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POEMSPOEMSPOEMSPOEMSPOEMSFROM PRAFROM PRAFROM PRAFROM PRAFROM PRAGUEGUEGUEGUEGUE

A collection of poems from the Beef Stew Poetry Readingsin Prague from November 1999 to April 2001

Prague 2001

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The poems in this collection may not be copied or reproducedin any way without the permission of

the copyright holder.

Copyright @ Willie Watson, 2001

Published in 2001

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Introduction p. 6The Beef Stew Poem p. 8Random Thoughts p. 11People in a Can p. 15Walking Through Nusle at Night p. 16September p. 17Left Bank, Vltava p. 19Riegrovy Sady p. 19RIP p. 20The Legend of Libuse p. 21A Czech Christmas Carol p. 22It’s Spring! It’s Prague! p. 24The Yellow Line p. 26Logos and Theos p. 27Walking Home in the Evening p. 28Patterns p. 30Words p. 31Carrot and Stick p. 33Alienation p. 33Time Lapse Photography p. 34Cybertreehouse p. 40Lipstick p. 42My Social Life p. 42Ice Tea p. 43Nail Polish p. 44The Speed of Thought p. 4513 Different Definitions of the Verb “to get” p. 46Synonyms p. 49You Can Call my Apartment a Flat p. 52Five Words p. 54Salt Water Music p. 55Reality Rhymes p. 56Puddle p. 56How to Win Debates p. 57

TTTTTable Ofable Ofable Ofable Ofable Of Contents Contents Contents Contents Contents

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Streetlights p. 57The Urge p. 58The Medium is the Message p. 61Toy Guns p. 62Journey to Ixtlan p. 62Life at the Improv p. 63Space Station Alpha p. 65The Bower p. 67The Attic p. 67Future Imperfect p. 68She Asked if I Loved Her p. 69Faces Carved in Stone p. 71Lost in the City p. 71Monkey p. 72Time Travel p. 72Just Another Day p. 73I.P. Pavlova p. 75Bertramka p. 75The Solution to All of the World’s Problems p. 76Millenium p. 77Swimming Lesson p. 78The Universal Puzzle p. 79The Prince of Prague p. 80The Prisoners p. 82Diary p. 84Rainbow p. 84Trolley p. 85Skylight p. 86Michelle p. 86I Spy p. 87Say a Prayer for Robert Johnson p. 89The Farmer in the Dell p. 91There’s Something About a Matinee p. 92Five p. 93The Westward Moving Line p. 95The Signal Flare p. 97

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IntrIntrIntrIntrIntroductionoductionoductionoductionoductionWhen I came back to Prague in the autumn of ‘99 my friendBecky from Oklahoma set me up with a place to stay and a jobteaching English at the school where she worked. It was a hell ofa welcome home, especially as the last leg of my Asian trip was astint in a Malaysian prison, but that’s another story.Prague really does feel like home to me, even though I’m notfrom here, have no particular ethnic connection that I know of,barely speak the language and spend 90% of the time when I’mnot teaching hanging out with other foreigners. If home is wherethe heart is, here I am.Becky took me along one Sunday night, after I’d been back just afew days, to a pair of poetry readings. The first was in a jazz clubnear Old Town Square in a brick basement with an arched ceiling,like so many basements in Prague. There was a pianist on stageaccompanying the readers. It was dark, it was smoky, it was aparody of Greenwich Village in the Beat Generation.Some of the readers were rather interesting, a ew of them suckedpretty bad.The second one was about a half an hour walk away, at a cafecalled Radost FX. When you were with Becky, you walkedeverywhere. She would let a perfectly good tram rumble by justfor the pleasure of walking through Prague streets at night.There was no Piano at Radost nor, for that matter, a stage. It wasin a basement, of course (so much of Prague’s night life happensin basements) but it wasn’t the classic brick Cask of Amontilladobasement. It was the bar of a discotheque and it was a utilitariandesign with bad 60s decor. There were leopard skin couches,low metal kidney shaped tables and a wall of broken bottles behindglass, with a pale orange light shining through them. It was dark,it was smoky, it was a parody of Greenwich Village in the BeatGeneration.

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Some of the readers were rather interesting, a few of them suckedpretty bad.After a couple of weeks, I summoned up the courage to read oneof my poems at Radost. Pretty soon, I ran out of poems and hadto start writing new stuff, if I wanted to read every week. So, forthe last year and a half almost, I have been writing at least onepoem a week and often more. Some of them have been fairlyinteresting and some of them have sucked pretty bad.Just having the venue to read has created an incentive to write,and the need to write something new every week has meant thatI have written more than ever before in my life, and I now haveenough poems to put together into a book.So, I’d like to thank all of the people who have listened to me onall of those Sunday nights, some of which were pretty horrible. Iwould also like to thank Helena, who helped me put it all togetherand was the inspiration for more than a couple of the poems,besides. And, of course, Becky.

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TTTTThe Beefhe Beefhe Beefhe Beefhe Beef Ste Ste Ste Ste Stew Poemw Poemw Poemw Poemw Poem

On a street in Vinohradyon a street called Belehradskáon the red, I.P. Pavlovaon the green, Namesti Miru

Stands a café known as Radosttrendy, artsy-fartsy Radostvery popular with expatsand the self-appointed in-crowd

There they serve the fruity waffleswith whipped cream and maple syrupthere they serve the “Big-brain scramble”stupid name, but very filling

Seated low, on comfy couchesdecadent as ancient Romansand the waitresses are gorgeousbut that’s normal, in this country

There’s a room, off to the side, wherehopeful artists hang their paintingsor their photos, mostly photosand their friends all come to see them

Sometimes we sit there for coffeewhen there are no empty tablesthere the waitress seldom venturesit could be another planet

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Down the stairs, beyond the bathroomswhich are often locked or brokenin the basement, there’s a discoand the dance floor’s small and crowded

Hot young girls with bodies burstingwith the power of their gendermoving like a swaying oceanfeel the power of their motion

But the bar is cool and spaciouswith a wall of broken bottlesbrown and ugly, eerie lightingsomeone must have thought it trendy

But it’s cool and you can talk thereon the leopard spotted couchesthat have felt a thousand assholeson a thousand drunken evenings

It is quiet in the daytimein the haunted disco dungeonMonday nights, they schedule movieswhich are almost always canceled

So, there’s mostly eerie silencethat the ghost of disco leaves thereleaves a void that must be filled therefilled with words as yet unspoken

So we gather, Sunday eveningsthose of us who would be poetsthose of us with massive egosgather to dispel the silence

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Like the tree that falls unwitnessedin the forest of the proverbsare the words of nameless poetswho are neither Blake nor Shelley

Here, our words can fill the silencehere, our words may have a meaningin the basement of a caféon a street in Vinohrady

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RRRRRandom Tandom Tandom Tandom Tandom Thoughtshoughtshoughtshoughtshoughts

If you drop an egg, it doesn´t bounce30 grams is the same as an ounceand I live on a street that I can´t pronounceat the top of a flight of stairs

It takes 24 hours for one full spinyou have to go out if you want to come inand I didn´t ask him to die for my sinsI wasn´t even there

The world is a stage, the world is a screenthere´s always something we haven´t seenand how can we know what anything means?or what is right and wrong?

The Taoists, the Buddhists, the Christians, the Jewsare arguing over yesterday’s newsevery point has a different viewcan’t we all just get along?

