Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Greetings, Half Pint

Limp to the sun, at the edge
don't mumble ever cuz smthttffflmmlflflln
Mick comes thru no matter what you're
having read isn't reading
actively humming "back home" ys I am
but on thin night legs
one dust better than a nightclub
the other, the other one, you know
skiffle spittle forgetting frogtown
downtown down bound aw fuck it
a harmonica and a dream (and an STD)
believing in time travel, if only thru the wall
going home, bohm-bohm-bohm-bah-bah-bohm!
I just can't wait
limp toward the hotplate, but remember the lesson
hand scars like leg braces: denied and hidden 
in shamefog your shamefrog too much like
and that damn'ed harmonium
his hand's jerking motion
feel alright he says across time, and therefore, space
Early in the morning, gonna catch that plane
mumbling' somethin', your headphones holding onto the dream
such a, such a, such a, such a
long, long tiiiiiiiiime
the door ruptures into alcohol night
sweet love in the middle of the night, early in your mornin'
moanin' all up in your mornin'
all up in your gloved and powdered hand
aren't you the gentle-man? look at you!
shah-lah-lah, your priddy lil' smile
your wad and your whip and your shoes cost a mile
yeah, that might be seen as cheap
but my skills in the realm of super-high-fives when I shine
Mick is not here now, gone now, before they place me in the ground
the bass weaves and bobs, crosses up and under, drops the hammer
and this is my shanty banter
limp toward it, cummon
the sun, & the edge

No comments:

Post a Comment