Poetry

Like driving real fast Manna Feast Spring Cleaning The Art of War

Song Lyrics

Flashlight

Like driving real fast

Driving real fast
Down the street
Dark's beyond my beams
Seems like nothing's where
Everything is

It's the place and time
Sitting still  speeding along
Spotlights shoot from my fingers
Catching up to the night ahead

Driving real fast
Turning down a dirt road
I leave a wake of dust behind
I drive like my thoughts
Fast and near the edge
Not quite straight but along the trail

Manna Feast

holy cow        everyone wants to be god
wearing the skin like a sacred robe
flocculate followers pause to pray to a plate
of flesh     sacrificed upon the alter
of a slaughter house
so they may fill their bellies with the divine secrets
chopped into little prophetic pieces
providing life    in a system of tradition

trying to guzzle the rules from the juices
the congregation transforms into a
ubiquitous herd
gregariously grazing    separate    in a nexus
of extrinsic instincts
clomping hoofed feet down cement streets
everyone wants to be god         holy cow

The Art of War

The folding mirror of her mind
     Accepts everything unconditionally
               It says       she thinks like a soldier
             Dabbing war paint on
                                                 Her face
            Like an action weary warrior
Dressing for battle
             She is curved and attractive like Venus
                                                            Flytrap
                           Appealing but deadly
Now delighting in the aspects of a
    Head on confrontation
                With her evasive adversary
She slides and struts though the
                           Black velvet night
Discussing strategy with
       Her well-trained tribe members
And preparing for battle
'Survival or destruction'
                              Is her deduction
The arena looms points of light
             Ahead             pulsing
A catacomb coliseum bursting
                                         With music
     The war has already begun
So stealthily she slips in
             Hiding beneath the shadows and smoke
        Carefully calculating from
The corner              her
                   Plan of attack
"If the enemy is confused
be decisive"             she believes
      As she weaves her way to her
           Unsuspecting enemy
She dances her alluring sacrificial dance
      Her victim is instinctually snared
When she
                    Whispers in his ear
        Her friends think she's surrendered
As she saunters off        with him
                   But the next morning
   She tells them
           Warfare        is a philosophy of deception
		   

Spring Cleaning

All the shit she left behind    when she died
Piled in the back of a pick up truck
     Parked     outside the building
                            She was found sleeping
    In          her bed
By neighbors     the morning before
     So police put her body in a bag
     And took her away

Unused food   in the fridge
    With doors
 Covered in  unkept appointment cards
Children's toys tucked in the corner
Behind the couch   in the living room
A silent television set
    Empty birdcages on the counters
Candles of various scents   unburned and scattered
In dressers stuffed with clothing
Leaking out like liquid cloth
    Cupboards crowded with cracked plates and
Piles of rolling papers  still
Packed in plastic 
    A little wooden desk with drawers full of lighters
And coins
10 trash bags full    tossed
Down the steps of the apartment complex
Into the grass by the pond

All the things    for living like she did
Thrown away with the trash   and compacted
Cleaning the place so another person could occupy it	   

Flashlight

Tapping the ground with his fingertips
He follows his footsteps around
Dodging people like light posts
Catching eyelid echoes of sound

Blind man searching for a flashlight
Blind man looking for his sight
Blind man searching for a flashlight
Blind man looking for his sight

Aligns his mind with the horizon
He steps his time into the ground
Places sunglasses upon his face
Reflecting all the answers he has found

Blind man searching for the border
Blind man searching for some order

He stands on the sunset he says to himself
And supposes the night wets his eyes
The moon is a bright watcher in the night
But the stars do the dreaming in his eyes

Blind man searching for a flashlight
Blind man looking for his sight
Blind man searching for a flashlight
Blind man looking for his sight