I want to crawl
Watch dust fall from the sky
On my fingertips
I want simple
Sweet tea and sweet loving
Flower petal reflections in kind eyes
In rapid rivers
In a room full of mirrors
I see myself
Frying in a pan
Because I can
Smothered in all sorts
Of greasy buttery goodness
Made to be eaten
By a pretty boy
In the office of one
Second in command to Hitler
Barbed wire fence view from the kitchen window
Makes for an appetizing atmosphere
My eggs are runny
Saggy old men
Scratch at their beards
Useless lumps of flesh
No longer fresh
It’s all in Mexico,
The fish in Mexico
Fly free as angels
I wish I were the fish in Mexico
The myth of Mexico
Instead is me
And who am I to be?
Other than my fantasy
Of fish so free
I’m just angry at the world,
And my pants for attracting catsup stains.
But that’s okay because pants are useless when you can’t see them anyway.
“I am a poet.” Said the cat
Swallowing his words like jellyfish soaked in viengar.
It was funny how everything wasn’t and nothing was.
So the cat laughed as he turned into a macaron,
Which Napoleon would enjoy one rainy day at tea time.
You can sing the blues forever ‘ol man.
You and your rusty old soul.
Hanging from the electric wires.
Hanging on to the time.
The smoke escapes your chapped lips,
carrying your thoughts through crisp country air.
I can hear them miles into the city.
Your blues. My pinks.
I found it, yeah, I knew it
Oh my darling, she just can’t keep a secret
Waiting all night for the sun to rise
What a shame you’re too blind to see it
You think you’re running out of time
Don’t look back, just keep going
I know that she will soon be mine
Bound to attack because her eyes are glowing
I just want to die.
I take my wine jug out among the flowers
to drink alone, without friends.
I raise my cup to entice the moon.
That, and my shadow, makes us three.
But the moon doesn’t drink,
and my shadow silently follows.
I will travel with moon and shadow,
happy to the end of spring.
When I sing, the moon dances.
When I dance, my shadow dances, too.
We share life’s joys when sober.
Drunk, each goes a separate way.
Constant friends, although we wander,
we’ll meet again in the Milky Way.
Base By: Jahrenesis