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"A LOVE SONG AND A DRUM MACHINE"

Just Smile and Play Along

So sew it up and note the time. The loose ends meet, the couplets rhyme. A stack of applications on your nightstand, not exactly as you planned. I know that look upon your face, the mirror in your eye. I know you lie awake at night, feel his breath on you and wonder why.

You wake up to the news at noon, or you wake up to the afternoon chat shows. The degree hangs on the wall of the apartment that's too small to hold the couch you hauled all the way from Pittsburgh and then left on the curb.

Now your friends don't bother calling you. The moment they would have to talk to him to get to you is so much more than they can stand.

You wake up to the news at noon, or you wake up to the afternoon chat shows. Your brother said he'd visit you. Your cousin said she meant to. You're hoping they will do the work and you can just smile and play along.

 

Go Ahead

When your worthy words get worthless, become too complex to mean anything, and when your nimble tongue gets twisted, unwittingly wicked, and when your winning smiles fail, your fingers flail, with your oiseaux de guerre, we'll be made aware. We'll be made aware.

One year from here-- or maybe nine-- you will come to me crying, but never mind that now. You've got a death drive and a 4/4 beat, so try it! It's new because it's you. And who am I?

Brother, why in the heat of July do you wear your long sleeves? It never leaves you if you never let it go. You've got more than enough, but why are you compelled to share?

One year from here, or maybe nine, you will come to me crying, but never mind that now. You've got a death drive and a 4/4 beat, so try it! Tomorrow starts here as you finish your beer, so how can I say no? You've got a love song and a drum machine, so go ahead. It's new because it's you. And after all, who am I?

 

A Busy Street In The Rain

Flatly, through the muted light of rain, I walk through the gutter. And always underneath a wet wool coat, I wear my destination. It sounds like a simplification, but it grows like cancer in me. And I've chased down that alley before. And I know now that it doesn't lead anywhere. I never learn, I never learn, I never learn! "You're not telling anymore," he says. "You're not telling, if you ever were," he says. "You're not listening." Well, I guess you're right.

 

My Baby's Bored

My baby's bored.

He looks at me and shakes his head, pictures someone else instead, slowly says, "I'm going to bed." It makes me wish.

He does the best he can, I guess, the little things we can't afford. Somehow it means a little less because my baby's bored.

 

The Family Plot

The undertow, the dusk, the basement rat, the anaesthetist, the hunter's game. I am the family plot. The parole, the groom, the Heart of Hell.