little green men

[[ about the day aliens finally came, or foreign workers, or environmentalists ]]

We gave up beer

We gave up dope

We gave up God 

We gave up hope

We gave up cars

and parking space.

We walked, for Christ's 

sake, in disgrace.

I used to work there;

Turned a knob.

They took our factory,

job by job.

In walked Roberto

Out walked Bob

They took the factory

They took my knob

little green men

We didn't know 

what hit us

We didn't know 

a thing

We didn't see 

it coming

We didn't know 

a god damned thing

little green men

Right here in Jonestown,

In Grover's Mill,

In Roanoke, Virginia,

On Bunker Hill

Lunar Blues

[slow, relaxed, romantic]
All we have in common
is that moon pasted yellow on the sky
All we have in common
is that moon pasted yellow on the sky
Better get to what we came for
'Fore we tell that yellow moon goodbye.

Close the window to the night air
The birds will all be singing soon
Close the window to the night air
The birds will all be singing soon
And don't forget to pull the curtains
on that sneaky old man in the moon.

[a bit faster...]
Baby, watch the clock
Time runs faster than you fear
Baby, watch the clock
Time runs faster than you fear
Better check your almanac
The shortest evening of the year

[vinegar strokes instrumental]

[resolution]
I will slip out your window
and head down the road with the moon
I will slip out your window
and head down the road with the moon
but I won't forget you, honey,
or this moon in June soon...

[[ then back to the top and fade ]]

A parade of freak

[[ the people who wander home up the middle of the empty street after closing time or home after the party's over -- I see them when I'm up late at my desk facing on to the street or when they're doing the walk of shame in the morning ]]

Just when the calm

comes down,

Just when the sky

is clear,

Just when a dome

of stars rolls over

all our home...

A parade of freak [sic]

Walk down our street

Hand in hand

Foot by feet [sic]

Muscle and bone

Bone and meat 

Talking meat

Screaming meat

Walking home

When the world is done

Closing down

One by one

A parade of freak [sic]

Just when the moon

moves into view,

Just when today

leaves for the evening,

Just when the all alone

becomes all

and alone...

A parade of freak [sic]

Walk down our street

Hand in hand

Foot by feet [sic]

Muscle and bone

Bone and meat 

Talking meat

Screaming meat

Walking home

When the world is done

Closing down

One by one

A parade of freak [sic]

Here comes our darling

Walking the all alone

Finally finding home

In the plain of day

Missing the whole parade

In a gaze of "Hey,

Look what the cat dragged

Look what the cat dragged

Look what the cat dragged

Look what the cat dragged..."

A parade of freak...

drawn to water

Our pale daughter,

drawn to water,

wears her outside in.

She first spoke for us

at two, on the bus:

"I am inside my skin." 

She first noticed me

when she was three

humming a wandering tune.

"Sing me the one

with the moon and sun.

I am the sun in the moon."

she dreams

she dreams of science, dreams of progress,

dreams of wolves running over

(wolves coming for her)

wolves running over the field

(wolves coming into the fold)

she dreams of marriage, dreams of babies,

dreams of wolves running over

(wolves coming for her)

wolves running over the field

(wolves coming into the fold)

she dreams of holy orders,

withdrawal from this world,

she dreams of

god the feather,

god the sun and moon,

god the goat, she

dreams of wolves running over

(wolves coming for her)

wolves running over the field

(wolves coming into the fold)

she believes there must be meaning

in these dreams

she would pluck them each apart

at their seams

and feed them to you

and feed them to you

she would watch the birds fly

and wonder what it meant

what message they had sent

butcher house blues

Take me to the butcher house

Lay my head on the block

Take me to the butcher house

Lay my body down on the block

Off comes my head

and off comes my cock

out comes my asshole

like a lost sock.

Off comes my skin

to show my pink insides.

Just slip in the knife 

to see where the man resides.

||: Release my warm red blood - 

Begin the ancient flood :||

Stack up all the parts of me

limb by limb by limb.

