Post by moseley on Aug 11, 2013 20:25:15 GMT -6
I walk a dirge of my labels and titles
while I run a race to a goal of redefinition
by the antiphony one finds in employment
with the distant memories of father
provider, husband, good man, caring family
tethering like old curtains in an open windowed
abandoned house, no doors or threshold
but evidence of where it once stood
the whistling remains like a peppy jazz funeral
taking place in the Big Easy
easy, I can never find
simple I can never have,
comfort I can not enjoy
for my discomfort drives me more
I dance in the rain, I delight in the scars
for having been somewhere near harm
somewhere near life
when I can feel my heart beating,
its metered rhythm back to me
under the little flaps of me ears
as I run a little faster, breathe a little harder
in this saecula saeculorum
I call the year of the groundhog...
it wouldn't matter, was it not that I was hungry
and cooked and trimmed him out
before there was ever any notion of a shadow,
shame on my needs
shame on the sunshine
if I stand still it shows my flaws
it tells me I have been struck with an arrow
just a little above my heel
from the lone gunman on some grassy knoll
near where the shithouse troll
charges admission by consumption of each square
when did whatever give me this day my daily bread
and how do I forgive trespassers when I am trodden under foot
and five yards from the field goal at the end of fourth down
hey diddle diddle, it didn't work going up the middle
I have no home to take the brass band from
and nowhere to go to bury this load
I cannot find that Lost Highway
on an unsure and unknown road...
shall I find sunshine in my pocket
or are my pants just on fire
truth be told, I am not a good liar.
while I run a race to a goal of redefinition
by the antiphony one finds in employment
with the distant memories of father
provider, husband, good man, caring family
tethering like old curtains in an open windowed
abandoned house, no doors or threshold
but evidence of where it once stood
the whistling remains like a peppy jazz funeral
taking place in the Big Easy
easy, I can never find
simple I can never have,
comfort I can not enjoy
for my discomfort drives me more
I dance in the rain, I delight in the scars
for having been somewhere near harm
somewhere near life
when I can feel my heart beating,
its metered rhythm back to me
under the little flaps of me ears
as I run a little faster, breathe a little harder
in this saecula saeculorum
I call the year of the groundhog...
it wouldn't matter, was it not that I was hungry
and cooked and trimmed him out
before there was ever any notion of a shadow,
shame on my needs
shame on the sunshine
if I stand still it shows my flaws
it tells me I have been struck with an arrow
just a little above my heel
from the lone gunman on some grassy knoll
near where the shithouse troll
charges admission by consumption of each square
when did whatever give me this day my daily bread
and how do I forgive trespassers when I am trodden under foot
and five yards from the field goal at the end of fourth down
hey diddle diddle, it didn't work going up the middle
I have no home to take the brass band from
and nowhere to go to bury this load
I cannot find that Lost Highway
on an unsure and unknown road...
shall I find sunshine in my pocket
or are my pants just on fire
truth be told, I am not a good liar.
