FORCE-THE-EDGES

A jagged bombset flash,
Is what I feel for you,
(Oh, what a wicked, crooked, broken token)
I’ll take these pins,
And connect these wires,
Before your corrosion begins,
Again,
Man, why does life have to be so humble,
It never jumps out at you,
And everyday becomes one,
And TV must go back,
I love the sky whenever it’s a conditioned color,
Sleeping in comfort rock,
Breathing moonchunk freedom,
I won’t accept the call,
To battle,
(This is the last time I melt)
It’s time,
For the panic button,
Locked behind crash helmets,
To soar,
And think nothing of falling.

Where is the dentist when you’re already stuck in the chair,
Why does metal always fall from your mouth when you talk,
About meaningful tales,
And that’s why I love it,
Jumping on your back,
(And saying pull the trigger)
Before guns are invented,
Because three thoughtful people,
And a bottle of glue,
Shall change the way I look at you,
Be warned,
(How’s it going to begin?)
Shot right through the door,
And that’s why I love it,
So sweet,
It’s a wet, wet snack,
I pick it up everyday,
It’s just a hand I play,
Whenever it’s dark.

The truth spills out of me,
But catches in my throat,
Not a muscle does twitch,
As the maladjusted make their rounds,
In a burning house on Bourbon Street,
I try to filter the sky,
With radical choicemakers,
But it quickly sours with time,
And leaves me hanging by a thread,
Of spindle woven darkness,
I steal three goats’ heads for pleasure,
But the rituals soon drown,
And I am only a thrust,
In the right direction,
Forward towards awful integrity,
And blue sky banquets,
So pick up the smoke,
With a line for the rich and only,
Cause if you ain’t got it,
The truth can get a little rocky,
For strife’s sake,
You will deepen the mold with dare,
And stand facing the wounded portal,
Of mere desire,
And the linen padlocks of life.

Pressure is the exterminator,
And I am the lost pulse,
In a heap of proverbial debris,
Waiting for hits from otherworldly devices,
I rise to the surface,
To look at a new star,
But a black hole is born in its place,
And the particles enter my bloodstream,
I am no longer immune to time travel,
So I jump to the future,
And lock my fate in a titanium box,
With only a red tinted window,
With which to view it.

How fortunate it is,
That we’re all liars,
The truth a flash in the fire.

How fortunate you are,
You can look inside a soul,
And in a moment see,
What years have hinted us,
About ourselves.

Layers and layers,
Some fake, some faker,
Is the center warm,
Or cold and empty?

Crackling the joints,
Of a dead mind’s eye,
Reality is so impure,
But it will not break free,
From the beautifully irrelevant.

If only you had a dime,
For every time they tried to tell you,
You were all wrong.

If only you could speak,
The way the great ones did,
Whenever they turned words to color.

Studying your face,
Out of place in the long run,
For a moment’s time.

Waging a war,
This planet, she’s a whore,
Of the worst kind.

I look skyward in other ways,
Without moving the head,
But on flying dove level,
Stretching out consciousness,
And setting sail,
At last.

Once born was enough,
While some will never recover,
We’ll remember their good deeds,
Like fighting the master,
And getting chained up,
Respectively.

Coal deep in the heart,
Finely ground,
Reveals my horror flick,
To audience gloom,
They can only cough,
Incessantly.

People wonder where I’ve gone,
Now that fate is hidden,
I wonder where they’ll be,
When they recognize my statue.

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Part Two