Our shared & strange Wisdom
It's frightning to know what we know
this melancholic perfume
this hint of smiling poison
these railroad tracks of Loss
and the man or woman standing next to you
as clueless as they fuckun' come...to this entire world
of intoxications, bad luck and spiritual nervous breakdown.
Think for a flash if you will how nice it would be to be so
violent & thugishly and thickly dumb.
What a drug.
To know the roaming ghost of what you know, it's enough to make your teeth chatter and your own spirit
spit up in a misted motel mirror.
The crack dealer doesn't have your thoughts
the paperboy and the sacker at the grocery store doesn't have your thoughts
but sometimes the clerk at the bank that counts out your money and deals in numerals does.
Who are all these people that blend in?
Why do they fancy themselves unique when they do everything the same and in more ways than
one that never works?
In Howling boots I walk with a head full of history, piss and love mad words
I walk past
the basketball players
the fat and bald
the men that do jobs to do their jobs at when they do their jobs of jobs.
Christ fella, read the bible, the book of Job...wasn't exactly a walk in the park, ya grizzled bastard.
These people with life insurance claims singing in their clogged hearts
these people that drink down death commercials like chugging big gulps...these people
worse than buzzards and shitbats
moaning...always moaning and pining for a vacation
when all they ever really wanna do is get back to the job
and ignore their children a little more...or worship them more
which is even
If these so called people lived in our heads for one weekend they would
It is sometimes difficult to accept that we are of them in some way...that we are a kin...in the human race...
These people that do not share my thoughts
this strange constant aborting of myself coming and going
in and out of heaven and tossed back into
this hurt that swells to the surface
sorry for the whole human race
sad at the slight thought of a dead dog
sorry for the insect on six legs
sorry for the Sun when she goes down
and blue as an overdose about the full moon singing to me like
billie Holiday...lady day....
I am sad about photos of my Grandfathers touching my hand
sad that our hands got broken apart
sad all over the many wars that made dust out of beautiful people for profit
sad when the bird dies
sad when the song gets born
and sad when the radio shuts off it's old hank williams moan...
sad as the day is long
don't have to be in jail
to feel like you are
in a prison
it's so hard to believe that other people can't hear
the sweeping sadness inside of your mind...
because right there, you know, there will be no communication...
even though you both speak english
one speaks spirit
and the other
We walk Alone
we walk with our hearts in our hands
under the dark
we walk Alone
with our little ghost songs
and our hearts bleeding like
pool halls gone up in Flames
we walk Alone
like a dream only a diamond baby could hear....
that song of the special antiquity of our giving and humble blood
the spirit song of our rare