Ménage-à-trois

Smile, serendipity,
and fortune, put on your make-up.
Tonight I will win you over;
tomorrow I'll make love to you.
For a poker player who courts his cards
with a pair of queens will win the hand;
and when one kisses the dice he rolls,
luck will fuck him where he stands.

~03/2007

Situation #6

When I set fire to the air,
and burned heaven to the ground,
the whole world was mad at me,
and God decided he'd better come down.
That's when you got on your knees
to speak for me to the Almighty:
"he didn't mean harm, or anything of the sort;
and besides, angels make such lovely fireworks."

~03/2007

Half Right

You're no private school;
there's tradition in all the rules.
If only it were easy,
like one less head, an empty seat, but
I've got voices that follow me.
They talk to me,
condescendingly.

You're no math exam;
I can't study my way into being a man,
or cheat inside of any class,

because this is only fail or pass.

I've got voices that condemn me:
they're temporary,
as is my sanity.

You're no flag salute;
I sing anthems in a tie and suit,
but they don't mean a thing
if I don't believe in what I sing.
I've got lyrics that betray me,
as if they hate me.
They hate me.

You're a book to read,
half of which I'll never see.
You're a voice in me,
half of which I'll never hear.

~06/2007

Tranquilizer

Soft shoot, not to kill:
big brother needs another mindless slave.
He traps you with dumbed-down propaganda
and phantoms of reality, and
30,000 days in the life later and you're dead
as a bolt, a deadbolt, aptly named;
It locks you in a carbon-copied casket.
And so the tranquilizer becomes, in effect,
more deadly than the bullet.

~07/2007

Sabotage

If you're feeling a little blind,
well, so am I.
Not that sabotage feels wrong
when you're the one who made the bomb.
It's a sort of stark surrealism:
a view that could rival an eagle's,
with a troubling lack of vision.

I'm sorry to say I'm not as self-assured
as I pretend or as you might've heard.
You're a sort of soft sabotage,
keeping quiet in the crowd,
but showing me like it's a badge.
I'd break the laws to make you proud,
but God knows we're not allowed.

If you're feeling like a bomb,
well, hold on.
I'll cut the wires and stop the song
so we won't sing of sabotage.
It's a sort of saintly sin
to see this far through all the din,
and dirt, and death of half-desired dreams...
isn't it better than facing your fears?
Isn't it? Tell the truth,
because all I fear is you.

~09/2007

Faith in Fiction

I wish I were addicted, because
addiction's an excuse, and
I could use a lie or two.
But deceiving yourself
is harder than you might imagine.
All my brain's gone to hell,
and my heart's probably worse;
I've made love such a sin
that it's become my addiction.

I want to be a politician, because
then you'd see me in a suit.
I've got looks and a mind to boot,
but they don't count for nothin':
I want a goal I can pursue.
All my love's in automatic transmission,
and all my life is shifting gears;
I wish that I had faith in fiction,
but my skepticism is far too dear.

I wish that I were licked,
defeated, face down in the dust.
It wouldn't be my responsibility anymore,
and I wouldn't have to make decisions;
I could simply blame this
all on my addictions, instead
of feeling the perpetual fear
that these are the wages of my sin...
the wages of my sin.

I wish that I had faith in fiction.
I wish that I had faith in fiction.

~09/2007

Translations

While we lie together under the bed,
hiding from each other,
trying to race ahead;
I open my mouth and there's no question,
but is there an answer?
Guess it depends on how far we run...
how far we'll run.

And so we stare and share a communion.
This room is a church;
this life, an illusion.
Seeing no evils, and hearing not one;
trying to translate,
but we're speaking in tongues.

While we hibernate, thinking of winter,
deciphering each other
and becoming the symbols;
I feel that I have something to prove,
but I can't decide what,
so I'll leave that up to you...
I'll leave it up to you.

And so we stare and share a communion.
This room is a church;
this life, an illusion.
Seeing no evils, and hearing not one;
trying to translate,
but we're speaking in tongues.

Your kiss, it's a moment's breadth,
a lion's roar, a joker's jest,
and I can't decide what to do with it.
Your eyes betray that they want to win,
and if I gave you the opportunity,
would you pass it up?
Would you defeat me?

So while we smile in our seclusion,
we seek conclusions to these tales.
We're well aware they have no beginnings,
and happy to try though we know we'll fail.
Come with me, speak in tongues...
we'll find our own translations.

~10/2007

The Capitalist Puddle

There once was a puddle
that rained turned into a pond.
The more it poured,
it started toward
a lake with fishes and frogs.
Fed by flowing streams,
it burst along the seams,
and became a sea.

Then with sudden motion
it flooded its banks,
collected some lakes,
and turned itself into an ocean.

~01/2008

The Lost Wolf

I searched all my life
for reasons; they were hidden.
I've been thanked, loved, beaten,
but not forgiven.
"Blessed are they that are not afraid,"
and as I look at you, I know,
here I'm weak, here you're brave.

I judged with a fist
and a stony face, and gavel;
I babbled on like a lawyer,
but you welcomed my drivel.
And with an open heart, you let me in,
accepted back to where I belong.
No-one else knows where I've been.

I loved like a lost wolf:
your bitemarks, my rack of lamb.
Full moon is come, there's no infection;
my love, oh, you still stand.
And with your hand you do absolve me,
tame the beast, so he believes
that all else is raindrops;
you're the sea.

~01/2008

Rats Don't Run for Fun

You say I'm the rat;
I say I'm the wheel.
No cage could hold me in
or halt the way I feel.
I invented love on your behalf;
Apollo played his harp;
Rome and Greece burned down
as I serenaded in the dark.

You say I'm the rat;
I say, well, look again.
My tail is gone, as you see,
and my tale doesn't have an end.
Seven years will pass,
famine will take hold of Earth,
but I will eat my hoard of grain
while I wander, wait, and curse.

You say I'm the rat;
I say the rat is dead.
Scientists will come and go,
but I'll just go to bed.
I put on clothes, my Sunday Best,
to worship gods that are not there.
I ran upon my wheel till dawn
and realized that no-one cares.

~01/2008