Hate contracts and love expandseach reward has its own demandsit’s only a little bit of sandin the oyster that makes the pearl

Sometimes I’m out walking and I don’t know whyto circle a square is as easy as pifrom wherever you are, if you look at the skyyou’re standing on top of the world

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What is the link between beauty and art?Does it come from the head, does it come from the heart?I don’t know the ending before I startbut the setting is so sublime

I’m for open markets and global tradeand I love the way these old buildings are madebut, let’s face it, I’m here ’cause I want to get laidthe rest is just passing the time

The sweet golden nectar that deadens the brainfairy tale castles and cobblestone lanesand the girls are so pretty it drives you insanehow long can this fantasy last?

We toke on our reefer, we guzzle our beerbut where will we be this time next year?Why should the future be any more clearthan the present was in the past?

If you wrestle a pig, you’re gonna get muddya joint or two never hurt nobodysometimes we learn without having to studywe all get more than we earn

Life is easy if you don’t tryto understand the reason whyyou live, you laugh and then you dieand it’s somebody else’s turn

Though Vincent may have lost his mindthe pictures that he left behindare like a map to help us findthe vision that made him insane

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You may be wrong, you may be rightbut once it’s down in black and whiteit becomes a bit, or perhaps a bytein the universal brain

Eight times eight is sixty fourthere’s a value to every square on the boardand everyone seems to be keeping scorebut what is the point of the game?

A pair doesn’t have to be two of a kindthere’s nothing finer than unrefinedand life before death is a word undefinedthere’s a hell of a lot in a name

But the object is not the same as the wordlines on a map seem so absurdthere are no borders if you are a birdadrift on the afternoon breeze

The world is a place where we all live togetherin all kinds of places, in all kinds of weatherthe swamps and the prairies, the forests, the heatherthe deserts, the mountains, the seas

Whatever will be, will be unplannedbut you have to be flying before you can landReincarnation is out of our handsa pig is reborn as a ham

Space is as black as the time before birthand as full of potential and infinite worththe meek may well inherit the earthbut by then it won’t be worth a damn

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I think about food until I’ve been feda rose is both beautiful and reda step to the side will get you aheadand tomorrow’s a beautiful day

Sometimes I drink coffeesometimes I drink teaadmission into the future is freeand wherever you’re going, that’s where you’ll beI’m glad to be on my way.

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People in a CanPeople in a CanPeople in a CanPeople in a CanPeople in a Can

I watch the trams as they rattle byand try to catch somebody’s eye but,oblivious to all outsideThey ride, they ride, they ride, they ride

Sitting, standing, they fill the spaceswith blank and non-committal facesWhat morbid genius hatched this planfor moving people in a can?

Those who are here are going there(we won’t concern ourselves with where)and they have toleave, to leave space clearfor everyone who’s coming here

moving containers back and forthwest to east and south to northshuttling from here to therein a constant game of musical chairs

if we want so badly to be somewherewhy is it we aren’t already there?

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WWWWWalkinalkinalkinalkinalking Tg Tg Tg Tg Thrhrhrhrhrough Nusle at Niough Nusle at Niough Nusle at Niough Nusle at Niough Nusle at Nightghtghtghtght

It’s two a.m., I need to get some sleepbut the night bus is a half an hour awayI’d rather walk than stand around and waitand so, at night, I walk the city streets

When all the trade and traffic of the dayhas disappeared and all the streets are clearthe static’s gone away and we can hearthe click of shoes a block or two away

I feel compelled to silence and to stealththe night is black in mourning for the dayand all that’s bright has faded into graythe city is a statue of itself

each building is a piece of that designand here and there a screen is glowing whitebut the action’s mostly hidden from our sightthe human drama plays for private eyes

it’s only in the darkness of the nightwe see the true significance of light

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SeptemberSeptemberSeptemberSeptemberSeptember

We were rowing on the Vltavaabout a week agostraight across from Letna Parkmoving kind of slow

I could see right through the treesthe people walking therethat formerly solid wall of greenwas thinner than my hair!

The summer went by in a flash this summerthis summer went by too fastand all those bright tomorrow’shave become the timeless past

Springtime’s hopeful projectsthat we never did beginjoin the leaves along the sidewalkas they fly before the wind

I’m sorry we never got togetherI’m sorry I never calledNow that summer’s almost overand we’re headed for the fall

Last May seems just like yesterdaywhen the sun shone on and onbut now the day is almost overand the sun is almost gone

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It was a summer of being togethera summer of being aparta summer the sun lit up the wallsof the cave within my heart

It was a summer of love and joyit was a summer of deathand now it fades into a puffof Autumn’s frosty breath

Some things will last foreversome things won’t even lastthe summer went by too fast this summerthis summer went by too fast

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Left Bank,Left Bank,Left Bank,Left Bank,Left Bank, Vlta Vlta Vlta Vlta Vltavvvvvaaaaa

I’ve heard it said, again and againthat Prague is now what Paris was thenwhere artists and writers congregatelike birds of a feather, like fish to baitIf that is true, as has been statedand the zeitgeist has been reincarnatedI’ll just sit in a Prague cafeuntil I start writing like Hemingway

RieRieRieRieRiegggggrrrrrooooovy Sadvy Sadvy Sadvy Sadvy Sadyyyyy

Each one’s a little differentEach one’s a little the sameI love this parkbut I don’t know its name

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RIPRIPRIPRIPRIP

Under this street, there lies a hillsloping gently to the topand every year, there’d be a cropof grass and leaves and tangled brushand fox and squirrel and lark and thrusha pretty hillside in the woodand people saw that it was goodand built their homes there, one or twojust so they could admire the viewand two or three soon grew, you seefor everyone so loved the treesthat thousands soon were living therein the wood so green and fairbuilt their schools and stores and churchesamid the oaks and elms and birchesand so they wouldn’t strain their feetthey went ahead and built the streetand writ on the stones, so quiet and stillis: Under this street, there lies a hill

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TTTTThe Lehe Lehe Lehe Lehe Legggggend ofend ofend ofend ofend of Lib Lib Lib Lib Libuseuseuseuseuse

Between two sloping banks the river flowedabout a river deep and river widean ancient forest covered either sideone fall, a couple thousand years ago

One day, a princess walking through the woodate some mushrooms growing from the ground(the kind that make your head spin round and round)sat down on the bank and it was good

The evening sun so red it looked like firebelied the coolness of the evening breezeand in the light it cast upon the treesshe saw a city of a thousand spires

Whose beauty reached up to the very skythere by the river, with its steady flowshe sat and watched the golden city growand her vision was completed, by and by

How could Libuše so exactly seethe way things really did turn out to be?

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A CzecA CzecA CzecA CzecA Czech Christmas Carh Christmas Carh Christmas Carh Christmas Carh Christmas Carololololol

The tree is up in Old Town Squarethe lights are nice and brightthere’s boiled wine to warm the bloodthrough chilly winter nights

Rosy cheeks are glowingwith the season’s effervescenceas young and old both contemplatethe coming of the presents

Joyous music fills the airwith lovely Christmas songand the checkout line at Tescois a half an hour long

Yes, Christmas time is comingeverybody’s baking sweetsbut there’s still something missingIt isn’t quite complete

Soon the basins will appearon every city streetwith frigid, running waterthat turns to ice beneath your feet

and fat men wearing waderswill fulfill your Christmas wishand slam a mallet on the headof an unsuspecting fish

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Oh, the blood is running through the streetstheir knives are long and sharpit is the time for peace on Earthand the killing of the carp

You can keep your ham and turkeyyour Santa and his sleighbecause, for me, it isn’t Christmaswithout carp on Christmas day

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PraPraPraPraPrague Springue Springue Springue Springue Springgggg

It’s Spring! It’s Prague! I feel alive!there’s magic in the airI’m walking down the streetwithout a worry or a care

The wicked wind of winterhas lost its frigid biteif it weren’t raining like a bastardit’d probably be bright

Chains of wet, green buds adorneach brown and barren branchas full of hope and promiseas a budding new romance

Pink and yellow jacketsare replacing coats of blackyesterday I smiledand somebody smiled back!

