tremblers

[[ it's all about zombies or alien lesbians or feminists from beneath the earth or something or everything ]] 

poor little girl been  

wearing a disguise

pull back her hood 

and look in her eyes

with her laser look

she lays her down

in the softest grass of England 

on a hill we all know

we hear the mysterious hum grow

they come -- from deep underground

they come -- from just around the corner

they come -- between the night and morning

they come -- wearing no warning

they come -- for what they shouldn't ougrht-terr 

they come -- for your daughr-ter [[ dor-terr ]] [[ you could repeat this line as many times as you like ]] 

[[ and it could morph into "they comfort your daughter" for an alternate ambiguity ]]

hidden in your jeans  [[ genes? ]]

is your i-dent-i-fi-ca-tion

they come -- adorning the morning 

they come -- from just between the trees 

they come -- scorning your warning
they come -- with lust on the breeze

winding up the watch

[[ song for a censor ]]

I know you're listening

I know you're watching

I know you're fumbling 

at your crotch

Volunteered for this gig

Pretend you're a prig

but we know, we know, we know

you like to watch

Do you like 

what I'm doing now, 

mister lonely?

Do you wish 

you could click that button

and phone me?

But that would be contact

And you can't redact the fact

when we know, we know, we know

you like to watch

Whisky, whores, and gold (fuck this town)

[[ is it a Broadway song or a country song or a folk song? ]] 

Why should a man 

dig potatoes 

all day 

in these fields,

when there's gold 

to be dug 

from the ground? 

Why should a man 

hitch his wagon 

to the neighbor's 

pale girl,

when he could swing

a new dancer 

each night?

Why should a man 

grind out his life

in these 

four square walls,

when he could ride 

a straight line

till he's gone?

Why should a man

spend his days

signing checks

in this town,

when he could go

give a mountain

his name?

[[ first the noble-sounding stuff... ]] 

Ride 

with the morning behind you

Ride 

with the night in your eyes

Die 

with the stars rolling over your bones, but

Live

under infinite skies

[[ ...but then cut to the truth ]]

Course there's gold and whores and whisky,

Whores and whisky and gold.
Wouldn't want a girl to miss me

Wouldn't be a man to be told

All I want is whores and whisky

Give me whisky and whores
And gold.

I'm going out west, 

Cause fuck this town.

I will strike a match

I will burn it down

Fuck the thirteen colonies

Right from Maine on down

Fuck every city 
to the Mississippi

But, most of all, 
fuck this town.

I can't say I'm not going to miss you

I can't say I won't look around

But I can't stay another damned minute

Or I swear I will burn this place down

invasive species

[[ my genetics -- roots in the ground, then spread to another continent like my parents before me ]]

I pulled my father's 

self-consuming heart,

as he once got his,

up from the ground.

I pulled my mother's 

enfolding, collapsing mind,

as she once got hers,

up from the ground.

They never told us,

never warned us 

who we were,

where we came from

We reconstructed 

everything ourselves 

in perfect replica 

from plans they made 

and hid in our bones

long before the fall,

before the burst.

An invasive species, we 

fall from the sky, we

land and hold, we 

bring next to nothing and we 

learn to live with it, we
sink a tap root down, we
drive a spike through the earth, we
hold on tight, we

send a tap root down, we 

come up through the ground, we 

burst from earth, we 

turn towards the sun, we 

watch our flower flower, we 

green and flower and fade 

and dry and fly on this wind

somewhere on this wind 

that comes to pull us from ourselves

on this wind.

there is nothing 

I can't pull

from down in the dirt

falling into the well

[[ a love song, I think - falling in love, but also falling in orbit ]]

we are always 

moving forward

we are always 

falling down

this is how 

we measure all,

all of our time

how many times 

have we been 

round the sun?

how many times 

have we seen 

summer come?

and go?

how many times 

have we felt 

this coming snow?

you and I 

are always falling

falling into the well

you and I go 

round the world 

together every day 

you and I go 

round the sun 

together every year 

don't get tired

of going round

the one true faith

[[ love and sex ]]


She says she is,
and so she is.

This is the one
true faith:

a shaft
shot through

the opened chambers
of the heart

and lungs:
a gasp,

and then
transfixion,

butterflied
upon a sheet.

two dirt roads

Let's take a walk: 

here was the church,  

here was the bridge, 

here was the tavern, 

as fine a road 

as you could walk

on any other day

Rest your head 

here in this meadow, 

each leaf and flower 

once was a soldier 

as fine a man 

as you could meet

on any other day

Come Judgment Day,   

how many souls

will stand up in this meadow

rise up into the air

and straight into the sun?

Come Judgment Day,

how many souls

will walk out of this river

rise up into the sky

and burn gold in the sun?

The names they call 

these places now

could never say

what happened here

Here in this place,

a crumbled church,

a broken bridge, 

a burning tavern, 

at the meeting 

of two dirt roads

as fine a road

as you could walk

on any other day

you might have met

your oldest friend

come the other way

at the meeting

of two dirt roads  

Come Judgment Day,   

how many souls

will stand up in this meadow

rise up into the air

and straight into the sun?

Come Judgment Day,

how many souls

will walk out of this river

rise up into the air

and burn gold in the sun?

Come Judgment Day,

how many souls

will stand and stare  

at the meeting of two dirt roads?

how many souls

will stand and stare

at the meeting of two dirt roads?

You died

You died, and suddenly we all wore suits

like at a wedding, your whole family here,

my family there, two rows of po-faced mutes.

Someone enlarged supposedly the last

good shot of you, hung like a gallery piece.

They stooped to check the label as they passed.

Then two guitars began. And a recorder.

Oh, Christ, the jangle would have made you laugh. 

"Gone home to be" not here, and in short order.

I left as soon as you were in the hole,

dodged small talk, promises of anything, 

when anything is stew and casserole.

I'll feed the cats on casserole and stew,

and sleep off the vacation we were saving.

I need a drink, a smoke, a drink, and you.