.

They tell you to get a girl

And then it’s still waves crashing
And the rain,
Nobody controls the rain,
And everything seems like an obligation
When you’re trapped in this body
And everybody’s fighting
Over that which is obscure,
You’re splitting little glass shards in two with your eyesight down on the sidewalk.

The wharf went under,

Fettering to the sea,
Our pops just kept watching
The tube, and all its flicks.

The next thing to do
Was to go find a job
With a pregnant
Opportunity for uncontrolled pandemonium.

Life in Mona Lisas
Of moments without the sedan
Turns from rounded bridge traversings
Up in bank accounts to spreadsheets.

Black urban musicians
Sing of drugs,
Because that’s the color of which
Now saturates the TV.

And
It seems only
Logical to numb yourself,
As you’re amidst a whirlwind of administered pain.

So if some person
Tries to describe the plight of another and ends up a henchman of muse,
That music might give the unlikely message:
Stay always with me.

You are beautiful by hearing this,
You are fully flourished by
This form we’re in,
Wherein we’re all imperfect,

And every effort you make to try to conquer
Only leaves you swollen with need,
A needle’s need for narcotic diplomacy
Within a mind gone singing.

Finally it’s the lack of any expectation whatsoever

That has me handing this day a slouching gait
Chris-crossing between mortal things of old and this new
Technology landslide informing rats chasing cheese
Wasted on forgetfulness of mortality and
Two kids riding a bike invincible
But only
In their good
Faith and so set up to inject themselves
With the purifying rainstorm of August 16th,
One week before school gets back in.

It was almost idiomatic

The way the people left the train
Rushing, because the weather hadn’t
Dampered their agenda.
.
One old sailor was sent acquiescing,
Left behind into dust
By the word of the buzz,
And the helicopters illuminating mortality over town.
.
Sounds of flugal horns are wrapped up.
There’s a striated rise
In the way that
Flowers and butterflies flank molded vortex.
.
The street that sings
In keys of symphony is just down the block,
You can
Run to it by breathing hot air into a standing corpus callosum.
.
Don’t ask me no questions,
And I won’t tell you no lies,
Things propagated by hands,
Vetoing up and down the new pallid soft machine.

I really have no anxiety anymore,

Because I feel no compunction in morphing myself
When I see fit,
.
When I espy the university and all its opulent rigor
Or the man
Carrying the casings of yesteryear hoping
Only to incur a Jesus Lizard CD.

Living beings are predicated upon one thing,

And one thing only,
And that is that we’ll one day die.
.
The mind is incapable of thinking of itself.
.
In such a way,
The ballooning of focus
Meets malady behind every rampart,
If only
.
As a beaming
Of trouble, someone singing
Cries of pain, cries you’ve never heard,
.
Making
Your present situation
An ungainly, muddled basket,
Synchronized into painless oblivion when you realize,
Friend,
It’s a friendly one.

The scourge has lain sake

Withholding nothing but
A promise
Which is to harbor a conformity,
Masonry for the states’
Uses.
.
We fall out of prizes,
Eating,
Roughing but mostly beset,
.
Testing the limits of our bodies and
Seeking approval,
Seeking only an antithesis and a solace.

Where we didn’t necessarily want you to think we were of the east,

No,
We’re west of a lot of things,
Just ask
.
The frazzled tulips descending up the buildings,
This blue sky
We lassoed and Lysoled,
We’ve craved
It for eons with 50
Ft of
Gravity harking down
Upon one man who discards you.

Will all music have this drawl, will all music have this subordinateness, a spiritual subordinateness that ignores the things in life that are really beautiful, like a cat ascending to a window sill and aligning its little jaw perfectly for the crescent moon. When we will turn off the noise, and get back to music.

It’s all been a mistake,

And cursed here with a cherry brandy
Do I
.
Retrace
How they all did it,
Those seven droves
In
.
Veils
That raced
By me
.
Showing nothing but the
Human delicatessen
Of success.