Remember the carcasses,
and the actresses ,
Who will read vague scripts,
and win vague awards,
That sting like hornets;
That roar like lions;
It will still look good under the lights,
Even with a few bruises and bite-marks…
That award will win awards of it’s own,
and so on…
Spinning like a wheel, falling like leaves,
Dropping like flies;
Roaring like lions;
The same as pouring milk over a bland cereal each morning,
I left a message on the answering machine.
This is not a bayou,
NOT a bayou…
There is life here,
There is life in that cereal bowl and there is electricity in your fingers!
You are not simply veins and skin and arms and water, you have wings and your feet never touch the ground!
The circuses and the caravans that popped up overnight and then were gone the very next day,
They could have sold you something,
They could have stayed around a while longer…
The coral reefs, they are certainly stunning but you have to come up for air sometime…
Lest you forget ancient Babylon and the walls of Jericho,
and often you drive at times when you should see the most UFO’s in the sky, but you never do,
I never do, either.
I would ask that you remember all the intersections, and all the flashing lights, too.
So that we can find our way back at some point,
Don’t worry, I know you didn’t hear me.
You will forget the intersections and the flashing lights,
Most of what you should be able to see is obscured by trees and smudges on your windshield, anyways.
Most of what you should be able to hear is obscured by the roaring of lions…
All I see is more billboards,
Just what we need, more billboards…
You will never remember exactly what you wrote in wet cement,
Make no mention of the witches that watch you from faraway forests and squinted eyes…
You’ll remember what the first word started with but you’ll forget once you get to the top,
Skyscrapers can have that effect on people.
Once you catch your breath, watch the sun fall,
And slowly fall with it,
Your hanging upside down, so this might not be exactly what it sounds like.
and you’ll live with those same 89 ghosts for awhile,
until one night when slip out though an open window
and they will be gone,
and cool air from the outside will invite itself inside, and you’ll forget about the ghosts that left you with nothing,
only cold air and a dishwasher full of dirty dishes.
They will explode like transformers in a hurricane,
Like 89 different rockets, descending on their targets,
Like 89 different reasons for calling it quits,
They have moved on to ring other doorbells and haunt other libraries,
But you wont miss them because you cant even see them,
You never did, they were dead in your house, and you always knew that.
They were devoured by the lions a long time ago, you just chose to ignore the remains.
Now they are only stories…
Myths just like vampires, sweetie… like werewolves.