the sieve and the sand

I never needed to win
being on top of things was too uncomfortable
yet there was the possibility of life
at the back of my mind.

The person I wanted to be
standing across the street, waiting for the green light
was so real.
While engrossed in nervous greed to make his smile mine,
worry sucked the glow out of my soul
I lost sight of all things true

Something is happening without me,
with the friends left behind
the dreams I dreamt
the children starving in far away lands

The sunlight has me recoiling inside myself
looking for the perfect escape
but it is nothing important or new,
only little sharp pains
to enjoy rainy days,
coins lying down on the pavement,
and fruits a bit too ripe.

i’d fry the french for real
if it meant i could squeeze
them between my teeth milking
every last second before their
last taste of oxygen and their slow
steep in my pools of acid

i have never been more indecisive
in my life
i cannot even get 1 cylinder
on this damn thing to fire
i can be found always, somewhere
on cornfield avenue
thumbing for a ride
that i am always refused
(without paying cash
up front
of course)
as they know that i
will rob them

i am always sitting
next to cloudy headed
johnny law
he is a bright-eyed
son of society (or of-a-bitch)

i am as dry as the periodic
table of elements

Solar
indescribable yet
palpable in every
single nation
of the Earth

Lunar
Mass-Insanity
although there’s
never been an ounce
of proof in any
single nation
on the Earth

Strange to choose the
latter when the
former, it lasts
longer, and is
stronger, at lest

that’s how it seems to
be in every
city, every
country, every
nation, even,
on the Earth

I never bet on
the sure thing.
They almost
never end up
quite right
anyway.

I’d much rather
bet on the
little guy all
the way in
the back.

See that guy?
He’s got spirit.
He probably won’t win,
but he’s got spirit.

a hundred bucks on that guy.

Glorious combat
not so glorious
when faced with the
prospect of
Combat

Glorious Combat

Piece by piece we’ll fall into place
As we destroy our own human race
Erase good values, morals and saving face
They’ll all be outlawed and replaced
Needless desires to be met with haste
All virtue and patience will be disgraced
Their existence to never be retraced

If someone asked what life is about,
I would say things small
[cheese or roses like
aromatically nice or genuinely sharp]
most of the time
a huge blur
a poignant question
a horizon or a ceiling with your soul stuck
Just let the cork go free
pour the wine down the throat
laugh, gurgle and spit
your desires away

http://www.myspace.com/saxsquatch

Music is a
two way street
and what I play
ain’t what you hear
and what you read
ain’t what they scribbled
down

Just figure what I’m
saying
don’t ask me what I’m
trying to say.

I’m at a loss for words
But all I have are words
I can’t describe in words
The words to make you understand
Would you know what I mean
If I were to SHOUT!
Or would you only see
Capital letters and a word?
Would you know that I’m screaming?

at the robot bop we dance
with concepts and ideals
and have luminescent skin
why,
at the robot bop you’ve
got wings of telephone
wires and valium
(lots of valium)
you see,
before the robot bop begins
we must tie off all our ends
we must certainly sleep-in
and make all our ammends
cuz the robot bop don’t stop
for nobody.
why,
the robot bop lives in the fourth
dimension
where they do the bop all day
smiles around the lot
hands all up in the sky saying
“we love life so we don’t try!”
ah,
the robot bop dance is fun
for all the robots.

my condition shows itself not
lest the axis of the earth should be
slightly altered to the left

for then the

moon might shine through these
trees at night and illuminate
my once pale thoughts

The morning’s come so early
and I just don’t want to talk to you
but there’s this feeling in my chest
I feel you ought to know

But the music on the stereo
it soothes the heart and calms the soul
And I don’t want to talk to you
but Baby, please don’t go

There’s word in my head
It’s on the tip of my tongue
But I just can’t put my finger on it
And it’s hard to get a grip
When I’m taking a stab in the dark
But I can’t help thinking
It all sounds so cliché

Nothing ventured
nothing gained
but the old truck’s
oil’s changed

though it’s been non-
stop for a month
near, straight,
so I must submit the
following observation:

Banality
is beauty
sometimes

the unbelievable happened,
surprising all who heard,
leaving only questioning thoughts
of the “what the fuck?” type,
along with tears,sighs,moans,groans…

two weeks ago minus a day,

enlightenment happened,
burying all who loved her
in a grave of information,
learning her history,
that most had never known,
bringing more tears,sighs,moans,groans…

two weeks ago today,

the inevitable happened
and she went away
for (her?) good,
leaving everything and everyone
behind and alone with tears,sighs,moans,groans…

Even the most docile six-string
can learn how to scream

Or a chipped set of keys
to sing (or sing
again)