Monday, September 27, 2010

Eskimo Star

If the sun is my killer, let there be.
If the sun is my lover, let it pass. Below the green.
Tell me a secret any secret.
The way you whisper glides easily against my brittle skin.
I need you to be quiet with me.
Though we promise to stay up all night sucking telephone wire
We wake up wondering how
The line died and how
The sun is my killer. Let there be.
The sky is like a lover, figure eight over cold glass, at the lake bottom fireflies swimming we cannot catch without a pole.
Cut a circle. There I will be waiting.

Sunday, September 26, 2010

Nostalgia at Night

Could I write that song, it would be easier. It would come easy.
Could we be underneath. It is silver, the way silver simplifies.
And then it comes back and repetition befriends unfriendly.
And then it goes.
So don't let it go, don't let it. Stay here even if it doesn't make sense. Stay here and write songs that don't make sense and then make it stay.
Could we write that song, it would come ready. We would be ready.
Could I be beneath. Hold it up, hold love up, the way love simplifies.
Somewhere new, then. Somewhere new and that's that. Remember, that's all. And somewhere old comes back.
Remember somewhere old. Remember that song I didn't write, but wished I could.
Remember wishing.

Friday, September 17, 2010

Our Father Who Art

This is testament. Am not sinful today. Not today, dad. Not today.
This is aftermath. Not the end, no, God damn yourself, not the end.
This is a showdown. Draw you motherfucker. Draw first, dad, you motherfucker.
This is a question. Our love is broke down on desert roads. Why?
This is commandment. Thou shalt not have me under thy ashen fingertip. That means take your fucking hands off me, this will take time, give me time, it is all I ask, may we covet some time.
This is song.
So sing.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Only His

He wants to ask you questions, so many fucking questions that he cannot, like What is it you see in your eyes--and what is it makes him shiver so, as blood lets from the wound you give with glimmer in your lips. Questions like what makes words stop coming, why not the cruel answers, why will he be shadowed in your skin this way, the way hornets are to children with fire.

Eat me inferno, eat me whole, eat me with a glass of water in case you are too weak to burn so: Cheers, darlin', the Irishman says with tears. Or is it the buzz glazing over what you tossed away after brief caress.

But you have not been caged so you may go. You may go. That he may not is only his to keep.

Sunday, September 5, 2010

Pony Up

Beyond is a place that we all seek to be, when everything else is just waiting. But everything else is a place we can see, so close to the edge do we wander. Eat now, sleep now, die now, indeed. Finding out fast the hard way's the only way down. So pretend like the curtain is raising and when it falls shout as loud as you can. Yes the world is founded on shouting, and in all the best ways we grow hoarse. In all the best ways we grow hoarse.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

This is What Winter is Like to the Dead

Ice on your lips. Snowy breath huff, huff, hearts twined this way. Cut off the blood, turn it slushy. Burns the roofs of our mouths. Don't forget that song. Don't forget me.