Prague is really prettyunder a blanket of fresh white snowbut in the sunshine of the springtimecertain things begin to show

The sights that greet this poor boy’s eyesare so beautiful it hurtsas I ride the escalatorsand I look up women’s skirts

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So, if you were to ask mewhy I keep coming backI’d say “It isn’t the hash at the Chapeau Rouge,the ecstasy or the crack.

It isn’t the beautiful buildingsthe operas or the playsit isn’t the salaries, or the galleriesrestaurants and cafes

It isn’t the view from Charles Bridgeit isn’t the Old Town Squareit isn’t the parek v rohlikuthat you can buy anywhere

It isn’t the flowers in the parkit’s not the birds who singbut the flower of Czech womanhoodthat blossoms every spring

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TTTTThe Yhe Yhe Yhe Yhe Yelloelloelloelloellow Linew Linew Linew Linew Line

The yellow line is as low as you can goif you’re riding the red, there is still another level belowin the event of a nuclear warI know exactly where I’m heading forthe yellow line is as low as you can go

When it’s time to go homewe head down into a holejust like the rats and the snakesthe weasels, rabbits and molesIt’ll get you anywhere in townit isn’t alternative, it’s just undergroundthe yellow line is as low as you can go

The escalators going down so slowwith all the blank faced zombiesstanding all in a rowIt’s like you’re falling down into a welland if you keep on going, you’ll wind up in hellThe yellow line is as low as you can go

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LoLoLoLoLogggggos and Tos and Tos and Tos and Tos and Theosheosheosheosheos

In the woods, a tree falls to the groundbut no one’s there, so does it make a sound?If sounds defined as something that we hearthe answer must be negative, it’s clear

If God created man, and not insteadthe other way around, as some have saidit may have been because he had no choiceDoes he exist if no one hears his voice?

From the seed, the reaching, looping vinesnever, ever grow along straight linesYet plants whose leaves are twisted, random, tangledare seen as fields with even lines and angles

From the mountains towering abovethe pattern’s only clear when you’re clear of itthe credit for the universal planin fairness, must be shared by God and man

The Logos is connected to the TheosWhat else but order could come out of chaos?

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WWWWWalkinalkinalkinalkinalking Home in the Evg Home in the Evg Home in the Evg Home in the Evg Home in the Eveninenineninenineninggggg

Walking home in the evening, a pain in my feetI see street after street after street after streetof buildings in concrete, so gray and so tallwall after wall after wall after wall

It seems so frustrating, each life in a boxblock after block after block after blockthen one by one, but all the samein frame after frame after frame after frame

The lights come on, dispelling the gloomin room after room after room after roomoff and then on, in a binary codein node after node after node after node

And so it has been from the time of creationin generation upon generationfrom the first spark of life, which grew so wellin cell after cell after cell after cell

It grew and it changed through trouble and strifein life after life after life after lifecreated the grasses, the massive yieldin field after field after field after field

Created the trees, so solid and goodin wood after wood after wood after woodthe birds and the fish, from cradle to gravein wave after wave after wave after wave

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created a creature who stood uprightin fight after flight after flight after fighta lifetime to live and a lifetime to learnas turn after turn after turn after turn

They plowed their fields and they built their homesin Cairo and Carthage and Athens and RomeEach struggling peasant fell into his nichein ditch after ditch after ditch after ditch

And from father to daughter, from mother to sonone after one after one after onebear the code of the species, the mark of the raceupon face after face after face after face

Without any planning, without our designand yet line upon line upon line upon lineof the human parade is passing the standin band after band after band after band

If you look too close, you see nothing at allbut wall after wall after wall after wallyet, as I stare out at the infinite lightand see light after light after light after light

I long for the day we will make it that farto star after star after star after star

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PatterPatterPatterPatterPatternsnsnsnsns

The polished wood reveals the grainan open book that could explainthe heart of a tree, the soul of the woodunfelt, and so misunderstoodor the visible flow of a running streamwith Flo’s and Eddie’s to me it seemsa visible sign put there to showthe way it goes, the way it goesor the lines and the waves of the drifting sandwhich may be random and unplannedbut yet, look closely and they couldbe said to resemble the grain of woodthe reason isn’t clear to meit doesn’t seem like it should be

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WWWWWororororordsdsdsdsds

There are words like “please” and “thank you”that we use to be politeOr “Dear Sir” and “Quite Sincerely”which are useful when we write

There’s “good morning” and “how are you?”to help start out the dayand words like “left” and “right” and “straight”to help us on our way

There are verbs to say what’s happeningand nouns to say what’s whatand the short ones called conjunctionssuch as “if” and “and” and “but”

Sometimes you change an accentand a verb becomes a nounThey will record our recordsounds like they like our sound

There are gestures which have meaningjust as much as any wordlike the upraised middle fingerknown as “giving one the bird”

or the arching of an eyebrowor the cocking of an earthat says you’re saying somethingthat I really want to hear

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The way you walk into a roomcan show the way you feelhesitation in a handshakecan ruin a major deal

So much of what we mean to saydepends upon our styleThe most important word in any languageis a smile

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CarCarCarCarCarrrrrrot and Sticot and Sticot and Sticot and Sticot and Stickkkkk

The carrot and stick, it’s easy to chooseit seems like an offer you can’t refuse

We seek the pleasure, avoid the painFollow the sun, stay out of the rain

Pavlovian parrots who’ve learned what’s goodand do the things we know we should

The mule gets a carrot, the dog gets a boneEverybody gets a cellular phone

I’d like to find an alternative pickbut I still don’t want to get whacked with the stick

AlienationAlienationAlienationAlienationAlienation

I was in a crowd of peoplebut I felt so all aloneEveryone around mewas talking on the phone

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Time Lapse PhotoTime Lapse PhotoTime Lapse PhotoTime Lapse PhotoTime Lapse Photogggggraphraphraphraphraphyyyyy

Time lapse photographycatches the clouds as theymove on the wind like thewaves of the oceanKoyanisqatsi, thestreets of the city, wherepeople are moving like cells in the bloodstream, we

StillHearThe roar of the oceanrecorded in cells that havecovered the Earth in un-checked procreationfight or flight chemicalsleaping the synapseswriting the softwareof civilization

OrAreWe like bodies of coralthat grow into atollsand just, through attritionhave gaineded our self-consciousnessright answers saved and thewrong ones deletedper the originalbinary postulate

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It’sClearThat nothing is random hereeverything’s meaningfulchoreographed in a cosmic ballet that goesKoyanisqatsi, theflowers that close at nightopen each morning togreet the new day, and

WhatDoWe see when we look through thelens of a microscopeeverything’s moving andinterconnected butall of the data whichwe have received shows usthere is a pattern towhat we perceiveand that’s

GoodButDoes it have a purpose, Idon’t know the answer, Idon’t know the answer andyou don’t know either, I’msure that that’s true, Buddhistor Hindu or Christianor Jew, I have no reason to thinkthat you do

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SoIfThe world is a circle andlife is a spiral thatalways goes forward whenmoving through time, and weall the while, in fear anddenial, live out our livesthough we know we will dieand nobody, nobody understands why

HowDidWe conjure the creed that we’velabeled our consciousnessdemons, damnation andnegative attitudeswhere did we locatethe Gods that we followfilling a space that wecannot leave hollow

WithAllOur totems and talismanschanneling energyout of the synergynature, realitythese are the reasonsthe cycles, the seasonsour thinking has followedthe path it was put on

