Post by Steve on Jul 31, 2006 15:40:36 GMT -5
(movie theatre empty
Big Band
squeaky from the speakers
like tin foil it blankets the silence
passing `tween our lips.
Lazy eye-lid ticket nazi
slouchin like a sick vulture
mistempered because of its
knowledge of its own
demise,
crazy eyed 'got nothing to lose
cause i never had'
denying us tickets.)
(movie theatre two
silence
no music
chilled echoes hang like clouds
of words young kids said minutes before
children now gone
only rings of popcorn
holy youth feathers from wings,
so soft
thorns torn through tissue.
the movie itself brought issues
of silence,
that fall from our shoulders
and snag in the humid night
like statues hang on cemeteries
streetlights on roads
my mind on your words
lips on sores
hung like
poet's eyes on dead air
paint on her brush
sun on her hair
hung like
sorrow spun straight from
the widow
across the doorway
to your better day.
And we sped off in the night
watching the trail of orbs in the rearview
in our foriegn black commet
watching our tail
in the rearview mirrior.)
(the ferris wheel is lit
of course it is
bright traumatic colours
against Atlantic sky.
i remember nights around Easter
when they would remove the old bulbs
whose skin was grey like fishermen's
and the sounds their bodies made
falling into mass graves.
the ferris wheel is lit
spinning like the heart gear
of this aging monster,
spinning to keep another thing living-
without this wheel the Rats would never visit
and we wouldn't have to sweep up their shit...
yes shut off the lights, kill the motor-
i won't miss it.)
Big Band
squeaky from the speakers
like tin foil it blankets the silence
passing `tween our lips.
Lazy eye-lid ticket nazi
slouchin like a sick vulture
mistempered because of its
knowledge of its own
demise,
crazy eyed 'got nothing to lose
cause i never had'
denying us tickets.)
(movie theatre two
silence
no music
chilled echoes hang like clouds
of words young kids said minutes before
children now gone
only rings of popcorn
holy youth feathers from wings,
so soft
thorns torn through tissue.
the movie itself brought issues
of silence,
that fall from our shoulders
and snag in the humid night
like statues hang on cemeteries
streetlights on roads
my mind on your words
lips on sores
hung like
poet's eyes on dead air
paint on her brush
sun on her hair
hung like
sorrow spun straight from
the widow
across the doorway
to your better day.
And we sped off in the night
watching the trail of orbs in the rearview
in our foriegn black commet
watching our tail
in the rearview mirrior.)
(the ferris wheel is lit
of course it is
bright traumatic colours
against Atlantic sky.
i remember nights around Easter
when they would remove the old bulbs
whose skin was grey like fishermen's
and the sounds their bodies made
falling into mass graves.
the ferris wheel is lit
spinning like the heart gear
of this aging monster,
spinning to keep another thing living-
without this wheel the Rats would never visit
and we wouldn't have to sweep up their shit...
yes shut off the lights, kill the motor-
i won't miss it.)