like you different

the different thing you're doing with your hair -
I like it like it
the dress you've got I've never seen you wear
I like it like it
that new tattoo - hey when did you get that?
I like it like it
since last I saw you, it's a brand new act
I like it like it

your - hey, oh, shit - wait
sorry!

I thought you were somebody else

I thought you were somebody else.

That's awkward, but
I don't take any of it back.

"giant monster movie"

She's a little bitty girl just a little bitty girl not much to look at
She's as sweet as can be, it isn't easy to see that she could stomp your world flat
She's no mutant at all, it's just that she's got a natural knack for havoc
You think you might want a piece, but you won't want it where she's
gonna let you have it,

She's on a rampage run for your lives
Amazing colossal, Tokyo size
She's radiating fire from her eyes,
Just cover and hide, man
She's a giant monster movie
She's a giant monster movie

And there's no early alarm ain't to time of a month she just can't be predicted
And don't be fooled by her charm, you push it over the line your scales are gonna get Richtered
Yeah if you're in her way, better evacuate, find a stampeding crowd and blend in
for your own sake, if you're in her path she's gonna flatten that ass
hey do you wanna be pancaked?

She's on a rampage run for your lives
Amazing colossal, Tokyo sighs
She's radiating fire from her eyes,
Just cover and hide, man
She's a giant monster movie
She's a giant monster movie
Guitar solo
Drums solo
Bass solo
Explosion!
She's on a rampage run for your lives
Amazing colossal, Tokyo sighs
She's radiating fire from her eyes,
Just cover and hide, man
She's a giant monster movie
She's a giant monster movie

reveille

As another dream dies, another day dawns. Let us not mourn the night
until evening comes, and the day's hope proves to have died once more.
So to sleep, so to dream, and perchance

to snore.

look the part

I'm adrift no one else even knows what I'm doing. They only know
the things they funnel my way, and that stuff
once funneled never, doesn't ever come back. I need
to start dressing more ominously in black,
and speaking in clipped sentences
with a subliminal hint of menace.

loved & lost

oh
how
good it is to see you!
You're in my eyes - everyday and oh,
how
good it is to know you
'll never go away.
Never go away, you
taught
me
so much of what love means
love
I
never knew before
love
I'll never know again -
what'd you teach me for, then?
what'd you teach me for?

Is it better - is it all better?
is it better to know me?
is it better - is it all better?
was it good for you to?
is it better - is it all better?
can you hear this violin, 'cause I
love
you

and I've lost everything.

before
I
didn't know what I was missing
now
I
know it through and through, I can't
unlearn what you have given, and
I know I shouldn't want to. I shouldn't want to!
if life
could
be that damn amazing
you'd think
that's
a thing you'd want to know
but I can't
unsee
the heights you've shown me
I'm still falling from them,
since you let me go

Is it better - is it all better?
is it better to know me?
is it better - is it all better?
was it good for you to?
is it better - is it all better?
can you hear this violin, 'cause I
love
you

and I've lost everything.

Have you lost everything?

All the love you ever had
All the love you've made
What if you could find one love
to leave them in the shade?
Make them seem ridiculous,
inadequate and small
That's the love you taught to me
what'd you teach me for?

Is it better. Is it all better?
Is it better to know me?
Is it better - is it all better?
Was it good for you to?
Is it better - is it all better?
Can you hear this violin, 'cause I
love
you

and I've lost everything.

talking to you

talking to you is like waking up
alive inside the mind of a bird, the taste
of the juice of a drought-sweetened peach; how
a sudden memory can astonish - like remembering
how you smelled as a baby. In Australia,
do pineapples roll uphill? It couldn't be true,
but it must be so. Gravity is what sugars the stars,
little ones and you'll know
when the dawn comes: flowers
open up in a tremble of birdsong
and for once,
it doesn't need to make sense

and does
anyway.

use of memory

You'll be walking along and then
something happens to you.
Maybe it's wonderful!
, but either way, you write it down
right then, you draw it out
in colored chalk, on and along
the bumpy cobblestone curbs
and surfaces
of your shade-dappled sidewalk mind.

So that years,
decades later,

it's still there.

You're not sure now what street or town
- except, it's summer.

It always seems to be.

Why is that?

Most every rough draft
of your memory, it seems
to gravitate towards those days
of hot, red blood,
mostly from stubbed toes
- leaving your poor toe with a jaunty hat!
of a skin-flap, still attached
but throbbing, stinging
and cocked at an angle. Later,

running over more forgiving ground,
the bay shore sand
sticks all over, a scab-sand composite
making a gritty bandage - clotted
and covered,
clean. And your brother, slapping you
smack across the back
with a live jellyfish!

flung sidearm through the air without regard
to possible consequences for his own
poor hand! And
mosquitoes. Not even worth
slapping at. Not in those days.

Even if the old suburban wives'
legends about them
sucking the itch right back out
with the last of their blood meal
(if you leave them alone)
wasn't true, you secretly loved
to scratch the welts. Ah,

your own blood!
You used to be such close
friends with it. And memory!
Memory,
a popsicle. It could never fail
to shock, and usually
in a good way: so technicolor cold
; at first your lips stick, your tongue
sticks; so cold
you can't really tell the flavor, only
the color

because you saw it. In this way,
we learned what colors taste like.

Now you suck blind on a memory.

You'd unwrapped it
- hoping for red!
No. Damn: grape.

Still good! (Anything but
green) Soon,
with sucks, slurps
and licks, your mouth pulls
all the cold off, and
your tongue (your whole mouth
!) starts to taste
the bright
, artificial flavor
that had been trapped in ice
the whole time.

And is now released.
Icky,
sticky sweet
dripped and rubbed
on palms and fingers,
and fingertips, dripping rivulets
through and between and off them
off you,
to fall in space, first drops of rain
from a storm that could only have
blown in from Oz: Purple,
or Red, or Orange, or
- green, god forbid. The sidewalk
behind you, drip-dyed as you walk.

What color's your tongue?

You know full well.

So you write it down
Right then. You write it
in memory, because who can be bothered
with pencil? Pens
, papers? Homework
In memory, it's summer.

Use
colored
chalk
.