Mama bear turned to Papa bear with a smile on her face
“Why can’t we share a bed and put a monopoly on this place?”
Papa bear smiled back, with teeth as sharp as your words
“Because if we did that our children would know the taste of swords.”

And darling I already know the taste of metal, the touch of cold harsh
steel
Doll I already know the volumes you choose the words you’ll learn to steal.
I could puppet them, stand back and allow wit and grandeur to be my strings
But from watching you fall into a world of plucked phrases I know what it
brings.
I’ve got a hand for destruction and a hand for love, but I don’t know how to
live
I’ve got a million things I know I don’t need, but somehow how no will to
give.

I met a girl the other day, a darling starlet who seems to be only lacking a
play
I met someone as I wandered my way; I was a tear away from breaking down to
pray
Or pretend I was, tears falling down from a bowed head, look I’m finally in
Church
I look up with eyes that beg the preacher man to tell me that redemption
really does work
But he stays silent as this girl and I cross paths, she lays down to me her
soul
She tells me of her days in self-induced hunger, we both were not on the
church roll
We wandered in, vagrants when it came to faith and now vagrants to hope
We had no Big House to call our own and we only realized when we tried to
find a way to cope
I gave her a hug and we both felt warm droplets on our shoulders
I want someone to see me as I saw her, looking beyond these scars of a
soldier.

I too could paraphrase the thoughts of Poe, colliding them together with
plagiary from Dickens
I’d turn the intellectually enlightened into my foe but glide through this
town of chickens
Convincing each of them of my superiority with a round of Freud
And somehow dawn the mask of a troubled writer rather then the unemployed
But I’d rather not; I’d rather paint the mural of a city skyline on a barn
wall
To remind them what they’re missing as they venture out to the mall
They see the dark fabric of night sky ripped to shreds by skyscrapers
And somehow the brutality of it is pretty, like a prohibition era caper.
Because one side of that event is always missing from description
Almost as if our words seal what it needs to be for us, a magical
inscription.

Tweedle-Dee turned to Tweedle-Dum and said “Let’s get ourselves some
brains.’
Tweedle-Dum retorted, “Why should we if I’m so busy spotting trains?”

I wonder if I’ll find what I need somewhere cold and alone
I wonder what I’ll need if I can already find myself a home of my own.
We are always searching for something, never is there an ultimate answer
A paradox and yet I remember, that girl’s sexuality was simply “dancer”.

 
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