrs. robinson who knew you were so sorrowed,
perhaps i’ve some happiness you can borrow.
mrs. robinson closed her eyes
and sat in the middle of the kitchen floor.
she laid her body flat and kept her jaw slacked.
mrs. robinson thought she was chasing her blues out,
when she was really just inviting them back.
she decided she couldn’t take it anymore
so mrs. robinson jumped. she landed on
the bottom floor, standing straight up.
mrs. robinson was dreaming.
she walked around the garden in a square pattern,
said that the boy didn’t even matter,
so mrs. robinson dreamed of an ever after,
where only she would lie. where only
the men would die.
mrs. robinson was tired
of the house that she built with gloved hands.
of the dining room she hosted. the
bedroom she romanced. the
living room where she toasted
the wedding of her daughter to the other boy.
so mrs. robinson filled the tub with water
and sat in it saying she would stay there
for the rest of her days.
yet to mrs. robinson’s dismay,
the water ran out through the crack
under her leg. she exhaled one last time
then hid the white tub away in the closet
with the bones and the grandfather
clock chimed twice three times.
mrs. robinson watched the sun drop
in a boysenberry sky.
mrs. robinson was jaded.
broken down and worn. her
dress was dirty and torn. her
pearls chipped and dull.
so mrs. robinson decided to dull
her senses with the magic wine,
the one they hid so the children wouldn’t find,
the secret elixir that keeps her awake.
with a shake of her purse she shook
out a cigarette to smoke away all her regrets,
she took out her tortoise barrette,
and removed her pointed stiletto shoes. oh
mrs. robinson who knew you were so sorrowed,
perhaps i’ve some happiness you can borrow.
mrs. robinson closed her eyes
and sat in the middle of the kitchen floor.
she laid her body flat and kept her jaw slacked.
mrs. robinson thought she was chasing her blues out,
when she was really just inviting them back.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
boygirlboygirl
on matters of the future
what the boy said:i mean exactly what i said, forget law school and become a writer.
what the girl said: dirty words kiddo
his response: never was one to wash out my mouth
on matters of the heart
what the boy said:how far would you be willing to go for love
what the girl said:depends, how far would you walk with me?
his response: to the end of this earth.
her response: I’ll think about it.
small talk
what the boy said: lol. your poetry is showing.
what the girl said:gee kiddo, make my night.
his response:will do.
her response:you make me laugh
on breakfast
what the boy said:i made potatoes for dinner, it made me think about what it would be like to cook you breakfast.
what the girl said: i like oatmeal
his response:what about those chocolate chip pancakes i promised you
her response: still sounds good to me.
his response: you gotta let me fix you breakfast this summer.
her response:plan on staying for breakfast one of these days?
he says: you know it.
endings
his: nite, i love u.
hers: night.
--------------------------end transmittion----------------------------------------------
what the boy said:i mean exactly what i said, forget law school and become a writer.
what the girl said: dirty words kiddo
his response: never was one to wash out my mouth
on matters of the heart
what the boy said:how far would you be willing to go for love
what the girl said:depends, how far would you walk with me?
his response: to the end of this earth.
her response: I’ll think about it.
small talk
what the boy said: lol. your poetry is showing.
what the girl said:gee kiddo, make my night.
his response:will do.
her response:you make me laugh
on breakfast
what the boy said:i made potatoes for dinner, it made me think about what it would be like to cook you breakfast.
what the girl said: i like oatmeal
his response:what about those chocolate chip pancakes i promised you
her response: still sounds good to me.
his response: you gotta let me fix you breakfast this summer.
her response:plan on staying for breakfast one of these days?
he says: you know it.
endings
his: nite, i love u.
hers: night.
--------------------------end transmittion----------------------------------------------
Our Education Realization.
When one thinks of all we want,
we hardly think of books.
Simplicity misses humanity,
humanity condemns simplicity.
Lyrics have become explicitly charged.
What about homer and his cherished Iliad,
or all the other classics that no one’s read.
There goes another empty head,
but at what cost?
How dare things be so simple we can use them,
how dare the lies be small and the eyes nieve.
How easily we are deceived
by starlets living their busy lives.
Who couldn’t tell you cocktail hour is a five,
but when’s the time for peace?
