Oh crashes of mile high bookshelves onto the heads of a
thousand high speed internet bottle babies.
The bombshell in the polkadot dress
sings offkey about little mermaid female empowerment.
The drones buzz overhead
we all let ourselves believe they're cicadas.
The co-eds on TV jump up and down on the home parquet
future leaders of the free and clear world
We did it We did it We did it.
The tragedy of dull desires.
The thrill of the month.
Ghetto children born siamese with upper class ideals
they'll spend their lives supporting
for other people
but never themselves.
Oh instincts ingrained in us since our juvenile bacterial days
that'll never be understood
a framework of phantoms telling us to
sit stay fuck chase hide
download download download
a push-me-pull-you message instructing us to survive
when what the original Bart Simpson spitballer, God,
wants for us is to divine.
The polkadot bombshell sways in the bathroom line
'Do you believe in miracles, you sexy thing.'
The drones skyfall
take sacramental sips
of wine from our necks
we wake up thinking
Who gave me this hickey
as college kids are strewn like empty Diet Cokes
along the side of our souls.
I ask the stranger next to me how he's doing tonight.
'You're asking the wrong guy,' he says.
And the books rise
Visages of cities
Totems of hope
the glory of heaven expressed in binding and pulp
And I feeeeeeeeeel the pandemonium.
I let it tingle my skin
the candles of infinity lanterns burn
calling us home to versions of ourselves God
will never let us find but she'll keep singing singing
singing until we do.
Colley Cantina, March 12, 2013