| The first thing he says to me
|
| «If you could know it all would you want to?»
|
| and I’m wondering if it’s a question he poses everybody with
|
| I was warned about the gift that he’s got and the kind of things he sees
|
| Me?. |
| .. well I got a few tricks up my sleeve
|
| I was waitin' for him to show his hand
|
| til I discovered the difference between an old mind and the mind of an old man
|
| so I stand corrected, sitting in my chair erect and attentive
|
| wishing that he never asked that question
|
| 'cause it echoes in my empty feelings
|
| fearing what’s underneath each following sentence
|
| revealing a puzzle piece to the jig saw
|
| of a skin crawling coffee session
|
| It’s something that his kid saw in me
|
| that brought me to his attention
|
| and he knows this
|
| who’s he think he’s speakin' to
|
| it’s not often that he emerges from his coffin of a reading room
|
| on a special occasion he tests his relationship
|
| with one who’s never read much but he’s interested in spaceships
|
| his head’s stuffed with ancient scripts so he laughs
|
| holds up his golden cup to toast the past
|
| here’s to a lack of spontaneity the future has
|
| I can tell you when you’re gonna die
|
| all you gotta do is ask
|
| (what's up power trip? big tough guy now? throwing things like that over a cup
|
| of joe w/ someone you don’t even know, really, you don’t know who i am)
|
| he sat there, his eyes still weren’t focusing
|
| he said' «i can see you seeing some things»
|
| and i said «yeah, well thanks for noticing. |
| What gave it away — my poker limbs?
|
| Cross examined while my hands were busy closing things up into deserts
|
| that he’s only read about in winter weather
|
| and i’m able to fill the gaps that act as traps in the lyrics of letters
|
| when mirrors open i bet he thinks i’ll enter
|
| but i detect ulterior motives in his hidden agenda
|
| we live forever in these chairs comparing mental notes
|
| bodies doubling as temporary captains of a rented boat
|
| My paper mate sent me to her folks in an envelope
|
| disguised as insurance fraud, some things were never meant to float
|
| i’ve never been in a shipwreck but i know they exist
|
| and the experience must be something close to this
|
| hopeless feeling that gets reeled in from oceans for emotions
|
| sick
|
| got me shaking his hand with an open fist
|
| what’s he notice of my grasp besides the calluses
|
| a soul that’s trapped by my mind’s paralyses
|
| knowing i’ll ask his to sign the marriage slip
|
| he says «not so fast»
|
| and he goes to find his glasses (bastard)
|
| puts on the lenses that were scratched
|
| like someone got the best of him in a cat fight
|
| must have been when he developed that bad sight
|
| they don’t help, he needs a helmut with a flash light
|
| if he thinks he can enter the darkness at half price
|
| to find his daughter’s black wedding dress from her past life
|
| traditions died at our haunted house party last night |