The Pooring Reign

smog oasis still in stasis,
putting paces towards a start,
overcoming,
undergoing,
fall together,
 come apart,

close my I, and his pain,
the miasma on his brain,
is a halo of light,
sifted through the sun's sweet sight,

and my city, she looks pretty,
when the sweet dew dappled dawn,
glints in graces,smog oasis,
through the shallows deeply shone,

I see truth through the taints,
I line the skid row in saints, 
till my sky beckons blue, 
then I'll share it with you!

clock hands climb, you're killing time, 
but maybe you should let it live?
present the present of the present,
and just forgive,
trisected twixt past and future, 
as-you-will be as-you-once-were,
but today my star,
you'll be just as you are,

you'll be JUST, 
as you are,

effluvium, the scrawny sicker,
a habitual scab picker,
yet look see, yes could it be, that even he,
is hope and sacred symmetry,
and he's like you and you're like me,
a sweet nothing made of the all,
stop building that wall,
to cast your shadow bloated time,
and break this lonely heart

baby could you cry, out for every lie,
you're going to hurt me not, with your thimble thought,
eyes of winding watch,

darling's laying lobe, in agoraphobe,
with a weather vane, for a Lois Lane,
and an ornamental crotch,

something about,
 a pretty pig whistle snout,
and evil is as evil does,

warming your feet,
 on your vicarious meat,
no alibi save "just because"

saving all your skin, for a bargain bin,
when your sale goes live in your aisle five,
wearing winter 'round your waist,

thrumming on your bones ,
its all thro-lo-lo,
when your secrets show,
it's I told you so,
mind over matter of bad taste,

I've gotta get it all out,
with a shake-shiver-shout,
while you wear my darkest dreams,

beaming unhappy thoughts,
until my write starts to rot,
snipping at my sacred seams,

but washed upon my shore,7 times before,
 was it given to me, to dream this melody,
and then hold it to this plane,

senses set to sieve, real make believe, 
I am a-coming-to, I am a-going through,
portrait of a weather vane,

may all your color shine bright,
through the nape of the night ,
and may the smog oasis trace the way,
into clean air, for I will be with you there,
dressed up in the dawn of day,

Smog Oasis

(Sammy Gunshot)

and the one I loved she turned to me,
and said "you might be meeting him soon"
"you might be meeting Sammy the gunshot wound"

but you can be sure that that wasn't her,
it was a...

(don't say it...) (don't say it...) (don't...)

she held the gunshot wound in her hands,
just like the pet moth,
that perched upon her finger tips,
refusing to fly off,

(Sammy Gunshot)

(Whose helping me harness my faith to my doubt?
Solitude my sufferance, my drawn draught of drought,
here hidden I'm bidden stay within without,
for hither I wither, with her my devout,
Solitude my succor, my dew dappled dawn,
with all the draws blind, and with all the blinds drawn,
here winsome I lose some, for no one will knock,
on doors of rapport that I can't help but lock,)

(who'll save you from yourself?
there's nobody else...)

a-root-a-toot-toot,
BANG!...BANG!
a-root-a-toot-toot,
BANG!...BANG!

it seems we'd locked Elysium,
into a concrete pen
(what for?... what for?)
and we were climbing a suicide tower,
to jump back into the fen
(what for?...what for?)

and man's a worm on a hook,
putting a worm on a hook,

(Sammy Gunshot)

Sammy The Gunshot Wound

I'm your sense repenter,
we go up and on and all together,
I'm your stain glass center dissenter,
lets sink the brink and drink the weather!

inhale hale hail we sip the season,
our nonsense kneading beyond reason,

ought autumn be the key,
to be opening we?

carved runes shaved into the ale,

the river told her name to me,
her name is Peony,

she's pultritude, platinum, and pale

in pant 'o' mime the waves part laden
the whispered wisp of fairy maiden,

up and on and all together,

speak to me,
Peony,

no prestidigitation,
I'm all hopped up on asexual tension,
this transcendental sensation elation ,
would you? could you ? share my ascension?

a wedding dress of saffron dreams you,
the testament of trees redeems you,

making miracle to me,
light the Nyd fire where the roads cross,
taking my tears I pull myself free,
prithy to a lonely coin toss,

and every lash of longing lesson,
says blight must be betrothed to blessing,

up and on and all together,

Peony

holy, holy holy, 
what's the word?
sacred, sacred, absurd, absurd, absurd,
let it be heard,

holy, holy, holy,
say the name,
Aeon, Aeon, Aeon,
ansur, ansur, answer
and again...