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TheHeartBeat of all our mythologylies in biologyOedipus Rex was the King Motherfucker andthat’s what is stored at theroot of our consciousnessthat’s what is stored in ourJungian memory

DeepDownThere, Morrison knew it, hetold me one eveningwhen I was on acidand he was on videobetter in context thantaken alone, from the“Doors of Perception” toOliver Stone upon stone

WeBuildEach generation u-surping the last one in-herits the world as amatter of courseWe are the Lizard KingsWe are the core of agrowing anthropo-centrifugal force

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ButWe’reStill basically animalsavage, irrationalgoverned by urges wecan’t understand...if weunderstood them...and we’llunderstand them...then our freewill will be at our command

SoWhereIs the Tao we must followthe road to enlightenmentspiritual covenantsudden Satori orpath to perfection? Well,where do you think it is?Just where it always wasstretched out in front of us

That’sWhyOur consciousness mattersthat inner awarenesswith which we can look atourselves in 3rd personWe are the picturethat’s painting the pictureWe are a song that isSinging itself

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SoYouCan say what you want to sayWe’re what we’re meant to beliving our lives is fulfilling our roles but wewant to have meaning, sowe have created it, weare the ones who defineour own souls

ItDoesNot matter if it was aconscious decision thatlifted us out of theprimordial agar orrandom, sequentiala chain of coincidencewe can’t deny that weare what we are

WeAreThe Lords of the UniverseMasters of Everythingwe are the owners ofall we survey, we standhere at the threshold, thestart of the future, afuture that will bewhatever we say

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CyberCyberCyberCyberCybertrtrtrtrtreehouseeehouseeehouseeehouseeehouse

I’d like to build a cybertreehousin a spreading cybertreeon a sunny cyberislandin a southern cybersea

We could live on nuts and berriesit would be a lot of funwe could watch the cybersunsetswhen the cyberday is done

High among the cyberbranchesall our friends would live next doorin our little cybervillagehigh abouve the jungle’s floor

Everyone you know and loveand half the folks you’ve never metand quite a few you’re going to likealthough you haven’t met them yet

complete unto itself, we’d havea never ending list of stuffNo, man, wait, delete the islandThat just isn’t big enough

We should build a cyberpalacein the heart of cybercitywhere the cyberbeer is goodand all the cybergirls are pretty

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everyone could come and join usin our growing cyberstatecyberwine in all the glassescybersteak on every plate

Cyberparks and cybergardenscyberhouses, cyberschoolsAfter all, we wouldn’t want toraise a bunch of cyberfools

It’s a simple simulationof concrete, plastic, glass and steelThe fantasy is much more vividfor the fact it could be real

I’d like to draw a cybermapthat leads us to a better placedraw the blueprint for a heavenin real time and in real space

There would be no need for hungerthere would be no need for warWe’d have everything we neededIsn’t that what this is for?

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LipsticLipsticLipsticLipsticLipstickkkkk

Lipstick may be red as a beeton the lips of the girls on Perlová Street

Purple as paint or green as gunkon the pouting lips of a petulant punk

Or black as sin, le couleur du malput on by a wannabe femme fatale

Sometimes it’s attractive, sometimes it’s a wasteI suppose it’s all just a matter of taste

But sweet as the nectar the hummingbird sipsis the taste of chapstick on my honey’s lips

My Social LifMy Social LifMy Social LifMy Social LifMy Social Lifeeeee

My social life is like a tramthat runs along the tracksI go out and then, some hours later,I come back

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Ice TeaIce TeaIce TeaIce TeaIce Tea

I see a porch with a wooden railpainted a pearly whitewhere I can sit all afternoonand well into the night

Or a hammock where I could be lyingunder a coconut treewatching the sun as it slowly sinksinto the western sea

or perhaps a green expanse of lawnsomewhere on the side of a hillthe air is thick with the sweet, rich smellof the steaks that are on the grill

I don’t need an airline ticketto get where I want to beall I need is a place to relaxand a glass of cold ice tea

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Nail PolishNail PolishNail PolishNail PolishNail Polish

I say “you don’t need to paint your nails”and sure enough, it never failsthey paint their nails

I beg them not to dye their hairbut if they hear me, they don’t carethey dye their hair

I say “please don’t kill yourself with heels”but do they listen to my appeals?they wear high heels

They never listen to a word I sayand that’s O.K.

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TTTTThe Speed ofhe Speed ofhe Speed ofhe Speed ofhe Speed of T T T T Thoughthoughthoughthoughthought

The pen is always a half step behindthe thoughts that are racing through your mindand you lose your grip as you try to finda word, an image, a way to definea thought that’s moving, that’s still in flightThe faeries in Mr. Blakes garden at nightHow many words did he fail to writewhen the vision came at the speed of lightWe use 10% but there’s so much moreOur need is great, our grasp is poorWhat lies in store behind the doorwhat new frontiers, what distant shoreswhat golden keys, what tribal loreYou can churn out novels by the scorethe words you’ll never write are more

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TTTTThe 13 Diffhe 13 Diffhe 13 Diffhe 13 Diffhe 13 Differererererent Definitions ofent Definitions ofent Definitions ofent Definitions ofent Definitions of the V the V the V the V the Verb “To Get”erb “To Get”erb “To Get”erb “To Get”erb “To Get”(plus a f(plus a f(plus a f(plus a f(plus a feeeeew phrasal vw phrasal vw phrasal vw phrasal vw phrasal verbs)erbs)erbs)erbs)erbs)

Get is not the past tense of goEven though it seems it should be soYou have to go if you going to getSomewhere you haven’t been to yet

Firstly, “get” means to arrive, as in “she always gets here late”Or “I first got to Prague in the Spring of 98”Can you tell me how to get there, is it left or is it rightBy the time I get to Phoenix it will be the morning light

Of course, “get” starts some phrasal verbs, get around, get along, get byget set, get wet, get late, get dark, get scared, get sick, get betterOr “to get” can mean to receive: I got a card, I got a letter

“Get” can mean to have: I’ve got a car, I’ve got a flatshe’s got a brand new boyfriend and his mother’s got a catI’ve got a brand new pair of roller skates, you’ve got a brand new keyI hope you’re as happy that I’ve got you as you are that I’ve got me

Before we get too far with this I think what we should dois get relaxed, get settled down and have a short reviewWhen he got here he got drunk because he’d got a letter“I’m sorry,” she had written, “but I’ve found somebody better.”

To arrive, to become, to receive, to have, it’s getting plain to see“Get” gets to be be almost anything, you can get “get” to beanother common meaning is to obtain or to acquireget a job, get a raise, get a new TV, get whatever you desire

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Sherlock’s trying to get a clue, the actor to get a handThe boys all want to get a girl, the girls to get a manget a prize, get wise, get a little or, get lucky, get a lotIf you’re going to come and get it, come and get it while it’s hot

“Get” can mean get started, let’s get moving, let’s get rolling,let’s get walking, let’s get talking, let’s get dancing, let’s get strollingget up, get down to business, get out of bed, you lazy toadlet’s get to work, let’s get this so called show out on the road

“Get” can mean to be allowed, I got to meet the band!I got to get his autograph, I got to shake his hand!it’s like :to have a chance” - I got to go to Disneyland!(this poem, by the way, got a whole lot longer than I’d planned)

To get can mean to cause it to be done, to make it soI got my girl to wash my clothes, to iron and you knowshe had a lovely flat and I was living there rent freeI wonder why she suddenly got so pissed off at me

“Get” means to escape: get away, get loose, get clearIf it’s the last thing we ever do, we’ve got to get out of hereOr simply “git” where I come from, skedaddle, do not stayget out of my face, get off of my case but please, just go away

