...well, not really.
"Life is a tale told by an idiot -- full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."
-- William Shakespeare: Macbeth
Brainstream,
by Rewired,
9/13/03.
Red, dead poodles on a summer's evening gown,
shredded like lampshades off a turnip's eclipse.
Sundown.
Fade to opaque.
Cue in the cucumbers.
Sloppy he says are my eyes,
sending cradles down in somber.
Showers tend to break away the fine points.
I lost my gamble again today to the rockets on the horizon.
Listless champions of a dying breed, I send you
invitations to my almighty shoestrings.
Once you toast my frayed bedsprings,
I salute you to an eternal apocalypse --
one of the heart, the nightmarish, dreaded
day of imminent solitude.
Secure my nasal passages.
Break my chains of bondage.
Great noodles can bring back
the sunny days of postmodern worship.
I've lost the key. Crampless am I,
the turd with words of wisdom.
Gunning my chisel.
Nailing the ice cycles down.
Grinding the toothache.
Checking my liver for
batteries to my
toaster oven.
Chant my hives!
Release the lizards!
Tone down the marsupials!
Drain my Lincoln pops, sir toadstool,
for my power of chisel pops has diminished
to a feeble drone, a humming tone of immanent chaos
and great chickens on rooftops singing the national anthem.
Grind the lizards now,
the oceans need them.
Sail now, cast away into the
crab-infested pond of mischief and doubt.
I love you, my gossamer, my gripping contraption,
but my head needs a place to rest --
far from chiseled onions,
far from the cries of chortled buffalo, tied to
the buckets of my routine fire drills.
I need to find a place for me to live, and
Sam says it must be in you, a stone worthy of my company.
I salute you. I loath and love you.
We will work this out. I have napkins.
You have shudders. She has needle eyes.
We have parents.
Crucified down into dill-picking monkeys,
how might I bring this to peace, my only monster?
Children eat the bananas
from my dead dog's household.
You will win with a heart of gold.
Chin up, feet down, turn the
coats and cats around,
chortled.
"Life is a tale told by an idiot -- full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."
-- William Shakespeare: Macbeth
Brainstream,
by Rewired,
9/13/03.
Red, dead poodles on a summer's evening gown,
shredded like lampshades off a turnip's eclipse.
Sundown.
Fade to opaque.
Cue in the cucumbers.
Sloppy he says are my eyes,
sending cradles down in somber.
Showers tend to break away the fine points.
I lost my gamble again today to the rockets on the horizon.
Listless champions of a dying breed, I send you
invitations to my almighty shoestrings.
Once you toast my frayed bedsprings,
I salute you to an eternal apocalypse --
one of the heart, the nightmarish, dreaded
day of imminent solitude.
Secure my nasal passages.
Break my chains of bondage.
Great noodles can bring back
the sunny days of postmodern worship.
I've lost the key. Crampless am I,
the turd with words of wisdom.
Gunning my chisel.
Nailing the ice cycles down.
Grinding the toothache.
Checking my liver for
batteries to my
toaster oven.
Chant my hives!
Release the lizards!
Tone down the marsupials!
Drain my Lincoln pops, sir toadstool,
for my power of chisel pops has diminished
to a feeble drone, a humming tone of immanent chaos
and great chickens on rooftops singing the national anthem.
Grind the lizards now,
the oceans need them.
Sail now, cast away into the
crab-infested pond of mischief and doubt.
I love you, my gossamer, my gripping contraption,
but my head needs a place to rest --
far from chiseled onions,
far from the cries of chortled buffalo, tied to
the buckets of my routine fire drills.
I need to find a place for me to live, and
Sam says it must be in you, a stone worthy of my company.
I salute you. I loath and love you.
We will work this out. I have napkins.
You have shudders. She has needle eyes.
We have parents.
Crucified down into dill-picking monkeys,
how might I bring this to peace, my only monster?
Children eat the bananas
from my dead dog's household.
You will win with a heart of gold.
Chin up, feet down, turn the
coats and cats around,
chortled.
