split hairs until we are all there, on the door steps to hell
of high water and low lands and cat tail reed stands
where we can grope and feel and tie our ropes
to the necks of our loves where we’ll fly off as doves
without eyes to see or a beak to eat,
we’ll empty thoughts on pavements where we meet,
passing by love.
where is our coincidence taking us?
i find i miss your smile, your touch;
have you beguiled me so much?
what trials we endure when we endure trials,
we miss those things that make us smile
while we question whether lost life
is better than lost love, mine or yours?
and now I’ve a pound of dreams rotting
in the ground where they were planted,
just last night in black and white;
we said we’d see about the outcomes,
but we’ve not come out tonight.
what will we do, what should we do?
what great thing is this a sign of,
should we move into a shoe?
we’ll have one hundred children
then we’ll cook them in a stew.
no, that’s not what we’ll do…
instead tonight
I’ll feel right, from the bottom to the top
without a commitment for tomorrow,
i’ll live tonight without a sorrow
for what will be in the morn;
I’m enjoying the scorn.
quite delicate, this balance of needs
like the watering of two trees – a cypress and a maple,
my maple likes it wet and your cypres dry –
where then will we meet when we’re just passing by?
should we meet on the steps for a smoke
of things not so believeable as to bring hope,
or could we meet at the water’s edge,
where i lose mine in your yours
leaving me floundering on foreign shores
to speak the language of my father’s tongue;
but I will not, not tonight, I’ll not end my finally right
to get to my bedroom, left once your in
let your catholic stay at your house and you come on in.
but it’s more than me and more than us
that are the passengers on this bewitched bus
as our driver is the culmination of the two;
the me I don’t know, and the you who’ll not know you.
screaming at low volumes
