nostalgic reverie
Blisterbaby singing worship songs
with a swollen tongue and chapped lips;
bronzing an idea left in tidepools of ink
where I'm slowly sinking without a feather
to record my dreams.
Dont you just love that pine-scented
demeanor? All rosy blues and viole[n]t
acts of protest made into art through TV
Media days goneby, reminiscent of a
time less thin, when minutes couldn't be
counted by the knobs of your bones and
your home was hope solidified.
When baby Jesus laid motionless
on a cold basement floor where
everyone knows a child is lost everyday.
Passing the time by painting a glass window
sans the Virgin Mary, who'll sing 'til her throat burns
from the outside in, as long as you've got the
adhesive to glue her ashes back together again.
with a swollen tongue and chapped lips;
bronzing an idea left in tidepools of ink
where I'm slowly sinking without a feather
to record my dreams.
Dont you just love that pine-scented
demeanor? All rosy blues and viole[n]t
acts of protest made into art through TV
Media days goneby, reminiscent of a
time less thin, when minutes couldn't be
counted by the knobs of your bones and
your home was hope solidified.
When baby Jesus laid motionless
on a cold basement floor where
everyone knows a child is lost everyday.
Passing the time by painting a glass window
sans the Virgin Mary, who'll sing 'til her throat burns
from the outside in, as long as you've got the
adhesive to glue her ashes back together again.