“Get” can mean to catch, as in the bastard by the throatyou get a train, you get a plane, you get a ferry or a boator to send: I’ll get that report to you, that file, that fax, that noteor to get can mean to irritate, she always gets my goat

gets on my nerves, gets to me in a way that’s quite unpleasantnot everything we get in life has got to be a presentwe don’t always like the things we get, we’d like to give them backI’ve got the blues, I got bad news, I got the shaft, I got the sack

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I know this poem is getting rather long and out of handbut there’s just one more, “to get,” you see, can mean to understandto get the joke, to get the point, of something that was saidthanks for being here, I hope you got what I just read

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SynonSynonSynonSynonSynonymsymsymsymsyms

You could say he’s portly, chunkychubby, less than trimfat, obese or out of shapethese are synonyms

We need them when we’re sayingall the things that must be saidbut it sounds too bad and so we saysomething else instead

It’s cruel to say she dumped youkicked you out or left you flatsplit, vamoosed, skedaddledand she won’t be coming back

to minimalize the impactyou could say you had a spata difference of opinion(as between a dog and cat)

You could simply say you’re single,on your tod, or all aloneto speak about your solitudewould elevate the tone

And so you drown your sorrowswhen the liquor brings no blissbut you’re in the pub with otherswho are simply on the piss

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Some imbibe and some partakeand some will hoist a glasssome get tipsy, some get drunkand some fall on their ass

Shitfaced, schnockered, blottohammered, stinko, loopy, tightbeyone the legal limitpissed as parrots, high as kites

Drunk as skunks and seeing doublehappy, giddy, having funtalking loud and causing troubleuntil the evening’s done

Some are joyful and elatedas they’re heading for the doorsome are quite inebriatedpassed out on the floor

(all of them intoxicated,but some a little more)

But life goes on, you persevere,continue, muddle throughand do the things you know a manhas really got to do

For every state of being,for every time of daythere are a dozen words or phrasesyou might choose to say

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Some are pissy and complainingwhen everything is wrongsome are mournful and lamentinglike in a country song

Some are perky, joyous, happywhen the tune is more upbeatsome are cheerful, some are snappywhen you want to move your feet

You can whimper, you can whisperyou can scream and shout and cursebut whatever words you choose to useit always could be verse

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Mays was that guy who played for the Giants

Aubergine for eggplant? That’s O.K.I don’t really like them anyway

But french fries are french fries, if you want chipsthey come in a bag and they’re meant for dips

Belly or tummy, it matters littlebut that’s a belly button, there in the middle

and fanny is just an unusable wordunless we can agree on what part is referred to

A bonnet goes on a baby’s headthat’s a hood on the front of your car instead

Speaking of cars, that’s a trunk in the rearboots are for walking, that should be clear

YYYYYou Can Call My Aparou Can Call My Aparou Can Call My Aparou Can Call My Aparou Can Call My Apartment a Ftment a Ftment a Ftment a Ftment a Flatlatlatlatlat

You can call my apartment a flatI don’t really care about that

You can call the bog a looif that’s what you want to do

Stand on queue if you’re so inclinedbut where do we draw the line?

I’ll go so far, but I’m sorryI won’t call a truck a lorry

and corn is corn, I will state my defiance

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and you might think we’ve got no classbut petrol is too refined for gas

Your Hoover may be quite the Luxbut my vacuum cleaner also sucks

and speaking of sucking, it would be a real dragif you wanted a cig, and you got a fag

It would make a woman angry, I don’tknow how you’d face her

If she said to use a rubberand you reached for an eraser

There is a simple solution to this linguistic plightYou all could just admit that we are right

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FFFFFiiiiivvvvve We We We We Wororororordsdsdsdsds

If I learn just five words a daythat’ll never be enoughto name the flowers and trees and birdsand fish and all that stuff

If I only learn ten words each dayI’ll never comprehendthe range of her emotionsand the signals that she sends

One hundred words a day will notexplain, decode, unwindthe grammar of the universethe meaning of mankind

Perhaps it’s just as futileas a castle in the sandbut it doesn’t take that much to sayI want to understand

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Salt WSalt WSalt WSalt WSalt Water Musicater Musicater Musicater Musicater Music

The ocean rocked, the ocean rolledacross the lifeless planet’s facethere was liquid, there was lightand there was movement in this place

The crashing surf, the rising swellthe love of ocean for the shorea shallow pool, a single cella thing that wasn’t there before

The world has changed a lot, of coursesince that amoebic virgin birthbut the sun still rules the heavensand the ocean rules the earth

We have grown and we have changedfar removed from ancient oceansStill, it shouldn’t seem so strangethat we should feel the ancient motions

The rhythms of the human heartare like the waves that break apartHaving risen from the mudwe feel the ocean in our blood

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Reality RhReality RhReality RhReality RhReality Rhymesymesymesymesymes

Is this infernal or sublime?Depends upon your point of viewThere is no rest, but at the corenothing’s ever really changedWe try to break out, go beyond!To pass the point of no return!The line extends, and soon we findit is reality that rhymes

PuddlePuddlePuddlePuddlePuddle

In view of the reflection that they makea puddle is the equal of a lake

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HoHoHoHoHow to Ww to Ww to Ww to Ww to Win Debatesin Debatesin Debatesin Debatesin Debates

You’ve made your pointyou’ve made it clearI’ve heard all that I want to hear

It should be plainfor you to seethat I quite simply don’t agree

Excuse me for beingso abruptbut it’s my turn to interrupt

I’m sure you’ll see my point of viewif I can talk louder and faster than you

TTTTThe Strhe Strhe Strhe Strhe Streetlieetlieetlieetlieetlightghtghtghtght

The streetlight shines downspotlighting the falling flakesthe snow must go on

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have been createdhave been designedby human handby human mind

The natural worldhas been replacedbut the natural urgeshave not been erased

First among these isthe urge to surviveto defend one’s existenceto grow and to thrive

To thrive, to growto profit, to gainto seek the pleasureavoid the pain

TTTTThe Urghe Urghe Urghe Urghe Urgeeeee

The Myths, the religionsthe legends, the liesthe clothes that we wearare a thin disguise

The buildings, the carsthe web that we weaveall of the thingsin which we believe

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Accumulatea lot of stuffIt’s not enoughIt’s not enough

There’s an itch, a yearningan inner demandto explain it allto understand

But it’s all so bigand we’re so smallHow can we possiblyget it all?

And so the left handseeks the rightthere’s an urge to mergeto link up, to unite

The yin and the yangthe dark and the lightthe heat of the dayand the dark of the night

Like a key fits a locklike a foot fills a bootthe water is drivento find the root

The man and the womanthe need , the desirethe passions, the needof the ice for the fire

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There’s a need of each partto be part of a wholeto join with anotheris good for the soul

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TTTTThe Medium is the Messahe Medium is the Messahe Medium is the Messahe Medium is the Messahe Medium is the Messagggggeeeee

The medium is the messagethat’s what the wise man saidHow did that thought you’re thinkingever get inside your head?

If you read it in the paperand you think that makes it trueyour experience with papersis the only thing that’s new

If you heard it on the T.V.or on the radiothe only things you’re learningare what they want you to know

If you heard it on the Internetyour case is very slightthere are a lot of people on the netwho aren’t all that bright

I might be getting cynicalI guess that’s how it goesbut I only believe my own two eyesand sometimes not even those

The medium is the messagethat’s what the wise man saidHow did that thought you’re thinkingever get inside your head?

