the secret lives of monks.
We all lost what is real.
Now we are all sincere, like babies
Fresh out of the shower where we danced
And the side of the shower was a television
Showing old stories of lies and explosions
But we were fresh babies, devoid of what is real
In the blonde-headed hooting, here in lonely town.
Are you annoyed at the loud sound of crying children
Or are you slow and burnt and full of grey joy,
Or are you the tender broken falcon from mexico
Dripping saliva and starfish dancing around
Your spun, punch dream head?
Either way, try a smile for the loud children
Beating the concrete raceway cause Sherry
Dreamed me into her and I likewise
As I slept in the neck of the creek,
My neck crooked.
Last night there was a big show. I walked to “the sanitarium.” No wait, that is a lie. My friend gave me a ride to the sanitarium. The sanitarium actually used to be an insane asylum, but sometime in the 80s someone bought it and turned it into a bed and breakfast where now a man named Vincent has music shows, one of which he invited me to play in. So last night I got dropped off there with my guitar and a bird cage. The bird cage I had found in the woods close to my “house.” A lovely woman had given me a gift of a shopping bag full of owl chest feathers(down feathers) and we had spent the afternoon tying them to the rusty bird cage so by six pm, we had an old bird cage filled with spiderwebs and covered with owl feathers. It did indeed seem magical.
Then she dropped me off with the magical bird cage and the guitar. I also had a bag filled with tiny bottles of bubbles. A few weeks ago, I found them in a dumpster. They look like they are leftovers from a wedding, so I handed them out at my show. When it was my turn, I said, “hello, my name is Dennis Ray Powell Jr. To my right is a magical bird cage. My assistant will now pass out these bottles of bubbles and if you have a moment of pleasure, instead of clapping, please blow bubbles.” Then people laughed or giggled. I giggled a little myself. It was such a funny time. A few people I knew, or friends of mine, were in the audience. They smiled expectantly. I decided first to play a song that consisted of only two chords total, but many, many words. It was a lyrical necklace that could’ve been used as a belt it was so long. It was about serious disasters, and hoping for the best. I love you.
Love,
Dennis ray powell jr.
Now we are all sincere, like babies
Fresh out of the shower where we danced
And the side of the shower was a television
Showing old stories of lies and explosions
But we were fresh babies, devoid of what is real
In the blonde-headed hooting, here in lonely town.
Are you annoyed at the loud sound of crying children
Or are you slow and burnt and full of grey joy,
Or are you the tender broken falcon from mexico
Dripping saliva and starfish dancing around
Your spun, punch dream head?
Either way, try a smile for the loud children
Beating the concrete raceway cause Sherry
Dreamed me into her and I likewise
As I slept in the neck of the creek,
My neck crooked.
Last night there was a big show. I walked to “the sanitarium.” No wait, that is a lie. My friend gave me a ride to the sanitarium. The sanitarium actually used to be an insane asylum, but sometime in the 80s someone bought it and turned it into a bed and breakfast where now a man named Vincent has music shows, one of which he invited me to play in. So last night I got dropped off there with my guitar and a bird cage. The bird cage I had found in the woods close to my “house.” A lovely woman had given me a gift of a shopping bag full of owl chest feathers(down feathers) and we had spent the afternoon tying them to the rusty bird cage so by six pm, we had an old bird cage filled with spiderwebs and covered with owl feathers. It did indeed seem magical.
Then she dropped me off with the magical bird cage and the guitar. I also had a bag filled with tiny bottles of bubbles. A few weeks ago, I found them in a dumpster. They look like they are leftovers from a wedding, so I handed them out at my show. When it was my turn, I said, “hello, my name is Dennis Ray Powell Jr. To my right is a magical bird cage. My assistant will now pass out these bottles of bubbles and if you have a moment of pleasure, instead of clapping, please blow bubbles.” Then people laughed or giggled. I giggled a little myself. It was such a funny time. A few people I knew, or friends of mine, were in the audience. They smiled expectantly. I decided first to play a song that consisted of only two chords total, but many, many words. It was a lyrical necklace that could’ve been used as a belt it was so long. It was about serious disasters, and hoping for the best. I love you.
Love,
Dennis ray powell jr.