Harmony?
Pardon me, you seemed to have dropped
your sense upon the floor.
Excuse me, I really think it’s yours.
When i point left,
you run right,
darling it was not an accusation!
We've got to address this situation!
We’ve got to learn to make accommodations!
How can we function as a nation?
(He’d help you out, but he’s on vacation)
He always is,
so the jobs becomes ours.
Coffee is a drug,
medication a necessity-
no one questions a daily pill intake,
it’s how many do you take?
And so the pills become candy,
and candy becomes pounds
for enough is never enough
and greed is in vogue.
With all that said let’s start this show,
of pencil thin girls all walking in a line.
Am i supposed to think them divine?
Oh no, not this,
look at cats in spain,
they’ve figured out the game.
I say homeless and you look weary,
I say money you get cheery.
I say do and you say can’t,
I say you help and you say shant.
They say rainbow, you. step. back.
well I should have guessed that.
Why walk when you can drive,
Why die when you can stay alive?
Why love when you can hate?
Why choose that path when you can choose fate?
I hit you you sue me,
If only you really knew me...
I smile, you look down.
I call, your out of town.
I live, he lives, she lives
but do you see the problem?
we hardly think of books.
Simplicity misses humanity,
humanity condemns simplicity.
Lyrics have become explicitly charged.
What about homer and his cherished Iliad,
or all the other classics that no one’s read.
There goes another empty head,
but at what cost?
How dare things be so simple we can use them,
how dare the lies be small and the eyes nieve.
How easily we are deceived
by starlets living their busy lives.
Who couldn’t tell you cocktail hour is a five,
but when’s the time for peace?
Harmony?
Pardon me, you seemed to have dropped
your sense upon the floor.
Excuse me, I really think it’s yours.
When i point left,
you run right,
darling it was not an accusation!
We've got to address this situation!
We’ve got to learn to make accommodations!
How can we function as a nation?
(He’d help you out, but he’s on vacation)
He always is,
so the jobs becomes ours.
Coffee is a drug,
medication a necessity-
no one questions a daily pill intake,
it’s how many do you take?
And so the pills become candy,
and candy becomes pounds
for enough is never enough
and greed is in vogue.
With all that said let’s start this show,
of pencil thin girls all walking in a line.
Am i supposed to think them divine?
Oh no, not this,
look at cats in spain,
they’ve figured out the game.
I say homeless and you look weary,
I say money you get cheery.
I say do and you say can’t,
I say you help and you say shant.
They say rainbow, you. step. back.
well I should have guessed that.
Why walk when you can drive,
Why die when you can stay alive?
Why love when you can hate?
Why choose that path when you can choose fate?
I hit you you sue me,
If only you really knew me...
I smile, you look down.
I call, your out of town.
I live, he lives, she lives
but do you see the problem?
boxcars (revised)
this is a different type of story.
neither a beginning nor an end it’s the story of boy and girl,
how they left life to wander among the boxcars.
silent but graceful, with matured faces
but the body of children grown too
soon and rushed into something
they cannot care for.
they are boy and girl sitting on the boxcar,
engaged in their first movement.
this is a different type of story.
better explained through words because
voices cannot keep it,
will not say it.
so they run up and down the train
tracks chasing chaotic dreams.
screaming high, higher and higher;
you live for me and i’ll live for you,
and one day the passing trains will collide.
in a brilliant display of death and desire,
we will make our vows within its fire.
you live for me and i’ll live for you,
and one day the passing trains will collide.
in a brilliant display of death and desire,
we will make our vows within its fire.
a different type of story.
sunsets from the boxcars were bittersweet.
a melody playing from the carnival across a dead field
of scarecrows speared onto their hollow poles.
waving while the wind weaves between their ears,
cursing all that real, all that is now,
lamenting for the tragedies sitting on the boxcars
hopeless wishing to wail away the scars.
who tells this tale?
the angels on duty perch upon the crossing signs.
they take away bits a pieces of the story and drop them
into each. different. boxcar.
sleeping in all their rusted glory,
motionless on the tracks.
the piter pater piter pater of the children's
footfalls the rhythm.
the lyrics the accusations, frustrations, accusations, frustrations,
exit plans.
