Voodoo 4 The Face In The CrowdV1I made a little wax thing. It was you.I pushed my fingerprints intothe skin and left it inthe sun to dream you lessthan ice, to get beneathyour carapace.ChorusThe thing is you think little of the candle-people but they think of you.The wood yearns for the nail and saw.I thought you were the one for about an hour on Sunday eveningBut you're not, you're not, you're not.V2At least I'm in good company with allyour fans, disfigured by the flickerof the flameWe are all fire scarredwith melt-blurred eyes and heartsand hands that grip too hard.ChorusBridgeYou seem to be a fan of disregarding all the waysthe universe bends over backwards to appreciate your faceand I wish you would see the whole damn world revolves around your graceBut there's no way you ever willand it's a cheap vicarious thrillto watch them dance around you untilyou demonstrate the way you think littleof the candle -> into chorusV3You were meant to melt for me at noon timebut in the end I guess
Radio DiariesEvan wouldve said I had better things to do than fiddle with this old machine, but what does he know, what does a dead guy know, anyway? Its been. Maybe three weeks, maybe four, god I dont know. Its dark. Is anybody listening to this? He used to spend the days making game plans, hundreds of them, all over the walls in permanent marker till he ran out of ink, then with his jack knife till he ran out of wall, then just talking, pacing and talking all day long this is how we break out of the bunker, this is what we do if the Geiger readings are low enough, this is how we get back to the city, this route has the best odds of finding more supplies. This is what we do if there are people there, Danny. This is what we do if they arent, anymore. This is what we do if theyre violent. This is what we do if there are kids to protect.He never said, this is what you do if you cant take it anymore. This is what you do if you run out of food. This is
snippetkissed her, kissed herstatic system stuck to blistered skinecstatic, sister give me back my memories of sin--unstuck, the trickster. tick the billettake the ballot; let me in.
Shift PhaseWake. The change has come.Rise from your bed and breathe in:the smell of incenseand the sea (a landlockedcity). Is it notthe light of dawn that hoversat the edge of sky?Southeast has spun noall the world has spun.Directions are no longermeaningful. Take holdthe railing, venture down tostreet. The morning rushbegins, unheeding of theshift, the altering;the fabric of the world isirrevocablyunpicking at the seams. Wake:breathe it in. You arethe only witness amongmyriads of men.In this blind land, your one eyemakes you nothing morethan dizzy royalty, thanking. Remember this and weep.
View From Belowtext removed for submission to literary journal
Delirium there is sand in my mouthgrit, thick swollen grainsand her iron heel upon my throat. hot caresses - I shiver and toss, tangled sheets soaked in sweat.her breath burns and abrades as I fall through the fabric of dream psychedelic, oh yes she is codeine and bodily fluids on boil.my avatar scrabbles and digs
SailorPerhaps when I die I will fallFrom the whipping mastRight into the jagged mawOf our old shadow, sharkHis ancient jawWill crush my aching bonesAnd inside my last view is crimsonPerhaps when I die I will sinkThrough the rotten boardsDown to the sodden bedOf our devoted wet-nurse, seaWater like leadWill push me hold me downTill all is black and then is not at allPerhaps when I die I will floatFrom the fragile deckSkim upon the nauseous wavesBeneath the solid skyThe sun engravesHis name upon my weary fleshAnd I will close my eyes beneath the white horizon
Blood TideThe blood tide washes red upon the shoreAnd every fisherwoman stays her nets.One man of war will not return from war.The sea knocks on the cliffs as though a doorThey gather on the beach with bated breaths.The blood tide washes red upon the shore.The merwomen perform their ghostly scoreUndying ocean messengers of death.One man of war will not return from war.Await the name of he who breathes no moreBlown by the wind till here it comes to restThe blood tide washes red upon the shore.One wife falls down upon the sandy floorThe rest breathe out their song is not sung yetOne man of war will not return from war.The mermaids turn and disappear once moreThe sea remains a sign: until sunsetThe blood tide washes red upon the shore.One man of war will not return from war.