Turn on the recording devices, there’s some things I need to say out of context. Put your hand in this jar and pull out all the tacks, now you know what’s going on in my mind. Take this violin and play it on the beach and when you’re done throw it in the waves, so the octopi and the jellyfish can weep to our melodies.
Is that snow or volcanic ash or toxic confetti that covers this cantankerous city?
I’m wearing suede shoes and I’m dancing with a mannequin.
Consume this murderous milkshake, drink this dangerous daiquiri, let’s vacation on Vesuvius. Freeze my blood and drop it in a pint of Bud.
Let’s get drunk and yell at the fuzz.=
We’re sinister, miniature miracles…
falling from pinnacles onto cynical vinegar.
Swallow me up and spit me out, I’m bitter.
Follow me around the down and out, I’m litter.
Counting pennies on sidewalks, robbing mimes for invisible time.
Pooping up Mueslix, scooping a crucifix, eating lutefisk, stranded in Budapest.
Halfway to Bali… got a lei around my neck and I’m checked out in an alley.
We can do-si-do till the moon dipsy-do and the sun goes whoopsy-woo.
Fall asleep in a redwood hammock with a half-eaten sandwich…
Strung-out, heartbroken, tongue-tied, star ballet from the fungi…
The sky… doing tricks like a Russian bear driving a Hyundai…
with a paper bib and a plastic rib, everybody watching the front line,
where the soldiers grunt and the ones in the trench harrumph.
We’re left to die in a marsh, made of toxic barf, broke down to Mars….
My spaceship is made of Reddi Wip© — Time Travel ain’t too far…
I’m coming home in a dinosaur bone, replace my heart with a cellular phone…
I’m 16 calories… charge me up with a battery, my life, my love is scattering…
like pollen in a frosty pond…
Everybody jump up and dance to the DJ,
get your frisky, risky business on…
Life’s a 30-mile relay… you don’t know where
to pass the baton… I’m 3-ways to the sheets….
beneath the streets and freeways.
Let’s just bang the gong,
fall in love and sing our song.
I’m filling out postcards…
licking stamps and watching planes crash in France.
I’m milling around…
studying art by Napoleon Bonaparte…
I’m just kicking the ground,
waiting for the spaceship to land,
climb aboard and greet the captain…
hit light-speed till our eyes bleed..
1% of 1% — I’m 30,000 feet from present tense…
my feet tense up, I bundle up, cover my eyes
so my disguise be fundamentally wonderment —
Hold on as we blast off, rear view mirror, glass shard,
everything fractured and made of matter…
my vision captured the universe as it splattered and spread out
over the highway my rubber wheels tread and bled out.
Are we home alone?
Or just hanging out?
Dangling from an umbrella?
like a bat in a cave waiting to fly?
Hop-scotching on wet cement,
so our footprint leaves a dent?
Tell me your story, it won’t bore me.
What’s your name? I’m sure it’s not lame.