Drive On
The piano’s tune’s jammed up and sliding
as you walk low, low sick
through the mirrored door.
The carpet is a fracture match
with the bones of your broken skull.
Your shoes shattered by cold.
You got lullabied by carollers
on your way to rhapsody.
The bar is an old train car.
We call the barkeep, the conductor.
Your girlfriend waits in straddle
on a tall wooden chair.
She found these tracks
after the courage pills dried in her throat.
She wears her face like a tattoo of her mother,
before mama choked on saturated sleeves.
You like your girl that way.
You can see where she’s headed.
Drive on, my friend, drive on.
I’m watching you.
Drive on.
Something’s torn the base of your tongue
so words come out jagged and draw up blood.
Her skin is thin and powder milk white,
clean is under her arms.
She walked into your life
on a cloud of angel mist.
Your hand slips up her bubble gum thighs.
She bites down on a cube of ice
and you know the veins of her ass
are swollen and blue.
Drive on, my friend, drive on.
I am watching you.
Outside You’re surrounded
by the eight ball black of an icy night.
And there’s a back room you’ve found at the Sugar Motel.
A slammed out, wedding bell warehouse.
This is where you go for a love story
that has no direction, no tempo, no jazzed up fusion.
She is a void filled with butterflies.
It is your purpose to open up the cocoon
and trophy her heart in formaldehyde.
Drive on, my friend, drive on.
Bag the bride, the coke whore,
the girl with a Kelvar womb.
She will sing a rocky valentine.
She will lick the pearly gates.
Drive on, my friend, drive on.
Now listen, as the metal of the lid
scrapes in its rotation over the glass.
Haaaaaaa.
How you live for completion,
itemize the rage.
Ram your doubts into the future.
Fall in love again,
surround her in chemical.
Prove you ain’t blinded by cartwheels.
Gotta earn the love of Mother.
Show her loyalty in a shower of steel.
Take a pugilistic attitude against the flames.
And every slim jim you slide between us
only binds me further to your strawberry fields.
Drive on my friend Drive on.
I am watching you, my friend. Drive on.
I’m watching you.
I am watching you.
Ever After
She was born among orchids.
Warm, red-silk water, embroidered gold.
Descending tall grasses.
Golden neck arch curving over tidal wave heart aches.
Metronome timing rooted deep by the tides,
melodic chiming from the throats of doves.
Pebbles, polished, inlaid in red clay
display altered dreaming.
Foreign to cold she digs wells in the sun.
At home in the wheat fields
Gentle ascendants climb
staining her ankles in black berry juice.
She commands her own alphabet.
She sires her own symphonies.
She hears the hushed willows confiding in night
and paints their language blue in a continent whose
rivers
run
pure.
