Bitter and Bile Often would while The hours away together. Come rain or shine Their thoughts would entwine -- Irrelevant was the weather. Nothing disturbed them As much as a thought Unapproved by their mutual censor. So when new thoughts come up They just say "Shut up!" And for hours they feel so much better.
It wasn't so nice of you to blackmail me into loving you. You could have tried some other way you know I have a weakness for your type anyway. In your daddy's car I could always feel the bait and switch that made me twitch. Ah but you knew, you knew my secret and you couldn't help but use it against me. Naughty you.
This autumn! Mild and warm, blustery, Day after day light and warmth prevail, carrying on beyond their time, Like lovers whose bond of ecstasy, Not breaking, becomes more exquisite with succeeding moments, Each one drawn out lightly as a thread of silk Unraveled from summer's cocoon. Like a boatman who finds a stream of clear blue sky Running through drifting islets of dark cumulus, And, skirting delicately those touches of frost That would stiffen oars and rudder, Averts the entrance of ice.
The prow parts delicately the floating mosaic Of leaves that overcover the stream, A stream so still as to seem directionless. Yet the boatman is rowing With gentle strokes upstream, His back to the mountain of ice.
Out from the stern spreads a wedge of ripples, and the oars with every stroke Leave twin vortices swirling with captured leaves, Whirling together, and unwinding into openness, Like compasses in search of the pole.
Boogaloo Baby and the Ripstop Mama, by Charles Carreon
As we rock the cradle Sky darkens to sable Don't say we're not able to love It's a real miracle singalong At the edge of the lawn With a rocket star pinnacle Pinned to the dawn As we lift up our voices And teeter so tall As if standing on tiptoe Meant anything at all
Reminds me of a week I spent one afternoon in Nogales
The rain was falling heavily With rattlesnakes mixed in You had to use an umbrella and lots of anti-venin
The Border Patrol were hot to go So I said "Hell, why not?" The chicks were cool The road a spool of liquor-signs I thought a Navajo I spied as tall as an old saguaro cactus He just waved As we sped by Wearing a cheerful rictus
Down by the Rio Grande all dressed up like a dandy Coyote swung his watch chain and chewed his cocaine candy We watched the drop the lightning fell Then nothing was left standing but a waterfall of millionaires coming in for a landing
Do you find the workweek long? Does it make your tickle tangle? Just comb your hair With breaths of air And you won't ever strangle when Armadillos talk to you down in old Durango
The waterfall, a wheel of fire still stutters through my sight A rolling thing, with butter wings That melted in the night A phoenix then arising when We close our eyes at last
And the mind, they tell us is a chemical phenomenon that psychopharmacologists will wind and bind with chemical tools. They will come up with pills and thrills will be a thing of the past, And humans will run smooth and fast, and built to last. We will become the playthings of an ideology bent on normalcy, The children of the womb refined in a factory of certainty, The troublesome orgy of randomness reduced at last to harmlessness, All watched over by nursemaids paid by the big father in his perfect Laboratory
My Dad taught me something When I was young, He was gifted with a silver tongue He made me think that everything Lay within my grasp 'Cause I understood Why it pays to be good.
He always said Burn your bridges, my son Make no preparation for retreat Don't think about gettin' beat Just burn your bridges And you'll see There's only one road ahead And it's the one you make So burn your bridges Every one.
It's a terrifying leap That we make each day Through the gates of hell At least it seems that way All the signs are misleading I can't believe what I'm reading Somehow gotta make it pay Anyway
So I burn my bridges One more time Set out on the road that is mine Toward the smoke of bridges burning My mind will not be turning Yes I've burned my bridges One more time.
Some people worry they'll be dead someday I don't tend to think that way I've lost everything I ever had And hasn't really been all that bad The taste of the good old days Lingers on
I've never been of the world of men Probably had 'bout enough of them I could burn those bridges And feel fine. Yes I'll burn some bridges Anytime.