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Drink Water from Cupped Hands Step through the rashes and the reeds Oh dimlit marshes in the pines The tick and talking fields Bending creekbed beetle-shine Oakleaves patterning the pool Oh drink the darkness in the sand No fool upon no hill Go down into the green and holy land A kiss of silver air flush moonrise Oh the glassy leaves of tender frost Woollibears and spider flies Watch the wingless birds dancing in the dust Ocotillos (Ghosts in the Real World) Ocotillos on the hillside Red bells hold sunset Lost in the Superstitions In each others' fictions Ghosts in the real world Ocotillos on my mind Deep green under spines Lost in the lost memories Carried in the lost cameras Ghosts in the real world Nothing is real But the fire in the wires No one can feel But the fool in the fire And the prairies will burn Oo-oo-ooh And the shriek and the skirl Oo-oo-ooh And the switches will turn (Oo-oo-ooh) And the message untold (Oo-oo-ooh) Oo-oo-ooh, ghosts in the real world Ocotillos on a canvas Forever in the wires Lost in the file structure Figmented rupture Ghosts in the real world it's like darkness it's like darkness in the windows hanging on the wall of your childhood home darkness in blinking eyes darkness in a sky that was light just an hour ago words hanging in air hanging in space hanging in time i feel out there when i reach my hands out i feel it's like cotton and thunder and wavering eyes it's like darkness in the rut of a wagon wheel on an old old trail going where no no wheel's rolling on it's like darkness Long Way Swimming You stay over there and I'll stay over here I've been swimming swimming I've been swimming long way through the ocean I've been swimming swimming I'm very tired and I'm very wet Long way swimming but not home yet I tried to visit and you were not at home I spent some time on your island alone It's just like mine, small and far away You stay over there and I'll stay over here I've been swimming swimming I've been swimming Long way through the ocean I Fuck Your Heart Regina Don’t touch me Don’t have touched me I am a flower I fuck your heart Petals, nape, and knee I stir your pretty blossom pollen Regina I fuck your flower heart Don’t touch me Endless fields of white snow cotton Dandelion down hover, sleepy daymoths Pups and chicks at play upon the prairie The babybells ring the evening light Regina Don’t touch me Don’t have touched me I am a flower I fuck your heart Growing Potatoes Growing potatoes on a desert homestead A dog, the stars, and a little garden Each night they fade in Just waiting until they come for me Growing potatoes on a desert homestead A dog, the stars, and a little garden ["Mozambique" ; Death and Goblin Valleys] Mozambique, with its aqua blue skies, as you describe it, in love and dancing cheek to cheek for a week, certainly sounds nice. I do enjoy a romantic and pleasantly social getaway. But, I must admit that from your description, I would not know it from Madagascar. Is there something in particular about Mozambique which you like? The thing is, we can go anywhere together, anywhere you like. I like to go to Death and Goblin Valleys, which seem to hold my heart's mystery. Someday you'll go there with me, but as long as we're together, we'll be fine. Let's just meet up at a coffee shop and then step outside the door together. How Sweet I Roamed (William Blake) How sweet I roam'd from field to field, And tasted all the summer's pride 'Til the prince of love beheld Who in the sunny beams did glide! He shew'd me lilies for my hair And blushing roses for my brow; He led me through his garden fair, Where all his golden pleasures grow. With sweet May dews my wings were wet, And Phoebus fir'd my vocal rage He caught me in his silken net, And shut me in his golden cage. He loves to sit and hear me sing, Then, laughing, sports and plays with me; Then stretches out my golden wing, And mocks my loss of liberty. Citronel, the celebrated Citronel, the celebrated student of satellites and constellations, peered deep into a smouldering pool. Bluest depths to dark hollows, shallows shimmering in the wind, soil soft crackling and shifting, the spring spoke, "O scholar -- Within this throat a star burns true, a flame of the real, a mirror of fire. Within this eye a light witnesses itself. Cast within, for the limitless perforation is much too far away." Confounding mists encircled the scientist, glowing red and black, saying, "I am a moth within your fire, writhing the dance of incineration. Settled into your depths, from the still point I gaze out into heaven. I look through your eye, speak through your voice." Night lay heavy on the shoulders of the valley. The thoughtful astronomer felt the pause in her work while the sky slid through the thickets. At moonrise the vapors thinned to whispers. "Stay with me," pled the water, "search within until until-until -" "The lines," she writhed, "the points and lines. O the vastness, the multitude." The pool is empty now, a space opening into dawn, into the disappearing stars. (electric lullaby) People in the Sky I'm not looking for love Just a moment of kindness Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft People in the Sky Lights hovering over the horizon People in the sky Calling occupants of interplanetary craft People in the sky "Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft" I'm not looking for love Just a moment of kindness lamb |