Saturday, July 31, 2010

Avidly

Advocating

Absinthe

After

All

Aspirations

Against

Allowing

Asterisk

Allocations

Around

Actions

Activively

Ailling

Abruptly

Aborted

Activities
Poor in spirit, strong in heart.

Poor Pockets, happy hearts.

Strip this map to one point,

strip this heart to your beat.

Holding hands on the street corner

under the gas lamps heat.

Holding hands to feel weak.

Feel this rythm with her, for her.

Feel this in a basement bar on a monday

with friends smoked to the filter.
In not so many words say what you mean

Cross your heart

and on these guitar strings, bleed.

Sax and bass devouring

Throbbing drumline acquiring

Your Soul
Pretend you weren't the victim

refined in your dreams

foolish to imagine

she didn't mean the deed

Your hands on my throat

Dig for the knife

in your black waistcoat

Find my liver if you can

for I will rush a million pilgrims

if through their blood

I can feel your hand.
Friday night's a frenzy.

A dance malady

Trampling the whole.

Broken melodies enveloping

all parts, invigorating

an already overly embellished scene