Why They Still Play
They’ll still play, because their human;
even though life is away
They’ll still play
With Bones as their drumstyx,
Fingernail picks for fat licks,
Because their human.
They’ll still play the blues
Even with nothing left to loose
they’ll still play
On drums made of skin,
Guitar’s with sinews streched thin,
Because they are human.
They’ll still play for the new man
Even when he’s got nothin’ to say
They’ll still play.
They’ll take turns being the minstrel
Even though they are in hell
Because they are human.
They’ll still play bagpipes made of stomach
The lipless droning doodle sacks
They’ll still play
Each ghost wiping away the tears
From their hollow skulled peers
because their still human.
Master Maestro
Master Maestro says its over
So applaud if you can
If your brain can still talk to your hand
Because Maestro knows your dumbfounded
…. that was his plan.
Master Maestro says its over
Thanks for attending the show
But before you decide to go,
You’ve whitnessed a miracle
…. Just so you know.
Master Meastro says its over
Before its truly begun
So mind your neighbours tongue
on your way to the door
…. Maestro’s been having some fun.
Master Maestro says its over
But he hopes to see you again
You’ll be too old by then
To change his mind
… He’ll be as sorry as he’s ever been.
The Night We Read Genesis
A saint wrapped in only barbed wire fence
proclaiming a scorched earth prophesy
Salvation, a virgin steel’s test,
is the garment of her seduction.
Going forth to feel her brailled softness
Divine revelation, her skin’s theology,
Makes exclamation rhyme with silence,
My hands, her education.
An embrace, God’s recompense
for a failing man’s unity
binds skin to skin, breast to breast
a sacrifice, a reproduction.
Our scars match, God’s word written on flesh
A law, the savior’s love, a covenant refreshed.
Einstein’s Light
Her metronome eyes
are always moving
keeping time
tightly wrapped
like the clothes she wears,
stretching the fabric of seconds
into minutes,
into hours,
into days.
Her shadow sees
each day
Waste away
the echoes that compose
them like dry sand in the wind
Washing back and forth
over her,
over her,
over her.
The sour note of eternity lost
when time crashes around.
Her lips shake like Atlas’ arms
the weight of a world
isn’t light, it doesn’t belong to her,
she was told to hold it
Until a savior comes
Until a savior comes
Until a savior comes.
The yawning of the red sea,
with teeth,
Can only be passed by me,
leading a host of Hebrew slaves,
a destiny or a history
to unfold
over time…
over time….
over time….
And the miracle of self knowledge
Is the knowing of a man
You are not, but you will be,
the man that you were, but you are not,
and the awareness that
eternity is just a woman’s eyes
keeping time,
keeping time,
keeping time.
De Morgan’s law: Or What it is to Live in the Mind
The human genome was yet unknown
and justice was just a luxury
When I got caught stealing home.
Shakespeare was a propet for the church of Rome
building a globe to bring rich and poor to equality.
The human genome was yet uknown.
She was dancing in the bedroom alone
Her eyes complex, like sonnetry,
When I got caught stealing home.
Her blood flowed from Sobieski’s throne,
from a time praised for its chivarly.
The human genome was yet unknown.
She was showing me how to atone
with poetry, not with thievery
when I got caught stealing home.
It turns out I couldn’t steal what only she could own
I need her to give me a reason, an apology
The human genome was yet unknown
when I got caught stealing my home.