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ToToToToToy Gunsy Gunsy Gunsy Gunsy Guns

Kids have funwhen they play with gunswith a rat-a-tat-tatTake that, take that!It’s O.K., it’s no big dealThey aren’t old enough to killfor real

JourJourJourJourJourneneneneney to Ixtlany to Ixtlany to Ixtlany to Ixtlany to Ixtlan

We took a journey to IxtlanWe opened the doors of perceptionWas that the road to enlightenmentor the path of self-deception?

Have I learned anything at allon this flight of understanding?I don’t know, but I’m low on fueland I’m coming in for a landing

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LifLifLifLifLife at the Impre at the Impre at the Impre at the Impre at the Improoooovvvvv

If the world’s a stage, as Shakespeare saidis there a script I haven’t read?That explains my role, contains my linesor do I have to improvise?Does the one who has the most toys win?Or perhaps the one with the fewest sins?

If you pledge your life to silver and goldyou will have comfort when you are olda beautiful house and a color TVa life of pleasure, a life of easebut if gold is the substance of your soulthe ferry man will take that toll

You can study hard, read lots of booksit’s not as easy as it looksyou may learn a lot of stuffyou may learn that learning’s not enoughThough wisdom is a worthy goalYou’ve learned the part, and missed the whole

Or you could do a lot of deedsplanting gardens, pulling weedsbuilding buildings, writing booksbut someday you will have to lookback at all the things you’ve doneand wish that you had had more fun

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You could live for fun and gamesand blind your eyes on beauty’s flamelove and laughter, song and dancemay well ensnare you in their tranceit may be gentle, it may be sweetbut still, it leaves you incomplete

Money, knowledge, success and loveor E, for all of the abovethere’s so much withing our reachthat we should try a bit of eacha little sample from the platesome to love and some to hate

So, when we exit from the stagewe leave our mark upon the pagethe work of our lifetime is writing our roleas we struggle to achieve our goalsfrozen in time in the world of todaythe work of a lifetime is also the play

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Space Station AlphaSpace Station AlphaSpace Station AlphaSpace Station AlphaSpace Station Alpha(Satur(Satur(Satur(Satur(Saturdadadadadayyyyy,,,,, No No No No Novvvvvember 11th,ember 11th,ember 11th,ember 11th,ember 11th, 2000) 2000) 2000) 2000) 2000)

They’re calling it Space Station Alpha nowbecause it’s the very first oneThey’re calling it Space Station Alpha nowthe journey has begun

Alpha’s as big as a jumbo jetbut Beta will make it look smallGamma will be bigger stilland Delta will dwarf them all

When we look up at the sky at nightin 2045Epsilon will bethe brightest object in the sky

They’ll be as big as shopping mallsand it won’t seem so strangeto hear somebody saythey have a home upon LaGrange

Still, we’ll keep on buildingever better, ever greaterthere will be resorts of brand new sortson Zeta, Eta and Theta

Iota, Kappa, Lambda, Muwill hover over Marswhile Nu and Xi and Omicronwill take off for the stars

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Pi and Rho will boldly gowhere none have gone beforeand Sigma, the enigmawill accomplish even more

Station Tau won’t have the flawsof these preceding stationsand Upsilon will carry onthe great investigation

Phi and Chi and Psi might tryto break the speed of lightso that the one they’ll call Omegacould come back tomorrow night

and when the 25th station’s builtto name it something newOh, what the hell, it’s just as wellLet’s call it Alpha 2

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TTTTThe Bohe Bohe Bohe Bohe Bowwwwwererererer

Arches and trellises covered with flowersa place designed for summer hourswhen summer’s gone, they’ll still be thereSkeletons in the winter air

TTTTThe Attiche Attiche Attiche Attiche Attic

Like sweeping out the atticof its cobwebs and its bugssometimes I try to clear my mindof alcohol and drugsbut when it’s neat and tidyI find to my despairthere really wasn’t all that much up there

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FuturFuturFuturFuturFuture Imperfe Imperfe Imperfe Imperfe Imperfectectectectect

When I was a lad I read lots of storiesof space exploration and all its gloriesof people who came from distant starsof gleaming cities and flying carsThe future seemed like quite an amazing placeThere’d be cities under the sea and in outer spaceWe’d have unlimited solar powerNew York to Chicago would take one hourby monorail, I thought it was plannedthey already had one at DisneylandThe future was bright, it was understoodSome people even said we couldcontrol the weather, but they liedQuite frankly, it’s cold as hell outsideThere is no bubble city on Marsand everybody’s still driving carsRobots have fallen short of my wishesI still have to do the dishesSometimes I almost feel like cryingI know the calendar isn’t lyingThe future has arrived at lastand looks a whole lot like the past

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She AskShe AskShe AskShe AskShe Asked ifed ifed ifed ifed if I Lo I Lo I Lo I Lo I Lovvvvved Hered Hered Hered Hered Her

She asked if I loved her, I should have said yesIt’s what she wanted to hear, I guess

I didn’t want to say it, if it wasn’t soand the plain truth was, I didn’t know

I hesitated, I waited too longshe said, “If you can’t say it, there’s something wrong.”

I said “Honey, I need you, I have to, I must...”She said “Honey, that isn’t love, that’s lust”

I blew it, I know, but it’s really absurdhow much meaning we put into one little word

There is love that is fickle and fleeting and fastor love slow and steady, determined to last

There is love that’s one sided, and love that’s unspokenand love that lies dormant and needs to be woken

There’s love of a challenge and love of the gameThere’s love of the other and love of the same

There are girls who love girls and boys who love boysand some who love leather and some who love toys

There is love based on friendship and love based on trustThere is love based on longing and love based on lust

There is love that is tender and love that is mildand love that a parent has for a child

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Or a boy for a dog or a friend for a friendThe list goes on, love never ends

There is love of great music and love of great artThere is love in your eyes, there is love in your heart

Every kind of love is goodand I never get as much as I wish that I could

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FFFFFaces Caraces Caraces Caraces Caraces Carvvvvved in Stoneed in Stoneed in Stoneed in Stoneed in Stone

Faces carved in stonesilent, cold, expressionlessreflecting our own

Lost in the CityLost in the CityLost in the CityLost in the CityLost in the City

Lost in the cityLost in the rainLost in contemplationI’m getting wetbut it isn’t yetan uncomfortable sensation

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MonkMonkMonkMonkMonkeeeeeyyyyy

The feel of the barkthe green of the leavesthe scent of the junglea moving breeze

are a long, long way from these iron barsthese shitty, gray wallsthis concrete floor

I’ve never known what it means to be freebut I know this isn’t home to me

Time TraTime TraTime TraTime TraTime Travvvvvelelelelel

For traveling into the futureI have a simple planI’ll keep on going one second per secondand get just as far as I can

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Just Another DaJust Another DaJust Another DaJust Another DaJust Another Dayyyyy

I didn’t want to get up out of bedthe other day, a couple days agothere was no particualr place I had to goA single thought kept running through my head

“It doesn’t really matter if I stay,after all, it’s just another day”

Monday, Tuesday, what’s there in a name?Sunday doesn’t know it’s set asideThe world just turns and takes it in its strideallowing each and every one the same

but there’s so much the calendar doesn’t sayThere’s no such thing as “just another day”

Weather wet and cold or warm and drythe patterns change - they twist, they turn, they tossThe whimsical wind is wafting clouds acrossthe great big lava lamp up in the sky

Sometimes it’s mostly blue, sometime’s it’s grayThere’s no such thing as just another day

And all that’s just the changing of the sceneeach actor has to improvise their roleeach player aiming for a different goaland a lot of things can happen in between

So many factors coming into playThere’s no such thing as just another day

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There’s a world contained in every point of viewa mystery that has yet to be revealeda piece of fruit that’s waiting to be peeledThe day will be defined by what you do