there is a man who comes to clean the ruins,
a man who cares for the boxcars.
gently sweeping each one with a broom,
swirling the dust about his head and
laughing all the while. in car
seven he was surprised to find
it strewn with glass and smelling of promise,
the walls thick with a soft pink paint. the
word broken repeatedly written in rough
strokes, shaped in three fourth of a heart.
there is no road out.
no train, this station is emptier than heaven,
colder than hell.
he never thought she could be saved in three words.
eight letter he ought not think.
three syllables she’s searched for in every boxcar.
there is one dream,
one ending that the young girl anticipates.
this is a story that cannot be told completely.
it must be told in lies so that you cannot see the truth blazing
behind her eyes.
in the cold hands she keeps shoved in her pocket while they wait.
wait for a train to pull into the station, for the
boxcars to pick themselves up
and move. for the man to clean the paint before it dries
and stains the rusty wall for years
until they finally collapse
in a loud, old, heap.
it’s said that talk is cheap;
so he promises nothing.
today was different.
locomotive number 9 has pulled into the station.
fallen out of heaven,
dear god was that kind.
but this was not what the boy and girl asked for,
and now they are out of time.
so the train pulled out with the boy in tow,
the girl turned and moaned for the days
they’d never know.
shaking slowly she walked towards
the boxcars in the drunk morning light.
in the field the scarecrows doubled over
one by one,
hiding their faces from the sight.
neither a beginning nor an end it’s the story of boy and girl,
how they left life to wander among the boxcars.
silent but graceful, with matured faces
but the body of children grown too
soon and rushed into something
they cannot care for.
they are boy and girl sitting on the boxcar,
engaged in their first movement.
this is a different type of story.
better explained through words because
voices cannot keep it,
will not say it.
so they run up and down the train
tracks chasing chaotic dreams.
screaming high, higher and higher;
you live for me and i’ll live for you,
and one day the passing trains will collide.
in a brilliant display of death and desire,
we will make our vows within its fire.
you live for me and i’ll live for you,
and one day the passing trains will collide.
in a brilliant display of death and desire,
we will make our vows within its fire.
a different type of story.
sunsets from the boxcars were bittersweet.
a melody playing from the carnival across a dead field
of scarecrows speared onto their hollow poles.
waving while the wind weaves between their ears,
cursing all that real, all that is now,
lamenting for the tragedies sitting on the boxcars
hopeless wishing to wail away the scars.
who tells this tale?
the angels on duty perch upon the crossing signs.
they take away bits a pieces of the story and drop them
into each. different. boxcar.
sleeping in all their rusted glory,
motionless on the tracks.
the piter pater piter pater of the children's
footfalls the rhythm.
the lyrics the accusations, frustrations, accusations, frustrations,
exit plans.
there is a man who comes to clean the ruins,
a man who cares for the boxcars.
gently sweeping each one with a broom,
swirling the dust about his head and
laughing all the while. in car
seven he was surprised to find
it strewn with glass and smelling of promise,
the walls thick with a soft pink paint. the
word broken repeatedly written in rough
strokes, shaped in three fourth of a heart.
there is no road out.
no train, this station is emptier than heaven,
colder than hell.
he never thought she could be saved in three words.
eight letter he ought not think.
three syllables she’s searched for in every boxcar.
there is one dream,
one ending that the young girl anticipates.
this is a story that cannot be told completely.
it must be told in lies so that you cannot see the truth blazing
behind her eyes.
in the cold hands she keeps shoved in her pocket while they wait.
wait for a train to pull into the station, for the
boxcars to pick themselves up
and move. for the man to clean the paint before it dries
and stains the rusty wall for years
until they finally collapse
in a loud, old, heap.
it’s said that talk is cheap;
so he promises nothing.
today was different.
locomotive number 9 has pulled into the station.
fallen out of heaven,
dear god was that kind.
but this was not what the boy and girl asked for,
and now they are out of time.
so the train pulled out with the boy in tow,
the girl turned and moaned for the days
they’d never know.
shaking slowly she walked towards
the boxcars in the drunk morning light.
in the field the scarecrows doubled over
one by one,
hiding their faces from the sight.
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