Oh my God   They've got angels sweatin' like Helots   workin' their little halos to the bone combing them deserts   my figure eight knotted   lifeline defined traffic   the way my schoolin' end-less-ly defined every day   one exquisite fitted crisis rivets an octagon of red   to the ceiling above my bed   it's not a conversation piece, like public spectacles   unleashed more of a clue   so when I wake up to the rains I'll be one step ahead of you   I slide like Kodakrome(?)   wrote a poem for every planet   tracked their mileage from the sun in an envelope   licked it, stamped it   got eight thank yous in the mail, but nine planets means there's one left   only the earth would thank me later with a breath taking sunset   (man, I'm just a bum)   zip that waterfall around your skeleton   tell it to boil   loyalties, the shovel in the soil   dig it, I split my lip kissing the winter   nursed the blister in the sun   strung a hammock between spring and where the willows turn to blood   might of worked   sip a little, litter it, love it   without big beetles trying to sell him sunflower seeds by the bucket   might of, tugboat for the boxcutter above those ashes   without hot air balloons floatin' their four passenger baskets   and I'm asking you   to let a captive lacerate a caption   splash out massive   apolster plastic glasses with famine patches   i-dentify all saints linked around the fountain's warmth   and for a second taste of pain when removing that crown of thorns   ?????,???,???, born hostile, pacifist huddled in subtle masochist   stamp the blame on ??? ???   my fire escape overlooks ghost town market place   artists bought out passes   then fast themselves to the target's face   you're killin' me      if I had a hammer, I'd build a city on stilts   so my feet would stay dry when God's wine glass tilts      if I had a shovel, I'd dig a hole in the dirt   and I'll be hiding when his drunken stupor lands upon earth      and if your little wing is broken   I'll see the poacher in hell   I can't afford another ????? in a cell   my carousel mimics the interests of a thousand leaking spickets   and a colony of graziers raised to justify the grimace   (and yes I read the treaty)   I prescribe the remedy plus the premises   my pin cushion, my limbs pushin' the knitting needle   evils, idle, peddle past the greeting   where the sleepers feed the cycles   stop, watch the eagles board the little engine that could not   ghost in a shell   and it fell in my lap   passin', postin' the bail but the guard has misplaced the key ring (that's   wonderful)   I lead a flee to blaze exact songs directly into the village   power supply burning the bridge between the magnet and my eye   now how many cadavers satisfy a mad man?   and how many crooked samaritans turn plesantville to bad land?   I can count my own dusty nickels with you laughing   about you'll turn my poor ass ebony and navy with cane lashings   (well, you're right)   grip your pointed stick, incite your riot   I'll sell your worth in a bottle at profit, explain my bias   atomic box cult, downward spiral rapidly   cast to hell with hate mail, forged Christ's autograph   laughed itself, drastic catastrophe   biting my lip   skin and bones, stringent   bingin' on rancid baits   mummified well inside a muddy New York minute   was it    your remnants my smoke rings have cocooned prior to fading?   well, it wasn't conscious spite but it might have been that      I am not your friend anymore   my arrow head dissertation(?)   when narrow bed sleepers occupy the basement   and I am not your friend anymore   come the dawning of cerulean your pity blend that whispers in the wind      man, if it were only that simple   I'd add a guilt frame to my core   I'd board myself inside my room to trace the wilting contour   one petal falls to the rug, she loves me not   town crier lugging a boom box with spirit plugs   and a red radio flyer   tied to irony like twenty burning igloos with a sailors knot   fiddler crabs build sandcastles while high tide off azalea crops   in the icicle field I portray, cats get antsy   and ask 'why if every light is dark do I continue dancing?'      why if every light is dark do I continue dancing?      why if every light is dark do I continue dancing?      why if every light is dark do I continue dancing?   well if it ain't finally a question that's worth answering      I boogie for the raindrops   for the purity, the anger   for my childhood recollections   for the comic book in my heart   the mocked intentions   the clarity, passion, seclusion   those cool summer nights   for the mark emerging across the street selling me stog's at half price   for the mights, the maybes, the nauseating pitfall   my girl, my friends   for the fact my window opens towards a brick wall   for the three legged dog I saw dragged on a leash   for the homeless man who walks my block in rainstorms with plastic bags on   his feet   see I throw away the tenders over one shoulder   and walk across broken glass   through every wicked world to kiss tomorrow's morning   not for nothing   you'll drown in a pool of your crooked morals   whispering 'maybe Aesop Rock was on to something'      maybe, no promises