likelikelike.creakMore Like This
like your bones like
the old door on its rusty hinges
tiptoeing on rickety boards
in chilly winter. yes. yes. yes.
your eyes are splinters
prickling fiercely at the back of my mind
you are you are you are
the last puzzle piece
and my wish upon a star.
like sinking toes into carpet
or watching people bet on things
they can't afford to lose.
like cravings for weird food
and maybe some soft
words once in a while.
like that, yeah.
of river and blood
salt rust clean.
you are clean.
like the breathless moment
before gravity rips a rollercoaster down
or gravity crashes burns kills murders.
gravity of the situation.
chalky tombstones and plastic flowers.
you are nothing and
you are everything.
like numbers like concrete like
stained glass and
ripped pages in books and
broken glass and
the discolored cotton candy
the vendors have to eat.
Ivory PianoThe Ivory PianoMore Like This
There sits the ivory piano that she used to play
If snowflakes had voices it was what they would say
A note was like a raindrop falling from a wintry sky
Her fingers telling their story of when they could fly
There aren't many residents in this building;
It's falling apart in some of the gilding
But now something feels as if it's gone astray
There'll be no Great Gig in the Sky today
The landlord is eighty years old or so
You often find him staring out at the crow
That will scarily perch on his windowsill
He often tells you that he's over the hill
Now that she's gone, there's sadness in his eyes
You don't need to ask why, for you already realize
Her and her music had brought this dying place to life
He quietly told you, that she reminded him of his wife
Her presence and quirkiness had held back his tears
All of his anxieties and all of his fears
You come home one night and he turns to you
And says of people like her, he's seen very few
You don't want to think about the m
UniformityThere is a uniformity of soundMore Like This
that saturates the universe-
some sequence of sight
that captures the brain
and rolls it around till it is no
more a mind
than an idea.
Thrown against the great wall of humanity,
into a being.
And where the thinker's seed is dropped,
- where it sprouts -
is the consciousness
of partaking in life.
Pipe Smoke Filled CoconutsFill a coconut up,More Like This
With pipe smoke,
Then open it up,
And that's all that comes out.
Your contents are never,
When you're too clever,
To think for yourself.
Stagnating, Wallowing, Idling,
Dreaming of a muse that,
Will make a bell ring,
Dragging you from under your empty bed.
Where you play with all of the dust bunnies,
Attend their parties,
And listen to all of their whisperings.
Day after day,
Just like the day before,
I have nothing to say,
That you haven't heard.
But I continue promising,
I'll divulge my secrets,
Every trivial thing,
Without growing or learning anything.
Coconuts lit by pipe glow,
Don't mean anything,
When you've nowhere to go,
Except your indulgent lethargy.
Wallowing warmly wondering,
Where does the time go,
When it's filled with nothing,
But gently spiralling pipe smoke.