TALK JIVE!

who got time to shoe shine
line up your chalk head get a fix
on that fixture. it's thicker then beaver fur
down by the river, who shot naughty nate
nasty nate's brudda, been drownin here
ya'll got a beer, hopped up on hop-scotch
single blend'll mend that head like a toothache
comin' on from that shit you comin' off
black smack, that's brown shit, dat ain't no fit for a king
ring or sing a thing bling
ya'll don't know a thing, just think ya do, damn fool.

creedles a pinwagon deluxe makeup kitbag

fuck you. punchbag.
punch your fuckbag face.
needles and pins
and coldcream compresses
on stitched up inches of face.
saturday nights alright for laying.
your alright, we're all alright.
so quit acting like you're not.
it's not your psyche that's off,
it's your philosophy on life.
you expect to get something out of life.
well you can't.
fuckface.

depends(it's more then just a diaper rash razer)

it's cold out
and the wind is cutting through the tops of the trees
the roots, the whole of the timber stand
snearing back, like a lost thought, run over
and over and over run.

what depends on me is dependent on me
and i depend on nothing, but that depends
on how independent i feel, and well, i just never have
felt the need to disappear completely, just completely disappear
in a temporary way.

laughter is sunning itself on the golden rock hard reason
of a two cent pickup truck sticker of unlicensed calvin
pissing on artist's rights.
i piss on artists rights and rightly sew the seeds of disillusion.
so what?

ghost town

in memory there's a pill
i took and forgot everything
so now i walk with my head bowed
and breathe like i can't ever
recall breathing before
and each day i find a new road
and a new soul, growing
old.

-

the colonel came in with a lengthy display of corpses
strapped around his neck
'killed these krauts in the second war' he said
as if there had ever only been two.
as if death were something to be proud of.
as if his soul wasn't already burning in hell.
as if hell hadn't come through the door with him
and followed him
every path he went down.

-

there's a chill on my back
spreading it's web
like the legs of a spider
working overtime
in feverish pitch
to quilt the whole waste-
land midwest.
visions are haunting
the crevices where i kept
my sadness locked up
like the indian in the cupboard
like fall days that meant more
20 years ago,
then they could ever
mean today.
it's too late.
it's too late.
so don't wait,
because i'll never be coming back for you.
20 years to late.