conversations with a jailhouse psychiatrist
stand up between salvation and lost faith,
gamble everything, even us and give and take,
angels turn away in horror, cry for heavens sake,
listen to your lover, lest what you do turns into rape.
drunk on tears, as the holy ghost, thumb out appears,
punks do leer, Elvis did it most, going home, It ='s fear,
how prophets, MLKjr., Gandhi, make us in ruin feel clear?
it all gets messy, when the woman you love uses a door to disappear.
no more monuments, glory, stance, or reason for the kids to get up to dance,
if your taste in lust turns us rotten, give your reason to the clamor of being forgotten.
your tombstone binds you sometime to vanity and life.
as newspapers become tinder for fire, point at me with pride.
it refines what whispers, declares, plasticized formulated truth,
obituaries paint a pallor that fades away, for us their is no excuse.
we’ll be layers in the rock, ground in the weight of the universe,
love gets you free and a lock, freedom gets you, you, you know it’s a curse.
if free is peace never bought, why do we choose who stays poor indebted to hurt?
get your kicks, counterfeit ticket, no one’s first and you’re next, dressed the devil, made sure he gets what he deserved. Everything is even, parallel, and fair. It’s not a look of disbelief on my face, but a simple one that expressed how plainly I care. I have an ace. A get out of jail free card. Even you’ll go home after the picnic is done and no one’s there standing guard. Some dogs are smart enough to make igloos when they get stranded in the yard.
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