rasputin
04-14-2009, 10:26 PM
I
Lurching, stumbling
They block the gates with their bags
Their hidden features lag behind
Late bloomers play tag with time
‘Could you be so kind as to tell me your name?’
I’m sure you’ll do just fine
You among the throngs scented with the night
They who share air and loop their laces
Business suits and ties distort their faces
An elderly man snores beneath the rumbling floors
‘What did you wake me for?’ he roars
As the wheels grind to a stop
As our ears pop to welcome a new friend
The drama of her life
Turns the carriage to theatre
Her screeches played far over the top
Her features hidden beneath an ugly frock
Yet the men turn their heads
Their diminished pupils dart
Oh Jean-Paul, how you were right!
Look at their eyes, like a crazed insect
On a sphere of ice
Their manners unsubtle, if that’s to suffice
As subtle as my allusions to them
As monkeys, as apes, as lice picking primates
But all’s in order as their borders are met
And the sweets of the eye are seemingly wet
Ten years pass, an adulterated wink
A station wagon in the sink
Its tires spinning and fender bent
‘How could you miss, why were you sent?’
The door opens and a voice climbs out:
‘I bring the sun. I bring the drought’.
Where is your net Mr. Keeper Man?
Why are all your animals out and about
Wearing their suits and their ties and their pouts?
His hand casts down, his voice permeates
‘To pass the drought son, to pass the drought.’
II
Dry heat, my feet pull me to a rusted seat
A spot of solace in the shade of a tree
Pulling teeth
Pulling smiles at the breeze
The paranoid looks of passers by
Affronted by my eyes
Oh Theo, how you were right!
How they’re blinded by their perfumed retreats
Confronted by concrete minds in the street
An elderly woman crawls as my headphones roar
She moans: ‘Blasphemy! Sacrilege! Revolting profanity!’
But I implore;
I’m just like you, nothing more
I sail the sea unlike no other
Your breath is weak so do not bother
Each passing raft is cast beneath the surface
‘Mr. Myshkin, I’m nervous!
And the promise of home still unnerves me!’
But I implore;
You’re just like me, you can believe!
So I threw myself on the floor
Besides the old man who snores
I asked,
‘Why does he implore, why here, why now?’
He opened one eye and snorted a reply
‘To pass the drought son, to pass the drought’.
III
The revolver goes click, the rails go clack
Linoleum seats fade through my back
The carriage lies empty, all but for one
She sits across the floor
She holds her tongue
‘Tyne, but I implore;
The wagon in the sink and the books in the store
Don’t they contradict?
Could you be a bore?’
No, she doesn’t think
So the Queen will take the floor;
‘Off with her head!’ – could one expect more?
The carriage dissolves and the court is to recess
My journey continues
The company works resets
A habit has formed – oh me, oh my!
Would this bite the apple of your eye?
Could I distract and let you pry?
Not in the least, and so I retreat
Thus a bride and her groom
Both on a leash
The wagon goes vroom and thus I’ve beseeched
But the painting dissolves and the carriage reseats
I’m on my way home; I’ve passed the endless sea!
‘But I implore, turn back once more
Have a look at Nights Galore
Take refuge in the fights
Theatrics pinned by a whore’.
I must admit
Her silver rings I do adore!
‘Then fight no more’.
But I must refuse
For I philosophise not with a hammer
But with a saw
Yes, I may be obtuse
But the tables lie on the floor
And her head would make a pretty figure
Displayed high up on my wall.
And thus the train approaches home
Oh what I’ve learned, how much I’ve grown!
I stoop down to the ground
The rumbling of the floor
Such a comforting sound
The elderly man and his nearby chore
He moans
‘It is she who snores, I must implore!
Together we sleep
But together no more!
As she exhaled she met with my saw!
Now she can breathe and no longer implore!’
And so I asked
‘Old man, what for, what for?’
He smiled and dryly let out:
‘To pass the drought son, to pass the drought’.
