Drift.

Drifting you will find
pleasures of a different kind.
Outside of reason I'll be there
the cathode ray you beware.
Inside of you - Inside of me
Lives a truth that longs to be
as free as the wind that moves in the sky
as real as the fear that cast us aside.

Drifting you will find
what's inside of you - inside of me.
Set apart from your daily routine
your cars, and your jeans.
Lost.. enraptured in oblivion,
drunk off your monotonous treason.

Slipping, falling, fading, pining away
(from what you are) and what we truly are
Another straw in a stack of hay
a breath along the way.

Drifting you will come to find that ONE and ONE is ONE, and that we're all ONE mind.

My pride

See, it's not that I don't want you.
It's that I can't handle you, you're heavy,
you make my legs quiver, and my being shiver.

I can try to play you as if you were my guitar,
but I can never seem to find the tuning that'll make you shine.
So when I strum you you scream, when I pluck you I dream
and in between silver milky clouds I lose your key.

I can try to keep you, but what for... you're just too heavy.
So heavy you make my legs quiver, my being shiver, and my pride- my pride slither-down, down, down a cotton filled hole.

You're so heavy my legs quiver, but it keeps you interested don't it?
Up top in control, like the puppet master of my soul,
you don't have to squeeze me do ya mama?
Do ya?

You know I'll be back tomorrow, for you to make my legs quiver,
my being shiver, and my pride slither down deep - down - deep - deep and down.
Yea right there...

Maybe if I played you like a bass we'd get you there,
I can stand there - mess with your low end.
Slap you yea' slap you right there, where?
Tell me again...

I'd strap you right over my shoulder girl but you're heavy, so heavy.
Hard to handle, vividly intoxicating, you're poison and a remedy,
a beat and a melody, to your tune my legs quiver, my being shivers, and my pride
my pride keeps growing.

one more dance

These thoughts cohesively build each other to cry - not as a plea,
but because I've worn the words that make them whole on my sleeve
since the first three-fourths moon after the first one to be full in a long ago December.
This is all I seem to remember...
All we were meant to offer is that which we truly need but it, like all else in this social tundra, can do nothing more than freeze.

Silence is death, gentle and paced but as definite
as the moon that rises when the sun decides to slumber.
Are the insane the only one's to see this, I wonder.
All we need is what we are meant to offer,
and knowing how to dismember it has become so eloquently proper.

The fury of the sun burns this within the body that holds my soul.
With this knowledge I beg for my kind's just deserts.
Because all we need is the only thing that we can offer, but love followed the stock market down a hole.
Left are the hopes of a lost species, the wants of a somnambulist generation, and I.

Anti Conformists turn Conformists into Anti Conformists and take their place instead.
Those who do neither dance a bi-polar/schizophrenic waltz with their demise.
Slowly we sway from thought to thought to a song left untitled, to an unheard melody,
and we enjoy the comfort of our disdain.
Time slips through our fingertips, while you're mesmerized by your high definition box,
pathetically hypnotized by its light.
All during which I long for one more dance, hoping to finally get it right.

Late night visitor

Underneath her makeup is a story to be told.
A goddess, to be sheltered and adored.
Her body a vessel and her eyes windows to another world.
Fragile is her existence, like that of a glass doll.
Erotic and beautiful as a painting that only one's mind would know.
Her pining never clear,
because as soon as she washes off her makeup
she tends to dissapear.

With and without

Evil is never born, it is made either through action or the lack thereof...