I've been gnawing at this for 4 days now, "tailor" is the one thing that just doesn't make sense...
Provisionally I, practically alive
Mistook sign for signified
And so since I’ve often cried
To run them off a cliff like
Gadarene swine
Inside my wardrobe seem anchor bent,
wondering whether we were
somewhat better than
or maybe just better able to pretend
and what better means to our inevitable end? you know, I don't know if I know
though some, with certainty insist
no certainty exists!
well I'm certain of this, in the past 14 years, there's only one girl I've kissed!
In the blistering heat of the Asbury pier
we sat quiet as monks on the Ferris wheel looking down at the water
down at the sea
I asked her, “did it ever occur to you
a fantasy where you pushed little kids
from the tops of the ride?”
Then she shook her head no
and I said “oh, neither do I”
and with my grandma's ring
I went down on one knee
and the subsequent catastrophe
has since haunted me
(like a fiberglass ghost)
asking of my inconveniently
selective memory
Provisionally you mercifully
withdrew all the
bearing points we thought we knew
Days run, days set clock,
our calm is shot
one common shot
we sailed waywardly on
singing our midnight archer's songs
until well past dawn
it's still dark in the deck of our boat
haphazardly blown, broken bows
our aimless arrow words
don't mean a thing to whether I think
it's pretty obvious that there's no God
and there's definitely a God!
I dreamt of the rocks at the Asbury dunes
that you jumped from the top
of the log flume
and they gathered like wolves
on the boardwalk below
they're addling for answers
no wolf could know
I charged at the waves
With a glass in my hand
I was tossed like a ball
at the bottle stand
and I landed beside your
remains on the stones
where you cold fingers
wrapped around my ankle bones
maybe ten feet away was a star
thousands of times the size of our sun
exploding like the carny balloons
you throw darts at
we slept until our chest was full
of yarn we’d spun from Shetland wool
socks from where the Dorset grows
sheared and scoured hours before
the rooster crows
the price of German silver fell
Through this huge tailor?
down the superstition well
I've been gnawing at this for 4 days now, "tailor" is the one thing that just doesn't make sense...
Provisionally I, practically alive Mistook sign for signified And so since I’ve often cried To run them off a cliff like Gadarene swine Inside my wardrobe seem anchor bent, wondering whether we were somewhat better than or maybe just better able to pretend and what better means to our inevitable end? you know, I don't know if I know though some, with certainty insist no certainty exists! well I'm certain of this, in the past 14 years, there's only one girl I've kissed!
In the blistering heat of the Asbury pier we sat quiet as monks on the Ferris wheel looking down at the water down at the sea I asked her, “did it ever occur to you a fantasy where you pushed little kids from the tops of the ride?” Then she shook her head no and I said “oh, neither do I” and with my grandma's ring I went down on one knee and the subsequent catastrophe has since haunted me (like a fiberglass ghost) asking of my inconveniently selective memory
Provisionally you mercifully withdrew all the bearing points we thought we knew Days run, days set clock, our calm is shot one common shot we sailed waywardly on singing our midnight archer's songs until well past dawn it's still dark in the deck of our boat haphazardly blown, broken bows
our aimless arrow words don't mean a thing to whether I think it's pretty obvious that there's no God and there's definitely a God!
I dreamt of the rocks at the Asbury dunes that you jumped from the top of the log flume and they gathered like wolves on the boardwalk below they're addling for answers no wolf could know
I charged at the waves With a glass in my hand I was tossed like a ball at the bottle stand and I landed beside your remains on the stones where you cold fingers wrapped around my ankle bones
maybe ten feet away was a star thousands of times the size of our sun exploding like the carny balloons you throw darts at
we slept until our chest was full of yarn we’d spun from Shetland wool socks from where the Dorset grows sheared and scoured hours before the rooster crows
the price of German silver fell Through this huge tailor? down the superstition well