these tin men are no nonsense
not the happiest thing
they make the call between black and white
and what grey is bore in between
and they say kids your age should
be reaching for the streetlights
while banking on their reproductive organs
and the work week's guiding light
this is the bound and tired
oath/anthem of our aged
an approximate and fearful
wild of hooks to belt from caged
by bills and bills and bills then will
til nerve-ed and one-named
you thief the you that nothing can pill tame
and sleep the sleep of cured kill refrain

your ghost blowing up globes.
tightening them off with an x-axis-esque c-clamp,
then setting them down through the clouds
onto empty department store shelves.
where they sit facing all sorts of islands
out toward dead wee-hour isles.
has the earth come loose from its galactic neck beneath you.
cut off above the clouds
gone let go from the space surround it
dropped down done to the sun system's floor
crooked pearl of the one universe
cleaved, fell rolling toward a corner of the cosmos
in the blacked and quiet of come time
"and you are all lamb, for this."
spring is at your back again
this time rare with your clarity…
while patches of you thought whole
had turned up still.
made a tar of your woe
and flesh there in
have you gone half dead…
yet…yet have you to let the worst most be
as if it were atlas to your world of cope.
and no one is out there scared
you'd set your eyes off one the ceiling all night
in the dark
think of a song or maybe breasts
or missing body parts
"without a universal law there is no gravity
without a gravity there is no atmosphere
without an atmosphere there is no chance at life
and with no chance at life…i don't exist."

somewhere between motivated and cold
you on the ledge of all 241 ways to be you…basing guess upon guess
there…where…somewhere between motivated and cold
believing your good friends down to the bile in their beautymarks…
they who found you counting back toward yourself
so haven't dreamt and heavily armed
yet another blues thief told in however and oneday…
and every monday things begin with indiscriminate street noise
more vague and normal alliance of all those with high levels of work
in their blood and clock in their wake
up early shaving damp breakfast skulls with fresh lady's leg razor
so that the oneday the moon might hold a half million nice size
hoods easy
and plenty fast restaurants
by cum and by egg
and laid low into creature
then
cast out in the one cold of all names,
this song is about disabowed sperm
and the mining of human concern
many cells split, many men died in 1998
the year of my strong, fair rap collection
there are foot prints embraced far out on the frozen lake face
depressed and kept from quite some cold ago,
and they look brave, dangerous, man made
the sort of mark one can make on the world
you borrowed the camera from why
and set it up over by the printer and horsehead
obsessed with your pressing record
to indulge in the shadows of both here and immortal
is it god to name things from thin air
to have the wind blow a few hundred dollar bills into your wallet
to have 100 cc's liquid luck supplement
dug into your blood
by needle point and distant star
are you busy losing yourself
in the quiet cell of abandoned old oakland
pants undone, stole eye starting to water
nailing a sign that speaks fear to a bank at the man made lake
you cop you
will you now resort to black umbrellas in the sight blanching sun
or stay indoors taking the pill to your face…
striking that lightning on nothing
attempting to teach yourself the art of cloning at home
in a smock killing single cell sheep for straight weeks
'til you give it all up for photoshop and using your teeth
there in a box with your things, stabbed airholes, and one wing
or white lung, when your well will you stay
since there is a certain modern earth pain only fit for enduring
which one does endure
like returning a foster child twice or
going the distance on songs for somebody else's compilation.
no one's out there scared you'd set your eyes off
all night on the ceiling in the dark
think of a song or maybe breasts
i thought I told you, this is not new…
skinned by the speed of my one life
you have the desperate fair to your eyes
the look of a child who has just swallowed a coin or army man
almost too attuned to the spoils of loved
wishing he'd been born some sort of succulent or larvae
but you're too soft for all that
you like your blood kept in the movies
and your head in a jar or a vase in a van on tour
your guts clumped like dung in a sturdy hatbox
heart slung safely in the stomach of a clean sock or two
here you are a bag of milk to do tricks
and not as a function of pennies
and how you've dreamt
nosdam's skull been predatored
given a split at the hairline
and hinged with a lid
and in it placed
the single hard marble of art
and it is there it is kept

in not wanting to have their eyes pennied
and/or a bone shown broken to the open air
they're…
praying for their lucky stars to shoot…
we remain such gluttons
for the generous threat of being
supreme to a man mold maker with a tendency
toward the more dramatic side of everything
we are…
flattered i'm sure,
and what does modern child mistakenly chalk up
to the humongous homogenous win column of god
the swapping of a dearest dead pet for a fresh one…
finding someone else's wallet or say, a snow day
they're…
threatening their lucky stars to shoot

We're men of station
We are trouble bent just the same
But we're not as hell as you

Much machines on every fast
like time's to slow
This is insect speed
Still outside the hospital
Come time is to slow
This is insect speed

there in a box with your things, stabbed airholes, and one wing
or white lung, when your well will you stay
since there is a certain modern earth pain only fit for enduring
which one does endure
4 walls of day: and that alone
no empty hallway for you bearing the
100 bright light blocking doors of luck
and here in the favor of life I will
contrive no device against expectation, only announce
i have learned to respect the color yellow
by cum and by egg
and laid low into creature
then
cast out in the one cold of all names.

if there were not something so loud and clear
it would have been bought and sold
we travel the space ways
(and doom the space of men
and doom the space we're in
and doom the space they're in)

Hour hero yes, had showed you there'd be days like
This
And you find yourself longing for a certain drastic
Context
A dreadful circumstance that will tack great lengths
Onto your dictionary definition
To soothe your leaden understanding of bread, water,
And money
Now arriving by an alternate route at where the
Absence of such things might leave you
Mind you, this is not more rich confession of a child
Actor
And as you would agree completely with a gift cyst as
It appeared in your throat
And delight your tiny heart a moment with uncontested
Omnipresence will…

yeah huh
you want to out and hustle
core audience
a side of belief
and a half-gallon of afterclap