Peony

I don't want narrative,
give me nonsensualty,
broken words brought back together,
to bend reality,

I'm Wantless Grammar-growl,
make me in melodeep,
rise into hypnopompic,
do my waking asleep,

do my dreaming awake,
fulfill my harmonyd,
I've got my stilling center,
I've got your stars to seed,

I'm Yourling Canter-call,
(ties burdens in a bow)
I'll be all pretty please,
if you'll be I-told-you-so,

Hexagram 25...

Yourling canter-Call

Summer-Salt

(the pushmi-pullyu down,)

I was just a K-Martyr,
a communion waif, playing unsafe,
running from an inheritance of hurt,

I was begged and bartered,
the trading bloods, for chewing cuds,
stranded me in a desert of dessert,

push-me-pull-you-push-me-pull-you-push-me-pull-you,
PUSH PUSH PUSH PUSH PUSH,

a human tide, of dark abide,
that breaks upon, a mourning dawn,
the sunrise is a shirking flush of blood,

a whimper-will, is keeping still,
in dilaudid and daffodil,
and reflections in a puddle of mud,

push-me-pull-you-push-me-pull-you-push-me-pull-you,
PUSH PUSH PUSH PUSH PUSH,

 changing my mind,

imprecation sung so sweet,
wheezing engine made of meat,
curse my cogs with powdered time,
crime was art and art was crime,

but that's all over now...

so watch the freak be meaningful,
his head above the push-me-pull,
the push-pull you down into those arms,

that's all over now...

there was a sun to set,
 a moon to shine,
a k-martyr production line,
slap me...
 kick me...
breathe me air..

can't you see that I'm not there?

that's all...

K-Martyr And The Push-Me-Pull-You

you cast your shadow into the dirt,
then you blame the light,
that shadow casts you into the hurt,
it's a shameful sight,

so you hide it in the night,
where your shirk-shadow will condone,
a sipping stair of spite,
cobbled in hobbled squeezing stones,

I want you all out of me,
GET OUT...

no more mind control,

Vantasika, 
fed on vomit,
praying for extinction's comet,
like a pig that thinks it's glamorous,
to rub its tits in shit,

I want you all out of me,
GET OUT,

no more mind control,

urine-nation, desecration,
corruption's the law you ration,
putrid puppets pulled on strings,
covet-worms with stolen wings,

flap, flap ,flap...
flutter, flutter, flutter...
fall, fall, fall...

SPLAT,

 I want you all out of me
GET OUT,

it's not too late to find redemption,
death won't save you, no exemptions,
and that immortality is just a worm with stolen wings,

Urine-Nation

"worthless" said winter,
said winter to the spring,
and every little thing,

"all good must  dissenter"
...then so too must the bad,
it's the only thing you've had,

so long,
 you've run away, 
from your true song,
 and your sunny day,

aren't you worth the while?
aren't you ready to smile?

you know I am...
I know you are...

such pretty flowers,
adorn the poison of the plant,
on a tongue that can't recant,

the things it devours,
tied to the tether of the taste,
and now it's written on your face,

so long,
 you've run away, 
from your true song,
 and your sunny day,

Datura

The Pooring Reign

to drink the hue from the hue-man,

and grayling leave a sheathe,

that shallows for it's shepherd's shape,

in powdered time bequeathed,

sanity is now sickness,

only sickness is sane,

to the trudge of trudging trudgers,

caught within the Pooring Reign,

the folding man caved inwards,

and lo...he sunk down high,

and the low...the hingy ruster,

of his collapsible I,

fondlings lost is a forest,

of origami trees,

where folding is "of chorus",

for both the hands and knees,

and fold my filchy brethren,

knowing not root nor shoot,

embalming weave can never leave,

to bare a branch of fruit,

it drags it's bony bendings,

with it's soul a bloated flush,

all cellulose dimplings,

scrubbed off with a wire brush,

the coughin' of it's coffin,

a wheezles phlegmatic rasp,

the throaty thrum of huckled hum,

whence gills no longer gasp,

and shucks the shriven shriveled,

himself the remorse code,

whose secrets crack, a don't look back,

as loaded imps implode,

the gaunting hymn all hallowed in,

hymnself the molting mane

his druthers drenched in clench of stench,

that hench the Pooring Reign

for the Pooring Reign was glutting,

upon the common cents,

who were serving up a spittle soup,

in subterfuged offense,

and me...I was my hero,

and sometimes he was me,

and he sang a song of rite and wrong,

so we sung a song, we,

it went:

