stray fire

i stand here so painfully obvious in your courtship, however so polite, as boys will be on occasion. 

drinking from your lips' sweet consonants, the mouth of a drawn out life lorn passenger, relentlessly trying to manage the balance beam, shifting and straightening; making certain the air pockets stay within their limits. 

how is it, to work our lives away, and spend none of it creating anything of importance.

i lay my legs folded next to yours, pattern your angular posture, breathe your air and mimic all the skies temperament to simply be in alignment, and understand all of the woes of latter teenage angst, driven off by broken spirit and bloody noses.

my want is the only constant. our chanced detours are few and far, specific and grandiose. i make the most of us, and leave you to be your own, forgetful and unaware, but wholly self-conscious beauty.

i know i'm of no bother, the moments are welcomed and indulged, but never recounted. i stumble, too cautiously, my flawed life insistence, to falter alone by my own wronging. 

i am an appointment, a scheduled fragment, a number drawn, in the ocean of your convenience. 

pedestals aside, to wonder, if your eyes and anxieties ever will coincide with one willing boy king.

steam tilt wavering

we can drink in parking lots

and wear out our centennial sleeves

posture perfect banter 

in the overlaying, skylit reprieve

shut in. lungs. stall

fenced. out. trysts. teen crawl

do do do do, 

do do do do, 

(steam tilt wavering)

do do do do, 

do do do!

(steam tilt wavering)

(x2)

hands are tattooed yesterdays

from a momentary align

smell you on my cigarettes

and a surrogate burned, into my face

i could wry a thousand lives

and comb, the drawls of our menial cries

stark. mill. dull freight

part. tall. scratch. wrists. ache

do do do do, 

do do do do, 

(steam tilt wavering)

do do do do, 

do do do!

(steam tilt wavering)

(x2)

frontwards (roads in detour)

the world was all strung, headed up like a toddler. my first half, at first felt like nothing absolute. then pour, oh detour felt the surge in my thighs, pulsating through my bloodstream, like a new glow, quite acute, as sure as a childhood cartoon. glowing happy. sold and bought off. no crashes. and i thought of you. we stood like detours in the stream of half minded wit. dancing, touching toes, but never fingertipped in the fancies of our trivial marriage of consonants. mouth, my sweet intention, it's only to pare down our awkward, merely a exercise, hardly hinged and misdirected disparage. i could stand and stand well in the midriff of your literary device, and take more abuse than welcomed, if only to hear the sweet thistle of your calm, weathered pragmatic emblems. i could live and die in your gaze, averted and invited, beaming like the proud womb of perfection.

distractions

while you were gone i cornered the burroughs of my mind carried the felt, kept at harbor while i trailed off
divided sunsets and feelings imposed impartial and imparted
no reassurance, just hope and highs thrown into myself nerves and all bones, fit to break at any given stride
i've seen shine, and all too well but never so reasonable when you're hands away
the moment that strings grow dissonant and ears go untuned and we only hear what our heads want us to
this is what it's like to stop. as the moment continues to breathe
i could muster words like trembling lips; sparse, literal and unequivocally forward, as we write our lives like foreign roads, feverishly curious and fragmented.
there is no unison, only exchange, excess and underwhelm. should days become mundane, and at week's end our galas find resolve, i welcome the chimes of another found chord, lost unto its own.

posturing

oh here she stands, in the sweltering of our madness, inhaling the dutiful asterisks and exclamations made by parties, once stranger, now all but familiar, wondering where the dusk left us.
at a courier's pace, breathing breathing breathing.
you and i are a cusp, so if we continue to rest, will our memories smolder? or remain a flicker, unsure and satisfied.
she smells of rose petals and hot summer skin, all the while unrelenting and forward footed.
she could write harmonies with stares, and crush boys with biting smirks.
hold remind; forget of me sweet reciprocated shuffles. hand in heart, wallowing aimfully, until keys unlock doors and embraces serenade the farewells we all know too well.

sick balloons- 1974

this is the video from my record, farewell to the swagger kids.

balloons/

i make music. i'm hoping to have some out by the end of november....

in the meantime, go here:

http://www.myspace.com/sickballoons