Each sculptor molds a different piece of clayThere’s no such thing as just another day

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I.PI.PI.PI.PI.P. Pa. Pa. Pa. Pa. Pavlovlovlovlovlovvvvva,a,a,a,a, Ma Ma Ma Ma May 15th,y 15th,y 15th,y 15th,y 15th, 2000 2000 2000 2000 2000

I get off the train and start to walktoward the exit, moving with the flockI can see the people still on boardin a moment, I won’t see them any more

Lined up like the beads of an abacus in a rowFaces of people I will never know

BerBerBerBerBertramka,tramka,tramka,tramka,tramka, Jul Jul Jul Jul July 23ry 23ry 23ry 23ry 23rd,d,d,d,d, 2000 2000 2000 2000 2000

From the top of the hill we enjoyed the viewthe grass was green, the sky was blueand in between the earth and skywe went walking, you and I

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TTTTThe Solution to All ofhe Solution to All ofhe Solution to All ofhe Solution to All ofhe Solution to All of the W the W the W the W the World’orld’orld’orld’orld’s Prs Prs Prs Prs Problemsoblemsoblemsoblemsoblems

Give jobs to the joblessand aim to the aimlessBuilding homes for the homelessCooking food for the hungryPouring drinks for the thirstyEducating the uneducatedEntertaining the boredMassaging the wearyLoving the lonelyDriving the restlessCuring the sickPlanting forestsPlanting gardensRaising cropsRaising childrenRaising consciousnessRaising the tone of the conversationDoing the undoneExploring the unknownFilling the world with artFilling the air with soundAnything, anything at allinstead of killing each other

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MilleniumMilleniumMilleniumMilleniumMillenium

We’re spinning as we’re turning round the sunin 24 hours, each and every timeone year and then we’re back where we beganit’s a pattern, it’s a system, it’s a rhyme

About a hundred thousand years agowe marked the seasons and we named the daysplanted seeds and stayed to watch them growgot a bit more settled in our ways

Began to shape the earth to our desireskilled for profit - killed for power - killed for funscarred the earth with fences and with firesas year by year we turned around the sun

Somehow, we’ve managed to survive this farthe sun still shines upon us as we danceWeak and undeserving though we areeach day presents us with another chance

Spinning, spinning through the cosmic nightWe’ve got another thousand years to get it right

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SwimminSwimminSwimminSwimminSwimming Lessong Lessong Lessong Lessong Lesson

That summer I was only 5 years oldthe water looked so deep and felt so coldso I held on to the shallow edge of the poolkicked my legs and thought that that was coolOne sunny day, I got a terrible shockMy big brother threw me off a dock

I gasped, I gulped, I thought that I would drownI felt the world had been turned upside downI couldn’t see a thing before my eyesthe sky was gone, but much to my surpriseI popped up to the surface pretty quickI learned to move my arms and how to kick

Well, that was a pretty nasty thing to dobut on that day I learned a thing or twoYou’re halfway there the moment you beginso put aside your fears and dive right inIn sports, at work and especially with womenIf you ain’t in over your head, then you ain’t swimmin’

I’m in too deep, but don’t you worry ‘bout meover my head is where I want to be

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TTTTThe Unihe Unihe Unihe Unihe Univvvvvererererersal Puzzlesal Puzzlesal Puzzlesal Puzzlesal Puzzle

In the universal puzzleall the pieces have to fitthe only trouble is, we haven’t found them all as yet

There are some that are so tinythey are hidden from our sightand some so contradictorywe don’t know which is rightand some we have discardedthat we thought we wouldn’t needand some we can’t imagineand some that we can’t readThere are some that seem irrelevantwhy should we even care?and some that do not seem to matchthe other pieces there

it might take a billion years to workthis puzzle to the endThat’s O.K.We’ve got the time to spend

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TTTTThe Prince ofhe Prince ofhe Prince ofhe Prince ofhe Prince of Pra Pra Pra Pra Pragueguegueguegue

I don’t fit in the blank spacesI’m not that kind of guyat least 50 percent of the shit on these formsI mark “that does not apply”

I have a restless spiritI have a wandering mindwhen I take a 12 step programI take it two steps at a time

Perhaps it’s avoidance behaviorPerhaps it’s missing the pointbut pass those peanuts over hereand roll me another joint

My biggest fault is ego’cause I can plainly seethat I am better than anyone elsewho’s not as good as me

I look down from my balcony tableat the people down belowall of the amateur actorsin an improvisational show

I like to ride in the back of the busand pretend it’s a limousineyou can ride along if you likeI’m arrogant, not mean

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Life’s not an uphill strugglewe don’t even have to climbthe world keeps turning under our feeta single day at a time

If the universe is infinitehowever you slice the pieI have the perfect point of viewThe center is the I

I’m glad you all could be hereladies and gentlemen, boys and girlsjso I could have this chance to say“You’re welcome in my world”

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TTTTThe Prisonerhe Prisonerhe Prisonerhe Prisonerhe Prisonersssss

They’re tenured, they have got their chairin their office, at the storebehind the bar or at the doorThey aren’t going anywhere

Even some of the things they sayTheir words, their gestures and their quirksbecause they’ve learned to use what worksremain the same from day to day

They’ve found a place to park their minda harbor, safe from winds of changewhere nothing’s bent and nothing’s strangea prison of their own design

And here they sit,year in, year outand mark the seasons as they passEach day is very like the lasta choice of comfort over doubt

But...

There’s something missing from their faceThey have forgotten how to smileand like a no longer relevant fileall trace of humor’s been erased

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There’s something missing from their eyesThey know the future all too welland like the prisoner in his cellthey mark the days until they die

I’ll tell you now and it’s a factI never want to be like that

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DiarDiarDiarDiarDiaryyyyy

It wasn’t anything I saidor even how I said itbut my baby found my diaryand she read it

There could be no redemptioncouldn’t say I didn’t mean itbut I was sincerely sorrythat she’d seen it

A diary is as dangerousas what you put inside itLike a loaded gun at homeyou have to hide it

RRRRRainboainboainboainboainbowwwww

The light flows through the waterthat is falling through the aira rainbow is a pictureon a screen that isn’t there

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TTTTThe Trhe Trhe Trhe Trhe Trolleolleolleolleolleyyyyy

We were in a crowd of peoplewaiting for a lightI barely even noticed she was there

I guess she was a gipsyHer hair and skin were darkand most folks here are rather pale and fair

She had a wooden trolleywith a suitcase flat on topheld on by a bungee cord or two

With wheels of yellow plasticit didn’t look too hotbut I suppose it was the best that she could do

The light turned green, the traffic stoppedWe all began to crossShe wasn’t there and so I looked around

I could see the twisted yellow plasticbent beyond repairlying there quite useless on the ground

a crowd of people gathered roundand they were dark like herI can’t tell you how this story ends

I had someplace I had to beand so I carried onbut I was glad to see that she had friends

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SkyliSkyliSkyliSkyliSkylightghtghtghtght

There is a skylight up here in the loftso I have a good view of the skythe snow’s coming down and it’s coming real softit’s an image that pleases the eye

There’s a sauce on the stove that has scented the airwith a smell that is good to the nosethe carpet is deep and my feet they are bareit’s a texture that pleases the toes

I have no obligations and no place to gothere are plenty of books on the shelfI think I’ll just sit here and look at the snowIt’s good to be good to yourself

MicMicMicMicMichellehellehellehellehelle

You could have gone either way that nightthere were two ways you could have gonethe tram came quick, you took your pickyou went ahead and got on

I was going home aloneYou were going out with a friendWe briefly kissed, I nearly missedThe End

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I spy with mI spy with mI spy with mI spy with mI spy with my little ey little ey little ey little ey little eyyyyyeeeee

