Marker Pt. 2

I want to go to the Oracle in the South

In her tiki hut and look in her mouth

For the words that might be sung to make the world come

Down from its high mountain and kneel before me

On the satin pillows I’ve laid for it. 

But it won’t come down from the clouds up there where I can’t climb.

I have no pack, no gloves, no boots.

There was a time in my foolish youth

Where that didn’t mean a thing and those rocks would be underneath my palms,

But I know I’d fall back down before I reached the top now,

And I would’ve then, too, just I would’ve tried.

Ain’t it sad to know you’ve died?

Where’s the coffin and where’s the hearse

That will bring me to where my heart is lying

In the plot right next to mine.

I bought them at the start of Time.

I’m not in my room anymore or in my house,

I got on out.

But it doesn’t matter what door I close and what light turns on or turns off,

Everywhere I go the shadows go,

The ghosts do haunt, and the blood does flow.

Red, white, black and these are mixing

In my eyes again.

Happy Anniversary Baby, whereever you are.

I’ve got a million poems to give you, each one made in a second

Of a star’s dying day.  I’ve got the cash and the time to spend on you,

And I’m so soft inside that you’d never lose your way: you’d be able to make it.

You’d push on through me and touch my heart without even trying

More than breathing.  And I’ve got the romance in me from movies

That I watch to put my mind at ease, perhaps because I’m studying them

To know what makes you smile.  I’ve got brains too, and a tongue.

More than many, lot more than some.

And I can use them to tell you things that you’ll never doubt

If you’d just come out.

Wherever you are.  Pop goes the weasel and all that jazz,

So that I might find you and stop running running running.

I want some sad-eyed guy to play me in my movie

When I write and direct it, because I don’t want to do it, anymore.

I’ve lived this life before.  And I’m not bored, but I don’t think

That a man can tolerate more than once letting his heart sink.

Rock the boat. 

And what does all that mean that I just wrote?  Well, it means I’m sad and lonely on Monday night at almost 1:00 with two girls in the other room that I’m madly in love with.  And it doesn’t matter at all.  Because neither of them will ever get around to loving me.  Have faith you say.  Have faith in what?  Time?  It’s passing and nothing shown.  In God?  If he’s there, then he’s ignored prayers that were carried on evaporated pillow tears.  Have Faith in me?  Look at me.  If I am what I am and no victim of a higher deity than all the more pathetic is my visage.  Should I love myself?  I do.  You and most don’t understand.

The fact is I don’t hate me.  I hate my life.  And ther’es a great great great difference. 

So Happy Anniversary,

Through thick and thin I stuck through myself

And not with a dagger or blew my brains with bullets,

I just stuck my hands upon my chest and felt them cave on through.

I’ve gone soft like a peach.

All ripe and tender and juicy now, and oh so sweet.

Too bad that ain’t what the world has a taste for anymore.

The ghost is hiding behind the door and talking with the shadow

About who’ll clean this blood up off the floor.

Happy Anniversary, Baby.

Wherever you are, I hope you hear.

I give you one more year.

That’s all I’ve got before the ghost and the shadow

And the closing door locks forever, and the blood upon the floor

Flows out and you won’t hear me anymore.