never met a dead man that I didn’t like

is what they heard old jimmy say before he axed the lover of his ex-wife

it was a voice inside a bottle it was a crocodile twitch

now Christmas time’s a’comin’ I’m gonna write me up a list

I’m gonna write me up a list

 

if g-d were made of snow then the sun would never shine

he’d keep it cold it’s His world it isn’t yours it isn’t mine

if g-d were made of sunlight then we would all go blind

we would all go blind

 

a guy I know used to quote rimbaud and keats and cats like corso

in his eyes so dark the young girls would park their diaphanous souls

he had a storm of hair and a fortune there of rhyme and damp intention

now he breaks his knees on the marble of st dorian’s reflection

st dorian’s reflection

 

ch.

 

cherry wrote runes of poetry when she wasn’t crying

when she wasn’t up on rooftops insisting she should be flying

she wrote a few deep lines once now they’re scars upon her arms

her mind goes up and down that ladder into and out of arm

back into harm

 

ch.

 

g-d’s up in his parlour: oh I gotta take another call

from another wounded mortal just heading for a fall

with another squalled request to clutter up My sky

barbed wire breath complaining how white water has gone by

white water has gone by

 

ch.

Waiting on Your Love