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20061212 - Trashtalk

from The Song Diary I by Paleo

/

lyrics

TRASHTALK


Whistling at women;
proving though we have no vision,
we are far from blind.


The light there at the end
is like a white bull in the distance.
He has one good eye.
He has one bad.


In this race with no one in it,
there is just one way to win it,
use your hands and knees.


Kicking with a scream,
I am rolling in the leaves.
We raked clean the streets of memory.


Memories of summers.
Coloring the thunder of memory.


There is so much to remember
on the mountain of December.
All the bees over the flowers
fly like bullets underwater.
But they can't keep all of it straight,
the flowers start all to look the same.
Their persuasion lost its power;
no, cause power is no power at all.


Wile away on pilgrimages,
now be a good little Indian,
and let me win.


Rocks dropped in a basin.
Ripples unlearn and forgive
across the river's skin.
Let me in.


Kissing in the closet.
Tracks the ground's forgotten,
the gagging gifts of time.


We could take the low road,
just as dim as it is narrow.
Let the coin decide,
high or wide.


My eyes are black as birdbaths.
Full of gossip, full of grapewrath,
I am talking trash.


Scribbling in the margins
of our paper popup houses,
I am how I sound.


Caught upon the crossfire,
I can think of nothing better.
I am as bad is it sounds.




DAS - Jacksonville, Florida, USA

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from The Song Diary I, released April 15, 2007

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