HEAVENS DEAD
Written for René, who, with Infamis, turned it into a pretty song.
Heavens dead. Perhaps.
Havens lost. Perhaps.
But still these mustard white legs. Slip and skip and pore
Themselves around you.
They show themselves as you would.
And cross themselves as you should.
And reach the lips that you once reached.
Perhaps.
And all the bodies come flying down.
Come rustling down.
Come sliding down.
Those limbs attached. Those blinding jewels and rings attached.
Those tails and tassels, knots and brows:
The nonsense cloth; the gutting vows.
Come humming down.
Come killing down.
They miss the point, of course.
But still they hammer down.
(But still they hammer down)
(But still they hammer down)
The glistening eyes avoiding.
The egg-shell eyes avoiding.
Those scythe-long necks avoiding, too.
Avoiding YOU.
The rabid palms avoiding.
All the same. The feet plant themselves firm in the feathers
Either side of your chattering head.
And once planted and rooted, you lose the sense of them,
As they flow and stagger away.
Up, up; they trickle and ease themselves away...
Deep into the night-dress clouds.
(Deep into the night-dress clouds)
(Deep into the night-dress clouds)
Locked rigid and bolted,
You gaze up after them.
Flattered, insulted,
You gaze up after them.
Thrown in the well. Pardoned and jailed.
You gaze up after them...
You long to remember; long to forget.
And gaze after them, as they once gazed after you.
Think of it.
They once gazed your way.
Once.
They gazed.
Gazed.
Your way.
Heaven: she's dead. Perhaps.
Havens lost.
Perhaps.
SCARY STORY
ticking
ticking clock
shadows
long shadows deep
deep with sorrow
sorrow yet to come
ticking
ticking clocks
amid shadows
your own long shadow
frozen till the 'morrow
your sorrows upon you
open the dusty windowed doors
step onto the balcony
lean over the edge
the rotten edge
and look down
look down
and when you've had your fill
pull away
look up then
look up
past the eaves
and weep
hanging over your head are all the people you ever loved
or touched
or shoved
or fucked
seen through trees
leafless and black 'gainst a moonless night.
(christmas night, 95)
