springtime.

There we stood, face to face,
the doors were open, and the woods were cold.
I stared into the eyes of the only one I’d ever known.
Was she real, was she fake? Was she anything at all?
There we stood, face to face,
slightly masked with alcohol.
Like the scotch-tape stuck sort of sideways to my fingers,
she clung to me hoping to live again.
I stared into her eyes, trying to decipher her once more.
Was she real, was she fake? Was she anything at all?
I wish I would have known. I wish I had some way to breathe life into her.
I wish she was mine to love again.
We just stood there, with our minds tightly wound with breaking bonds.
We let the alcohol divide us as we slowly trickled down.

________________________________________________________

Floating by my mind on a glass tangerine,
I see the fates that keep me warm and safe from everything.
Sparkle some one else’s faith, and drink the piss-warm waters.
Stay away from me.
I’m made for this, and you were made to be my stone.
I’ll tread all over you until your shoulders are separated.
Until the broken bones and tight-woven pulp from in you start to leak.
I will reach over, and serrated everything will start to leak. Let it leak!
And tiny bits of broken glass leak from the tangerine.
Where is my mind? Where’s my head? Where’s my everything?
Drink and be, soon you’ll see, what I want you to soon be.
Freudian slip-slop, mental flip-flop drilled into my mind.
Stupid nail, junk mail shoved into my slot.
I’d have you shot if I were ever more like you.

__________________________________________________

Twist of fate, man I hate running down the street.
My feet are up for walking, and I can certainly run.
Oh my certainly son, it will be tons of fun,
when the sirens come calling me home.
Stuck to feel, sex appeal, what’s the deal?
Where’s my home? I’m still drinking,
and I’m still thinking what to call this stupid piece.
Call it Real. Call it Contemplation.
Call it Annoying Smack Pedals.
Call it In. Call me OUT. Call me anything at all.
Where’s my sink? Fuck it,
I’m drinking until the whores come slobbering home.

___________________________________________________


Americans can not recognize their incompetence.
France is stuck reeling of its own fecal odors
The whole world’s tugging the universe in,
and we’re all stuck smiling at kids.
Alice is sitting on a tin room looking for someone to eat.
Vulgar beggars walking below can smell the blood on her lips.
Steady, ready, grave the gauges,
feel the reel of a real trip.
America falls through a crack in the ice.
France is sinking, don’t reel her in.
The sun burns atop the middle finger,
balancing to kingdom come.
A world burning,
a cannibal learning all the traits we overlook.