divinity in a nutshell – god’s spine is snapped and he shouts out, “Christ” – but he has fled . . . he runs down all the back alleys of your mind and hides within the sanctuary of the broken down dreams and lack of direction . . . he haunts and hunts you down like a vicious wolf he hunts and tries to kill but knows he cannot . . . for he is not isis and only she can be the one . . . i hide from her and wait for Death . . . she is more my type you see . . . she would look at me with her infinite eyes and say, “it’s time to go, no . . . don’t worry . . . i’ll take you there” and she would hold my hand and i would truly know the sanctity of dreams and of holding the hand of a goddess who is leading you to her realm where she will put you away into the pastures to roam free . . .

the dull tainted hours pass me like a lover . . . i watch her go and see her trailing my life behind her on a chain. i try to kill her in infinite sadness i strike at her and hate her . . . i show her the way to the room with the interrogators -   they’ll get her to talk. to entertain me once again. to let me out from under these bricks that seem to be pulling me down . . . allowing me to drown.   will you let them?   close your eyes and look at me for the first time and answer me – will you let me fall from where you have put me? down to the lions and the fiery pits of hell . . . down to where everything real is plastic and crimson – shining in this dimly lit room.   down to where we hide the bottles and all the memories that flow from us like butterflies . . . down to where hurt is true, pain – we know it is real, but nothing else . . . nothing more . . .

the trees rise to meet us as we travel through the forest of nirvana . . . the place where it all IS . . . and we look at each other, and cry to the gods “what now, we are here and have achieved nothing” and somewhere someone laughs and cries a bitter tear for mankind

middle of the night . . . cafe’s empty . . . smokin’ a cig no one realizes that the heart within is golden painted – chipping shards into so many leaves and leaflets – invitations to balls with gowns and glass slippers, but the slipper shatters for you my dear. . . no more games or fairy tales . . . just me and my luckies and a lost broken down hearted american dream . . .

the american dream has died and along with it go all the houses and the walls all fall in upon me my eyes smoke but the fire is way to hot for you . . .   you back away and watch me burn into all the beings of what they all think we once were – they don’t realize they make us this way . . . unintentional – but enough to shed a tear over?

when you say those words you never say i think i love you
every time i hear you speak of things you’ve never said
why be sure when passions wind blows strongest in denial
this hunger for uncertainty will never bow it’s head

we dance alone when near each other
struggling for some peace of mind
these thousand things, never uncovered . . .
distance lingers, never find

an inner peace we hold before us
set upon the coals of time
embers burn out, turn from our trust
to a tainted dying shrine

i feel like a mirror would be a great place to hide

i ache
i feel
i alone

they turn the dogs loose so i run to an old abandoned house that was hollowed out to be a tree to hide the walnuts in but they found it there with you and me…they run but they won’t let me go, no – they must have their turn at me and at my mortality . . . if i give it all to them they leave . . . hand them the lead peso, buy my way through . . . salvation for spare change and a heart that won’t quit pumpin’ . . . to live for a machine the can only see when the light of day has run for it’s own fate . . .

but i can’t – that peso’s mine dammit.   i worked for it.   i put it in the jar with the photograph of kennedy.

they try to take from me what was never really mine to begin with . . . this key, this god damn peso and my silver cross . . . if that’s all it’s about
then take the damn things . . . it’s worth more to me to feel the pavement crunch under my feet . . . so you take my salvation and give it to the devil
for all i care . . . stuff that silver cross down his fuckin’ throat . . . take the key and find a lock . . . try to find the way in . . . i don’t think there’s
a door behind this wall . . .

but you bring him here before me if he wants me for his pink flamingos and dante nursery rhymes . . . i’ll show him where the stakes are drawn and where to take my blood . . . straight to the vendor at the commissions office. spread it out before him and show him where the paisley turns to deeper shades of blue and how salvation can be found in the cerulean lines the cross and divide time . . .