(G D C D G) Time Time is a playboy He won’t scratch your car, but he’ll break your heart And you’ll fall apart before the second date (G D C D G) Time Time is a bouncer Wears diamond chains, got ice in his veins He goes to operas but he stays awake (C Em D G) Time Waiting for the madness Honey it’s a tragedy That I spent it on you (Am G D Em) Oh, Time Waiting by the altar Roses from your mother Cheating and spending on you
I REMEMBER A YEAR AGO TODAY I WOULD ALLOW OTHERS TO TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR MY EMOTIONS.
I’ve often dreamt of utopia A pretty little pond and perfect petunias A rose frozen over, trapped in a glass box An aquarium of cells Within cells, within cells Interlinked Amoeba, the Zeitgeist Phosphorous and fluorescents A subtle scent that tastes like skin We cry, “Death to the corporation!” I’m dreaming of better days In perfunctory nods, closed quarters A locker that only takes coins I don’t remember when it started The voices The empty gestures of hope We weave in and out Between traffic cones, metro rails Like ants scattered for molehills We make mountains from Land mass and synthesis Lakefill, landfill, the head of King Philips the Fourth On a silver platter Clementines, goat cheese A basket of bread baked by Jackie Webber At the local book club She recommends “For Our Sons & Daughters” But she hasn’t read a single page
For Athena, Daughter of the Pearl, Nectarines with a tinge of nepotism Death by stasis A lychee martini, A wheel of Brie, Cross stitched denim with a need to please I remember being fourteen, Middle parted hair, Inexplicable growths Up and down my arms I remember Chester, and Molly And these schoolyard games, Where we measured Who could stick their tongues the farthest I remember Molly And her clementine charm Bracelets stamped with Repercussions Her father called her names, On Saturdays and weekdays Sunday’s remained Reserved to the Lord I remember Chester, Splintered wrist, cabbage patch kids Leather studded jacket A smoldering look he reserved Only for the girls I remember his possessions Me, included For everything in the world, he owned But in the end, he valued nothing
I think I’m a bit of a Hopeless Romantic With this predisposition And misconception Of the Causality of circumstances All these faces That have strolled through My memory’s museum And have stolen Artifacts But left footprints of Their own They are no different from Reflections of skies upon puddles Love is only a feeling It is not intrinsically related to Souls or spirits Quite honestly All these characters Lack what I need From a person But god To just reminisce Is quite the melancholic exercise For there lingers hope In future reconnection A fire lit once but abandoned Can perhaps catch flame again
Parables from Youth Pastor Manson: Of Concordian Grapes, “Concordia”, he said "I do concur" "Who has done this to you? The child who was once there?" We’re left with only the potions “Our pasture, our problem” He said, holding my hand In rosary beads Rosy cheeks, I spring up Under weeping willows And acquiescent glades “A spiritual bath is an awakening” I mix my vodka with pomegranate Drink to our Father, It’s what we do weekends In search for something else To Mother Mary, A dozen cranberries scrawled In flesh and tombstone May we rest forever