"the worm's name is consumption,

consumption is the worm,

and the folding trees of as you please,

are an outmoded germ"

the Pooring Reign was feasting,

their tables set to Set,

the simmer of the spittle soup,

was whimp-purring and wet,

and me...I was my hero,

and sometimes he was me,

and he'd kick a table over,

so we kicked a table...we,

but one table hit another,

with a shimmy and a shove,

till it all came tumbling down,

like dominos falling in love,

then I heard pop music as mantra,

and I saw what it had brung,

my future self, a wizened elf,

spoke in alien tongue,

"huegin Fuegin Mah-tootin"

is what he said to me,

it means "only the truth is noble"

Pooring Reign

(song improvised by my 6 year old daughter Dahlia...singing and guitar by Dahlia and back ups by me. She did a whole album on the spot with these really cool mystical lyrics!)

the stars at night can be big and bright,
all you need is a big sky at night,
you gotta be bright!

at the darkest time of the night,
 you gotta be bright!
you gotta be bright!

you have to be bright to know,
 which way to go,
you have to be bright to say,
everything in a one way,

how can you know?
how do you know which way to go?
how do you know when you can fly?
and if you can touch the sky?

it all matters in a way that you say,
you have to say and believe yourself,
that's how you fly,
in the beautiful sky,

you gotta fly away, away,
you have to fly away,
you get to fly away,
when you grow your wings,
you will see an adventure!

and if you look up at the stars,
you can see a mystery,
just waiting to be found,
and that is how it will begin,
away,
but when you grow your wings someday,
that is what it will be like,
in a way!

Gotta Be Bright!

Bus Shack!

50 below in the Manitoba snow,
I'm a-cold and a frozen pus sack,
15 years old drinking cough syrup,
 in my home in the heated bus shack,
they don't heat the bus shacks anymore,
you'll have to sleep in the bank machine,
and the cops will wake you up,with a kick in the nuts,
if you've been there you'll know what i mean,

you know what i mean?

too many tear drops for one heart to be crying,
too many tear drops for one heart to carry on,

Bus shack!

Heated Bus Shack

Dead End...

dead end love song,
upon itself it falls,
nothing and nowhere, 
outside these four walls,

I got no yes, no, or maybe,
I sing my songs to my songs,
though I wonder if it's true,
that I've been waiting all this while,
sharpening my smile for you....

Dead end...

spring comes early,
my verb said to my noun,
but if she doesn't fear her shadow,
why does she stay 'neath ground?

and Angels are just abortions on the rebound,
you can't always keep us out,
and though you won't take my lift,
thank you for your gift,
 of doubt,

Dead end,

necessity is such a sweet sword,
so when, it's broken,
it will yet be reforged,
gorgeousity of jagged edges gouge my mind,
so I must go lick my wounds..
but I'll talk with you soon,
as long as you sing the signs,

Shhhh...

a music lesson in spontaneous creation ...

Dodo-Dada

this is actually the piano from "urine-nation", most of which was hidden beneath my poor production skills...the title is a quote from mystic romantic composer Alexander Scriabin.

My 10th Sonata is all about insects...insects are of the sun..they are the kisses of the sun...

I''ll be adding a percussion track...so I'll post the lyrics then...not that anyone's paying attention...

Dandelion Graveyard


Magdalena Mirror was a saint and a seer,
 and a sin-eating scapegoat divine,
 for her sickness brought health and her need it brought wealth,
 and her love?... it brought never you mind,

With her mind over matters and her torn blessed tatters, 
 and her moth dusted garbage bag gown,
 will she hold a whole nation in rapt contemplation
 of the angles that fangle her frown,

She was swaddled in thorns from the day she was born,
 when they plastered her into the casting,
 in her stead it is said that the blood she had bled
 was bestower of life ever-lasting,

At the cleft of her cough, cadavers became soft,
 and her sneezing caused freezing to warm,
 with a vomiting wretch, true life's breath did she fetch,
 through the puking rebuke of a charm,

The reprise of her cries could unpry blinded eyes,
 so they kept her in burdens bereft,
 and they opened their ears as they drank from her tears, 
 which could heal both the dumb and the deaf,

the refrain of her pain could make one young again,
 so the Everyone lent her its ear,
 and the song that she sang was a high-hunger-pang,
 from a place beyond hatred or fear,

A place where the There, from the trees to the air,
 is calling, clothed in your own thought,
 again and again, the familiar refrain,
 in a language the tongue has forgot,

Jain Vangles 
