The Ones Without Collarsthe rains left you an imperceptible stain on the back road blacktopwhere once you were a ragged pile of rough fur, fat flies and jutting boneswhere once you swelled and stank, stiff limbs and leaking ends untouched by buzzardswhere once you may have only just been sleeping, ignored by hands or tireswhere once I saw you, three months before, as you bounded through falling rain
3AM: Notes Written in the DarkMidnight scribbles on post-its and skin late morning notes to myself from myselfCompletely illegible in more ways than one:Self-perpetuating Paradox,Forest of Stars,Fat Uncle, underlined and circled in redAlive Baby lives because [indistinct]Fictional band names for fictional bands:(The) Dainty Morticians,Adorable Loan Sharks,American Meat Cleavers, This is Your KneeNames of forgotten tertiary characters:CarinNaheedSabisstraMaruu(Vons daughter/mother/sister/wife)Robotic vampires siphoning blood, 25,000 tacos isnot nearly enough,and XEGAPAIN-XOR??Unfinished passages writ
Primal PatternsOutstretching the sunset, you alter my angles: sowing feathers and ash on my orderly rows, my amber veined onions.I, wanting only frail frazzled perfection, amleft spitting in the wake of your snakeskin decay.The roses grow only so red to distract you, while I hide my patterns in petulant haystacks,wiping your fingerprintsfrom my snapdragon dreams.
Sung on a Southern SaturdayAint no streetcars to the Southlandsthe Lowlands, the Badlandsno more trains run through the Flatlandsat least not anymoreBut down at the crossroadsthe suns gettin goneRhythms got her red shoes onImprovs shinin up his hornFlows slidin up to Jazz real slowso slowand thereshe dont blush, she been aroundBluesmans tunin his steel guitar(won from the Devil in a rigged game of cards)he smiles his smile, egret White--girl, can you play the blues?