Tuesday, March 2, 2010

{ Stick Your Fingers In The Ink } by Big Sway

Stick your fingers in the ink
Get more than you'd expected
Country music
Stains the wallpaper
More beer
Begs the buying...
Water drips on a rainy
Late-February day
Bottom-top to bottom...
Down to the lowest point, stealing
We drop in a bow
Looking to how, healing
(Straight shots of feeling now)
A court-appointed clown
Drunk 'n' wheeling!

- - - -

A Rachmaninoff piano concerto
Sways fingers like bristles through my mind
Through wet paint, whistling
Working slow-pressure valves
I melt like a clock
A large Foster's cancerto sits empty
Choking on F knows what

Car doors play the night
The moon readies her crime
A small child eats her okra

Dr. Horowitz operates
Upon the ole black 'n' white
(Rides a Baltic-bound baby grand
Fearlessly in flight)
Dreaming of an opera

- - - -

Holding a prayer candle to my feet
Jesus turns them into jet packs
So we can fly through the sky all day
And drop little holy water balloons on sinners
We eat excellent pizzas, muffins and wafers
We put on masks and pretend to be each other
Until communion (I can't stomach cannibalism)
Eating a red-bound songbook
Jesus turns me into a Deep Purple hymn
And we rocket around, eating pastries, singing
"Blessed be the child who thinks he, Him"
Or some other holy vision

- - - -

Holy, hot hell!
My molars sink into tundra
My eyelids are slowly falling off
Drilling for the root
My crotch just doesn't feel like my own anymore
Same for my elbows, big toes, tip 'o' the nose
Deep down in the eyes, I'm dense anti-matter

Needing a warm flapjack
A tumbling freak sack
Fumbling in lack
A fuck (but more or less vulgar; your pick)
Hot, holy hell!
There's a crack in your logic like the Liberty Bell
Filtering a surer light
(But purer less/fuller; your pick)

Dang, yr right!
Get a fair price
For your marrow
Stay true, too
Through time's harrow 'n' kick
Cultivate love for all seasons

- - - -

Anita O'Day announces spring
Pig-latin for dough; cute
Gettin' pay like Mel Tormé
With no vibrato to boot!

Gotta run, here comes Nat
Doin' the Harlem Swing
Yr vocal chords on trombone slides
Yr soles are sprouting wings

Louis Armstrong dances, wide
To Gypsy blue flame singin'
Puttin' air through funky there
Blowin' and a'winkin'

- - - -

A twinkle in the starlight
A stark kill of bedroom lightning
A barking bolt of fire-light starts
A startling, white hot art, bolting

Mulched emotions...
Electronic clippings from newspapers
Simmer at the surface like leaves...
It all boils down as heat labors

Fingers, wrought sun gardeners
Fingers, run to gardens' eve
Fingers, tend garish seas
Fingers, north wind martyrs

Grasp spirit
Bear life
If you'd please

- - - -

Get more than you'd expected
Sticking fingers in the ink
Valencia Oranges open
Are tenderly torn door
Venerably absorbed kin
Sunlight water-founts drop
Bottom-top to bottom...
Down to the lowest point, stealing
We drop in a bow
Looking to how, healing
(Straight shots of feeling now)

- - - -

Across the bow
Left reeling...

No comments: