there is this line
i try to stand this sky beneath falls
open behind where within
as if a mouth yearns to
scream
a thousand wheels circle as if
i never knew how cold this rain
without my coat these streets
walking just because i feel when
this road empty wounded i must
forgot how to all these rivers flow
like walking with ghosts she barely see's
precious silver clouds inside this movie house
misfortune turns to murder suicide laughter
memory pearls inside her eyes
beauty
i must go these birds tell me
with their wings floating drifting dreaming
under, down
where to release what lies insanity;s sinful soul
darkened rainbows i may never
to tear off my shirt sweating
dripping motion picture wetness
what's left to tie myself into this new dress
i think more than i ought to think
as if i should think less
i think? What makes a man's heart flesh
What makes a woman's spirit less a mess?
where in between all these seasons
you capture me inside film
all my rivers and roads and drinks and cigarettes
misguided mountains you make me feel
lilac wines as Jesus Christ Superstar
i am no rock star
but my life pertains as of the orgies of opera
softer than a cocktail stronger or more of
my torn jeans
my torn pockets
my torn memories
my torn shores
my torn misbehavior
these tornadoes less the hell than napalm orange on beaches
of movies the apocalyptic tell-tales
as what makes us
in spirit vain
in mirrors cursed
in pleasure glorious
in sanity soothed
insane? maybe; i'm just a man waiting in the rain
at a phoonbooth in the middles of Time's square
thought i'd cut my hair but i changed my mind
so i think i'll get a tattoo instead
jump on the train with my guitar
sing about the rain sing about the stars
is it all funny now? maybe...
angels fall from clouds, devils paint to see
life is a splendid museum
everyone has seat,
sometimes that seat is empty...
but it's always there
whether or not you decide to kill for freedon=m
or rather not instead you choose as no
and not to cut your hair
these seasons crawl across your skin
thinking about that girl always again
how your face her face makes you grin
wonderland deserts or empty serenades;

life is a splendid museum
time's fated faith on life oft'N illusions
as time on clocks in pale'versed paintings
pure and cruel and beautiful
by all roads and ways we traversed in
never any ordinary exits to simply travel
full of kingdom's hosted ghosts holding
truth and lies in guns
as long as morning's eve this ever w/ Eden's Lilith
(the rain of the fire in your eyes
fades of nails in hearts as what please us)
as ever i see this painting darkly lit your picture
breathing pure
in life's most imperfect yet splendid circle's broken
of mirror's dust
 & of seasons
plush and violet blue this museum...
there i must go

there is this line
i try to stand this sky beneath falls
melting colours abstracted in vanilla
paris shadows across your eyes
this line i try
burning; drowning...
swallowed.

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