This is my latest one. Let me know what you think! |
Silvery drops of aqueous clouds Cover up the largest of life’s darkest shrouds And distort the view of the Factory worker’s greatest masterpiece When the meringue mixer slices through one’s hand And the luthiers are all tellin’ you Just bury it into the sand The dropper seemed to be his only silent friend And the collagen seems to broken to mend The parrot is his greatest enemy The lemon rain is fallin’ all over the stairs The picture hangin’ across the room Has twisted itself into a madman’s greatest illusion A perpetual contusion The coin collector’s worst confusion That seems to have left him in permanent seclusion Standing perfectly straight Like the mauling victims’ crunched bones Living with Thomas Jefferson in a big, glass dome Always waltzin’ around Still lookin’ for a home Singin’ what he knows about palindromes The urban nomad Eatin’ nothing but graham crackers And sleepin’ in an alabaster bachelor pad He’s constantly slippin’ in and out of dreamland A slave to the needle shoved through his hand Floating on a cloud with cotton in his mouth Shouting obscenities at the praetorians that pass him by Pounding on the drum in the deepest part of the slum The beautiful red and blue women are singin’ Rushing up the road Shriekin’ his name as they move through the collegiate masses Pickin’ up everyone they pass on the way Tryin’ to make sure everything stays okay He’s sleepin’ on the sidewalk next to skinny sex addicts His notebook full of manic travels His mind full of memory of horrific sights from the very depths of the corona of the desert sun The calendar seems to have eluded him under the bar Don’t worry, boy The manager says you can sleep in the car Everyone he passes by on the bus Wearin’ powdery black suits Singin’ come and be one of us All that he recalls is the painful, burning embrace of his reused mistress The source of his unrest He’s become the sheriff’s distinguished guest The heart’s most vile incest Becoming most depressed Gone in the moment of most horrible distress In the morning in his tiny, concrete cottage All they’ll find is a pure, white body |