electrical fantasies

pulsing power surges leave my internal generators
crackling outward from my metal fingertips
blooming blue arcs across the orbiting horizon

i have electrical fantasies
dreams of all humanity
the bubbling placid airwaves
bloated with elemental frequencies

i have electrical fantasies
of transmitting packet pings
transferring solid multimedia
from you to me

touch this
to be capacitatively incapacitated
scan here
to enter the machine
feel the virtual fingers of fate
grab your throat
technologically

be my digital virtuality
hold me by the link
stream our lives together
together we will always sync

leaving

we were so cool
for so many years
always together
sharing life
it was so nice
such a good time
never imagined
ever losing you

but things haven't heated up for us
theyve turned ice cold
and you wont
tell me why…


you wont tell me
youd rather not
youd rather
keep me wondering
keep me crying

now my empty years
are passing me
like cars on the highway
not a day goes by
without a dry eye

oh how i miss you
i miss your smile
i miss that glance
that pout that little sigh...


you wont tell me
youd rather not
youd rather
keep me wondering
keep me crying


you took that bus
the 163 at 7 that night
turning left heading out
going somewhere
outta sight
from here
from me
from us...

cafeteria

in the cafeteria
cold tile floors
and blank waxy stares
robotic mannequins
rotate behind the glass
hairnets grip their molded gray hair

freakin impenetrable carton of milk
cold dinner rolls
old cornchip pie
chili con carne
macaroni surprise
i was just a kid
but i was so ready to die

fiberglass trays made back in 1958
mangled metal forks and spoons
that look like something
the garabage disposal ate

punchcard lunchcard
money in my pocket
better spent at the candy store
on the way walking home

square dancing afternoons from hell
praying to the heavens above
for the 3:00 bell
don't pick me don't pick me
under my breath
it never helped

in the cafeteria
that unforgettable smell
hot steam and tunafish casserole
burned into my memory
and 40 years later
it still torments my soul

hair

you got some funny hair funny hair
growing out ya everywhere everywhere
holes and moles and derriere derriere
you no shave it you don't care you don't care
you're just a muss and people stare people stare
as you crawl by.

smashing

the quartertime beat
flows like cold gravy
across my neural activity
as i'm tripping down
iron-clad mental sidewalks
just wandering west


synapsing my electric aura
collapsing the eclectic flora
smashing the toes of those too close


six pale faces
stare out into mine
screaming streaming pixels
bytesize bits of fluid hues
fuzzy and pulsing
in a frosty wash
of blue-gray gruel

six times ten tense bony fingers
reaching and clutching
the dead empty air
weaving an invisible web
systematically slicing & dicing
the transparent squares

not attracted to illumination
nor prone to acidic disintegration
neither melting or cowering from a touch
yet embracing solitude
and self-annihilation


the left side turns down to the top
flip it over square it off and crop
smashing the toes of those too close

run run run

you little playful spirit
now eternally young
run run run
bouncing over the grass
leave the world behind
that part's done

the sweet sweet tastes of your heaven
warm fresh air fills your lungs
run run run
warm fresh life fills your heart
no fences walls or boundaries
to hold you in
that part's done

when my time is over
finished on this earth
i hope i see you again
my little friend

i hope you're there to meet me
and take me by the hand
i hope i see you again
my little friend

isn't it strange

isn't it strange
strangers can be fast friends
isn't it funny
circumstances change
the most bitter of foes
into trusted companions
pulling together
instead of apart
bonds that once held them as prisoners
are now bonds of the heart.

fringe

with a stinging slap on the back of the working class
touchscreen devices spit technobabble kicks in the ass
their digital feeds designed to quasi-feed the gray organic mass…

they say:
push back and brush aside the radical fringe mentality
embrace the crowd dont be so proud
just judge others' conformity
you win if you turn in the rebelling infectious minority…

but they'll:
they'll pick apart your words
they'll dissect your every thought
they'll extract your memories
they'll fill you with the Wine.

schematically diagramming the populace
blocks and boxes numerically in their place
programmed by nature
then rewritten as a race...

packed into stacking cubes stripped of individuality
every color reduced to brown-gray neutrality
fingerprints removed to fit the Grand Totality...

fliers

the mignight tattooed cackledaws ring a circle in the trees
crunching punchy songs with their gritty harmonies
puncturing the daylight air from dawn to dusk's decree…

flickering fliers swirling far above the earthen bounds
brown and white and yellow as their lonely siren sounds
black and scarlet bretheren scurry 'cross the grassy grounds…

as metal shiny aeroliners highly fly their radar routes
feathered fliers wander in and over the wash of blues
each of them is playing out a vicarious point of view...


trumpeted

when the winds wrapped tightly around his legs
like long cat tails whipping angry and wet
he could feel the breath of death
hot on the back of his neck.

that quiet whisper
that filled his head
wouldnt soon settle quietly
on the ears of the dead
it would become the battlecry
of the siren's in the ocean deep
and trumpeted from
all the highest mountaintops
instead…

he would find no peace hidden in dim seclusion
on isle, in cave
or perched on precipice high,
he would glean no heat from the roaring fire
no warmth from the dancing flame
just a cold flat flickering light.

returning to the place he once knew
crossing spring fields
walking along the city's edge
his heart beat as loudly as the grass grew…

his memories filled the empty sidewalks
with happy faces
and happy afternoons
his mind painted the tall buildings so high
and the storefronts bright
like they were once before
like they used to be
like it was when the sky was clear
and the air wasnt full of disease.

but even the fondest memories start to crack
after too much turning around
and too much looking back
the time eventually comes when
you have to take a deep breath
and pack them away

his path was clear
but his vision blurred
the road was well marked
but his emotions tripped each step,
a day's journey turned into an eternity
and as it passed through his life
it filled the last years of his days
with struggle, sadness, and desperation
until one day...

casual eye

if i ever thought this was the way to heaven
i mustve been outta my mind
i should turn around and head back
the way i came

but something inside keeps telling me to push on
even though i keep shooting widely
with my eyes closed tightly
and mighty unsure of my aim

pitfalls and pitchforks
line this twisting roadway
potholes and hairpin turns
grip the wheel as the tires burn
look at me youd think id learn

im not as bright as you give me credit for
but then again im not a knucklehead either
ill surprise you if you give me the chance
dont expect too little
dont expect too much
but im a wallflower on a mission
and youll have to ask me to dance

it might all seem pretty crazy to you
an insider looking into my little world
just back away a little and look in again
the closer you are
the worse things appear
distance is my camouflage

youll see im pretty far away from myself too
it should be fairly clear to the casual eye
dont hold me when i want to run
dont push me when im standing still
im not a rocket scientist
im not a brain surgeon here
im not a complicated guy

to the casual eye
im not a complicated guy