Stack me back of the butcher's block

so I see me by him by him.

Take a saw to my cranium

And pop off the top 

Watch the steam from my brain

Rise thought by thought by thought

chained to the wall

we did it all

chained to the wall

talking to the clear blue day

talking of love 

through a wire strung above

our words were carried away

under water

each impossible

as the last

cloud roll over 

one million ton

one hundred mile

an hour

press me

into grass

I am too weak

to stand


[[ grammatical irregularities are intentional. ]]

mindful of you

v1:
I have watched you while you're sleeping

I have listened to you snore

I have watched you while you're sleeping

I have listened to you snore

I have crept into the kitchen

And I have closed the kitchen door

Chorus:

But I am mindful of you always

Sitting still in a chair

I am mindful of you always

Sitting still in a chair

There is tea in the tea cup.

There is steam in the air.

v2:
I have sat next to you mornings

While the bumblebee purred

I have sat next to you mornings

While the bumblebee purred

I have closed my eyes to listen

How you don't say a word

ghost you

I will

ghost you

You will

find your

self

unmoored

and set

adrift

between

the stars

I will

ghost you

you will

find you

all al-

one

between

the shores

and watch

ing stars

roll o

verhead

I will

cut you 

dead - if

ghost you

comes to 

haunt me

I will

ghost you

ghost

A spirit coiled (the mocking ghost)

[[ this one began with something real -- Diplacusis dysharmonica, Diplacusis echoica -- and turned into a spirit walking at night in my peripheral hearing and mocking me, and this became a song to be sung with chants and drums and a chorus of mocking spirits]]

[the predicament of the soul]
A spirit coiled
in the curl
of my ear

talks to me
like a lurker
in the other room

I cannot tell
above the wind
that whistles by

Is this the me
who's talking? Whose
tongue is this?

My mind or spi
rit coiled within
my inner ear?

Whose tongue is curled
in my left ear?
Come out now!

[one explanation of the soul's predicament]
They say
the mocking ghost
will walk your words
back home.

They say
the mocking ghost
will turn your tale
around.

They say
the mocking ghost
will live in your
left ear.

[chant of the mocking ghost in insect voices]
They say
the mocking ghost
They say
the mocking ghost
They say
the mocking ghost

[wonderment from within]
My mind
or flight of birds?

My mind
or branches aching?

My mind
or not my mind?

[another explanation of the soul's predicament]

They say 

the mocking ghost
will show
another you.

They say
the mocking ghost
will bend the light
round you.

They say
the mocking ghost
will live in your
left ear.

[chant of the mocking ghost in insect voices]
They say
the mocking ghost
They say
the mocking ghost
They say
the mocking ghost

trans

[[ I think of listening to music a long time ago, when we had radio stations and we had music machines built into our furniture ]]

I can smell 

the amplifier

warming up,

up from

the inside

an orange 

pouring 

out from

the inside 

the tuner 

warm and

the table

turning

I can feel

the radio

through me

lights out

lie on the carpet

the soft glow

of the radio

rest your head

in your hands

press your belly

to the floor

feel the bass of

the radio

a little ether

into the signal

the breath of Venus

a storm on the sun

the origin 

of our universe

the great machine

spins up to speed

waiting for America (start again)

Waiting for America

over the horizon

Waiting for America

to sink beneath the waves

and start again

and start again

Waiting for America

smoke over Phoenix? [[ too obvious allusion to the mythical bird? Eh. I'm keeping it.]]

Waiting for America

to burn to the ground

and start again

and start again

I can't remember 

the anthem of America

Do you remember 

the anthem of America?

