You know that feeling you get when you want to drink alcohol? That big wet icy hole in your heart like a wave crashing into you on a New England shoreline in December, drowning you in the plague of isolation, because when I think about you, I don't feel like that anymore.
It's a good feeling, not great, but warm at least. But I think a little ways into your pine trees we could find the mountain together. If the rocks and stones are done braiding your midnight hair into the rivers I see cascading down over the rim of the Earth, then take my hand and grip it with your chest so that your heart doesn't fall out.
And drown me in the slight breeze yoi make when your lips moves around jokes before pain comes back again to stab your tongue with needles and your mind with shadows. Take me in your skin and wallow with me in the sunshine before you leave me again to take the spirit of curved things away.
Sit like a dog, heel to me and come obiediant when your God calls, lest he be angry and curse you with joy. Bend like a tree in storm, shatter onto me and cut my skin with a million tiny razors. And come obiediant when your God calls, lest he be angry and curse you with joy.
Stand proud for me to see, like a monument to my alcoholism, or totem pole for the sane man with the vasectomy... perhaps when you come back I'll be hornier or stupider. Definitely lonelier, remember that when the sunsets.
Huddled under the stairs waiting for the tornado to come and take us away to Oz. But we were never in Kansas. We were in Missouri. Or maybe it was Iowa. Nebraska once or twice. California? I can't remember if I saw you there. Colorado for sure, you remember that one I bet. Fuck, we should have gone to Michigan.
Now you'll examine the creamy fossil remains, and sheepishly I come thither and contemplate the game I must play.
In my left hand gripping tight the evidence of the struggle and I stare upon the vision of your valley's orchard. Slowly the worm wanders out into the light so that the crow swooping low catches it in her feet.
Stand on the edge of the chalk cliffs as a storm blows in, I want to see your hair in the wind, and your skin turn pink in the cold. Show me the blood I can't find in my heart. Show me the bruise I can't remember how it got there. Show me saddle you want me to ride and I'll ride into the sunset.
Tell me what God I should worship, and I'll worship at your feet. It's like using a circle hook to catch a triangle fish. You don't come when I call. It's like using a circle hook to catch a triangle fish.
You've been good to me so far, so I think we'll be friends still as long as the moon keeps hanging in the sky, so we know its light will be with us.
Many of these lines can interpreted many ways. And none are correct. Fuck off with your I'll advised snake oil meaningfulness. We had enough of that in the 80s. Leave us be with our noise. Don't you get it faggot? We're all just trying to get laid.