I spy with my little eyesomething beginning with apple pielong, wooden tables out by the lakepotato salad and chocolate cakebaked brown sugar on brown baked beansand more fried chicken than you’ve ever seen

I spy with my little eyesomething beginning with touch the skyup in the mountains, where things are so prettyfar from the traffic, far from the cityfar from the pressure, far from the crowdthings are so quiet, up here in the clouds

I spy, with my little eyesomething beginning with let’s get highsmoke a little reefer just to feed the brainthen a little acid just to go insanelook at all the dots on the TV screenand try to figure out just what they mean

I spy with my little eyesomething beginning with me, oh myI caught my breath, I turned to starewhen I saw that girl with the long, brown hairain’t nothin’ better lookin’ than a good looking girlanywhere in this beautiful world

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I spy with my little eyesomething beginning with don’t be shywalk on over and ask her to danceyou never can tell if you don’t take the chanceoffer a drink, or just say hellothe worst that she can say is no

I spy with my little eyesomething beginning with boy’s don’t cryriding the night bus, all alonecouldn’t even get the number to her mobile phonesometimes you win, sometimes you losesometimes you end up singin’ the blues

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SaSaSaSaSay a Pray a Pray a Pray a Pray a Prayyyyyer fer fer fer fer for Roberor Roberor Roberor Roberor Robert Johnsont Johnsont Johnsont Johnsont Johnson

When he went down to the crossroadshe was looking for a soundand he didn’t have to look so very far

He could hear a whispering in the winda rumbling in the groundhe could feel it in the strings of his guitar

Well, say a prayer for Robert Johnsonsay a prayer for that man’s soulbecause his bargain with the devilcreated Rock and Roll

Well, he played it in the shantiesin the Mississippi nightand he played it round the fires, ’neath the stars

And he played it on the cornersin the cities and the townsand he played it in the juke joints and the bars

Say a prayer for Robert Johnsonsay a prayer for that man’s soulbecause his bargain with the devilcreated Rock and Roll

Robert Johnson died one daybut his music stuck aroundlike a shadow in the Mississippi night

90

The devil tried to keep itbut he couldn’t keep it downand Rock and Roll began to see the light

When a white boy out in Texasand one in Tupelostarted in to lay that rhythm down

They got it in the record storesand on the radioand Rock and Roll was heard the whole world round

Say a prayer for Robert JohnsonSay a prayer for that man’s soulbecause his bargain with the devilcreated Rock and Roll

Well, they say the devil taught himthey say he went to helland there’s no call to think that they would lie

But we have the devil’s musicand it’s doing pretty wellbecause we know that Rock and Roll will never die

So say a prayer for Robert JohnsonSay a prayer for that man’s soulbecause his bargain with the devilcreated Rock and Roll

91

TTTTThe Fhe Fhe Fhe Fhe Farararararmer in the Dellmer in the Dellmer in the Dellmer in the Dellmer in the Dell

The farmer in the dell went down to the city’cause everybody’d told him that the women were so prettyso, he met a little woman and he took her for a wifeand he took her to the dell to start a new life

The summers got hot and the winters got colderand the farmer and his wife got a little bit olderThey raised ’em up a daughter, such a pretty little girlwith big blue eyes and long blonde curls

Just turned 13, they don’t come no hotterthan a wide-eyed innocent farmer’s daughtershe never saw that there was trouble brewin’and the farmer in the dell didn’t know what he was doin’

One day the farmer’s daughter went down to the creekand he hid behind some bushes and he took himself a peekWhen his daughter took her clothes off, his heart began to poundso he reached out and he grabbed her and he threw her on the ground

Well, the daughter took offense at this, but the farmer paid no heedbecause the farmer in the dell had a mighty urgent needbut her mother came a-runnin, that is the farmer’s wifeand the wife took a pitchfork and she took the farmer’s life

and they chopped up his body, and they threw it in the welland that’s what became of the farmer in the dell

92

TTTTTherherherherhere’e’e’e’e’s Somethins Somethins Somethins Somethins Something About a Matineeg About a Matineeg About a Matineeg About a Matineeg About a Matinee

When you jump into a swimming poolthe water’s deep, thewater’s coolwhen you get out and face the skythe air is warm, the air is dry

There’s something about a matineeYou enter, from the brightest dayforget the world two hours, and thenyou come walking out againand it always seems so strangeto notice that the sky has changedthe heat of the sun and the glare of the lighthave been replaced by the cool, dark night

From time to time, from place to placethe world presents a different face

93

FFFFFiiiiivvvvveeeee

SiSiSiSiSightghtghtghtght

Matter is energy, energy lightWe know existence through our sight

If I were suddenly struck blindand lost the imagewould I lose my mind?

HearinHearinHearinHearinHearinggggg

Whether faint, or loud and cleareach sound’s a signal that we hearacross the airfrom here to thereOur interpretation of these vibrationsis the basis of communication

We get the signalswhether or not we wishthe ear is a very primitivesatellite dish

SmellSmellSmellSmellSmell

Smell is perhaps the most visceral sensethe feelings it causes are quite intensea steak on the grill makes you salivatebut other smells are not so great

94

TTTTTasteasteasteasteaste

We have to eat to stay aliveand we may grow and even thrivebut food consumed in hastelacks taste

A meal that’s well preparedis like a song that’s been well sungtaste is the music of the tongue

ToucToucToucToucTouchhhhh

The tongue,the eyes, the ears, the noseare lovely methods, I suppose,to let the information inbut let us not forget the skin

for directness of perception, there is muchthat can be said for the humble sense of touch

95

TTTTThe Whe Whe Whe Whe Westwestwestwestwestwararararard Mod Mod Mod Mod Movinvinvinvinving Lineg Lineg Lineg Lineg Line

The westward moving line can move no morebroke like a wave upon the western shorethough mystery has left the western skythe westering spirit hasn’t really died

The globe has been explored from north to southeach river to it’s source up from it’s mouththe question is arising more and morewhere is left, where no one’s been before?

The new explorer’s dream, the quest, the goalis to seek the inner secrets of the souland there are many pathways that we tryand some of them may get there, by and by

Some do drugs and some of us read cardsSome miss the point and some just try too hardin meditation or hypnotic tranceThere’s ecstasy for some in tantric dance

Some try to study and investigateto analyze, record and calculatebut solid facts have no more weight than vaporthe soul has never yet been put on paper

Some pin their hopes upon the ancient godsQuite frankly, I don’t think much of their oddsSome of them play cymbals as they chantand wear long, orange robes instead of pants

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Shapes and symbols can be seen as signs:the pyramids, the power points and linesRegressive therapy or altered statesSome take 12 steps, some say 5 or 8

These tools and little tricks have been designedto help us find the mind within the mindthe garden that’s behind the secret doorthe chamber where the secret treasure’s stored

A deep blue lake so clear, so cool, so goodin the darkened middle of the woodthere reside the creatures of the deepwho come out to play when you’re asleep

I haven’t found it but I don’t despairI’m close enough to know that it is there

97

TTTTThe Sihe Sihe Sihe Sihe Signal Fgnal Fgnal Fgnal Fgnal Flarlarlarlarlareeeee

Like a firefly in a jaror a fish in a little glass bowlwe’re trapped within our atmosphereand there’s little doubt we’re staying herewe can’t reach the nearest starwe’re not anywhere near that far

There are other world’s, all rightwe can see their sunswobble just a hairas their spinning thereinformation that’s blurry and lightwith our newly developing sight

Through the void so black and clearour sun could be seen the samea beacon lightthrough the endless nightthat’s blinking “we are here”and has been for the last 5 billion years