It's just another 

song about another war

The war when someone burned 

the White House down

The war when someone ran

the president out of town

Escape from Washington 

burn the fucker down 

and start again

and start again

[[ An anti-anthem for America, and not a very good one. It needs lots of work. It's not supposed to be wishing things to fall apart, but just waiting for things to fall apart, because that's the way it looks like it's going. But I'll let Blogger be my backup in the meantime. ]]

moon go down

[[ it feels like infidelity or lycanthropy or both ]]

I cannot tell

where I go tonight

moon go down

moon go down

moon go down in my heart 

I cannot tell

where I go tonight

be no witness

where I go tonight

moon follow on

moon follow on

moon follow on through the wood

nobody know

nobody know

nobody know bad from good

I cannot tell
where I go tonight

the noon office

[[ how days pass ]]

It's not so awful,
this office glass,
these window shades,
each slice of light
across my face.

At noon with tea
I look across:
another building,
another looking glass
ten stories high,
half an hour long,
thirty minutes,
one thousand
eight hundred
seconds, to stand
at this window
to settle my mind.

We learn to catch
it in the glass:
A cloud, a cloud,
a cloud, a cloud,
another cloud.
A cloud, a cloud,
a cloud,
the track of sun.
And day is done.

At night I am
a tattooed cannibal.
At night I am
engraved.
At night I am
the pinpoint voice
between my ears.

And then we are
a binary star.

boy on the beach

[[ from a picture we have all seen -- Alan Kurdi ]]

A boy on the beach
in the waves on the beach
in the sand on the beach
unafraid of the sea

You're not afraid of the open sea
You're not afraid of the rolling boat
You're not afraid of the open sea
You're not afraid of the rolling boat
You're not afraid of the deep deep water
You're not afraid of afraid anymore

You're Mama's brave boy
You're Baba's brave boy
You're not afraid of
anything anymore

now where were we?

[[ it's a sort of country music love song gone wrong -- or a couple of heroin addicts ]]

there's nothing pretty
about getting old
you turn down the heat
but I'm always cold

I count my pills out
you jab your skin
we're good for a day
the state that we're in

but isn't it all so much prettier than turning blue?

All our clouds
blow away
we turn silver
against the day
against that day

look at these photos
how old were we then?
how old are we now?
how old will we ever be?

dust off that mirror
is that you and me?
never saw this coming
how old will we ever be?

we were so skinny
when you came to stay
do you remember anything
before yesterday?

do you remember
when we walked the earth?
we had nothing but sky
and the sky was enough

now I count my pills out
you jab your skin
we're good for a day
the state that we're in

but  isn't it all so much prettier than turning blue?


||: turn up the heat :||

certain situations

you find yourself	you have yourself	you find yourself	you make yourself
some mornings	a couple	afternoons	say something
in the kitchen	eggs and bacon	elbow to elbow	promise progress
watching someone	mumble something	with working people	to a  roomful
you don't know	go to work	you don't know	of unknowns

and where do you drive to now? 

you can't go home

it is not home

the quiet crawls the length of your back

you cannot work

it is not work

the seasons roll past airtight windows

you want to fill your pockets
with the pebbles of the beach
and measure out the pier

and one step more

it's dark down there

it's deep enough
to do the job
just long enough

sharpening

[[ it's all figurative -- talk in the kitchen at a party, right? right? ]]

we're in the kitchen

sharpening wits

honing the edges

of our slicy bits

taking our knives out

steel and bone

dragging each edge along

sharpening stone

pushing our knives in

steel and bone

stop when we find ourselves

all alone

pulling our knives out

steel and bone

calling a taxi on
a dead man's phone

burning churches

[[ I have stopped to watch big churches burn -- it's very dramatic -- but words do double duty here. What is most important in a church -- what they carry out of a burning church -- is the art and the records. Churches are the local warehouses of time and beauty. Something like that. ]]

I have stopped
to watch
your churches burn.

What you carry
out from churches
filled with fire

is art -- religion
of religions,
and the only true --

a trap for frisson,
how it feels
along our nerves,

art and history,
a trace of time
in curled ink,

the word on page,
a jar of you
in vinegar

to evidence that
you were born,
your mother born,

and time sleeps
in a pile
of local stone.