February 7, 2013

On Ownership and Guilt

When the moonshine's as bright
as it'll get for the bright-eyed
young man's fumbling
fingers to stumbling 
on up a younger one's 
quivering, crumbling, 
deeply asundered 
what then?

Is it you or was it me,

was it Adam, was it Eve, 
or the devil in a snake, 
coiled up in poisoned hate, 
maybe Alpha and Omega 
bent on giving freedom 
to such a vast estate 
with The Devil as a date? 

Or is it being loved 
by Someone so rich we could never earn a cent, 
got us greedy, 
stole our senses 
till we started needing 
something other than the grace 
of the light upon our Lover's face 
to spend our breath 
from out our lungs, 
so we chose poverty and death
to break our Innocence in theft?

On Treacherously Keeping It In.

Does he love you tonight?
Did it keep you up until tomorrow?
How do you keep it all together, Babe,
counting all those damned, dead sparrows 
by yourself?

You're by yourself, now.
And you'll always be alone
there, there
by yourself.

You got your anger
in the whitest little flame,
the color of your ghostly, gauntly, ghastly, 
cowardly little game 
there by yourself.


Devil and the angels got their promises to keep,
like you got your pity
keeping you from sleep 

there by yourself.


You got your silence
in a violent, little box.

Opened it up to teach me a lesson;
ain't you a sly little fox 
there by yourself.

You're by yourself, now.
And you'll always be alone 
there, there
by yourself.