Lurching, stumbling
They block the gates with their bags
Their hidden features lag behind
Late bloomers play tag with time
‘Could you be so kind as to tell me your name?’
I’m sure you’ll do just fine
You among the throngs scented with the night
They who share air and loop their laces
Business suits and ties distort their faces
An elderly man snores beneath the rumbling floors
‘What did you wake me for?’ he roars
As the wheels grind to a stop
As our ears pop to welcome a new friend
The drama of her life
Turns the carriage to theatre
Her screeches played far over the top
Her features hidden beneath an ugly frock
Yet the men turn their heads
Their diminished pupils dart
Oh Jean-Paul, how you were right!
Look at their eyes, like a crazed insect
On a sphere of ice
Their manners unsubtle, if that’s to suffice
As subtle as my allusions to them
As monkeys, as apes, as lice picking primates
But all’s in order as their borders are met
And the sweets of the eye are seemingly wet
Ten years pass, an adulterated wink
A station wagon in the sink
Its tires spinning and fender bent
‘How could you miss, why were you sent?’
The door opens and a voice climbs out:
‘I bring the sun. I bring the drought’.
Where is your net Mr. Keeper Man?
Why are all your animals out and about
Wearing their suits and their ties and their pouts?
His hand casts down, his voice permeates
‘To pass the drought son, to pass the drought.’
II
Dry heat, my feet pull me to a rusted seat
A spot of solace in the shade of a tree
Pulling teeth
Pulling smiles at the breeze
The paranoid looks of passers by
Affronted by my eyes
Oh Theo, how you were right!
How they’re blinded by their perfumed retreats
Confronted by concrete minds in the street
An elderly woman crawls as my headphones roar
She moans: ‘Blasphemy! Sacrilege! Revolting profanity!’
But I implore;
I’m just like you, nothing more
I sail the sea unlike no other
Your breath is weak so do not bother
Each passing raft is cast beneath the surface
‘Mr. Myshkin, I’m nervous!
And the promise of home still unnerves me!’
But I implore;
You’re just like me, you can believe!
So I threw myself on the floor
Besides the old man who snores
I asked,
‘Why does he implore, why here, why now?’
He opened one eye and snorted a reply
‘To pass the drought son, to pass the drought’.
III
The revolver goes click, the rails go clack
Linoleum seats fade through my back
The carriage lies empty, all but for one
She sits across the floor
She holds her tongue
‘Tyne, but I implore;
The wagon in the sink and the books in the store
Don’t they contradict?
Could you be a bore?’
No, she doesn’t think
So the Queen will take the floor;
‘Off with her head!’ – could one expect more?
The carriage dissolves and the court is to recess
My journey continues
The company works resets
A habit has formed – oh me, oh my!
Would this bite the apple of your eye?
Could I distract and let you pry?
Not in the least, and so I retreat
Thus a bride and her groom
Both on a leash
The wagon goes vroom and thus I’ve beseeched
But the painting dissolves and the carriage reseats
I’m on my way home; I’ve passed the endless sea!
‘But I implore, turn back once more
Have a look at Nights Galore
Take refuge in the fights
Theatrics pinned by a whore’.
I must admit
Her silver rings I do adore!
‘Then fight no more’.
But I must refuse
For I philosophise not with a hammer
But with a saw
Yes, I may be obtuse
But the tables lie on the floor
And her head would make a pretty figure
Displayed high up on my wall.
And thus the train approaches home
Oh what I’ve learned, how much I’ve grown!
I stoop down to the ground
The rumbling of the floor
Such a comforting sound
The elderly man and his nearby chore
He moans
‘It is she who snores, I must implore!
Together we sleep
But together no more!
As she exhaled she met with my saw!
Now she can breathe and no longer implore!’
And so I asked
‘Old man, what for, what for?’
He smiled and dryly let out:
‘To pass the drought son, to pass the drought’.