ナナ

She knows it's all not lit by candlelight.
She believes in the moonlight; IT seems good.
The neon, the crows,
All taken away with the morning light.
(All senses gouged, All tenses stripped.)

...七、八、九、十、自由、
At last calm, at last peace.
At last released.

The paraffin burns,
Her eyes open like atom bombs.
『連れて往って』she whispers but is not heard
About her, on the street alive with lust.
(Undressed and pinned, Undressed and pinned, in her shadow box.）

...七、八、九、十、自由、
At last calm, at last peace.
At last released.

You wind your way back through the past you hate.
Absently rapping at closed doors.
How automatic the benign,
Obtused by the cornered,
And sneered at by the corpses.
You're pushing your way through the other lives,
Somatic in the rush,
Desperate and forlorn...
Can’t you hear her?
...七、八、九、十、自由.
...七、八、九、十、自由.
...七、八、九、十、自由.

Vaseline glove

Tangled beyond recognition,
In alibis and accords,
The membrane between us.
The thickness of thieves, the emptiness of hours.
The way you tie your knots in your Vaseline gloves.

God and guns,
The righteous and the mute,
Whores and virgins,
Tear it apart with your Vaseline gloves.

Craving instilled by craving, derivative and cruel,
Incarnate recursively,
The grains of tenderness upon your Vaseline glove.

God and guns,
The righteous and the mute,
Whores and virgins,
Saints and sins,
God and guns,
The righteous and the mute,
Whores and virgins,
Dance on the palms of your Vaseline gloves.

The scarves hide the pleasure marks; the make-up blurs sadness to lust;
The flesh hides a uniform punitive and soiled.

All dolled-up, poised, under the gaze of your Vaseline gloves.

The chastity of anger,
Immune to soothing and repeated until numb.
Sleep away from windows, with knives and in my clothes.
With all your promises unraveling,
I’ll pay
Any price but abandonment.
Any price but abandonment….

Broken

Down, torn.
Words that leave desire
To be desired
Haunt as sullen ghosts through my thoughts.

When you longed for me, you smother me.
Now as empty as I wished for…
Maybe
I’m broken, broken, torn, down, inarticulate.

Where small houses speed by
Through windows wet with light
Little theatres passing by
Acting out their lives.
Where they call my home
I listen for your language.
But I don’t hear you.
Maybe
I’m broken, broken, torn, down, inarticulate.

Summer girls on bicycles
With freshly painted faces
Weaving through the crosswalks
This city bursts with comedy
Smiling the bustles part for me.

I’m not hungry, I am not for want, these luxuries I don’t deserve,
Maybe
I’m broken, broken, torn down inarticulate,
I’m broken, broken, shut-in, torn, apart.
Down, special, drowned, numb, and inarticulate.

Spy Thriller Disco Scene

Counting leaves falling in the plaza,
We are circling talking nowhere
Between Bedouin chants and Krishna drums,
Your words are walking out of our lives.
These nights of vigil, of sleeping against doors,
In another city full of the walking dead.
As if I’m falling and I can’t awake.
I see you found us another intrigue.

What now and how many times must we
Play through the same old argument
Once again, we left the door ajar
So gouge another piece of what’s left of me.

I can see the salt flats glittering in the rain,
I can see the graffiti marring the Wailing Wall,
The red in the sky that lights up the desert…
The dead factories rusting in the retrofit neon...
Then back again at your doorsteps
Where I fear myself the most,
Your deprecated politeness
And my tired courtesies…

What now and how many times must we
Play through the same old argument
Once again, we left the door ajar
So gouge another piece of what’s left of me.

The mangled web of mysteries withstanding,
Standing at the threshold of who we are,
Let’s disregard the religion of youth,
Drop out of this irony and nostalgia.
Wear our worst fears on our faces,
Paint our skins a new color,
Let’s go out into the night
Let’s go out tonight.

Joy Powder

Used to get drunk on thoughts here
In your skin as cold as Nevada
Groping through the interstate
It doesn't matter when you arrive
She sits in the corner of the elevator
Your name choking in her tears

No rooms left to clean at night
No halls to pace your fears calm

No one lives in the house of freaks
And I haven't room for anymore children

Nothing stays intact, even winter rips through the plastic
I laugh like I used to, but the here-and-now's just a frail shell

It doesn't matter when you leave
The tears are not enough and enough's not enough for you

No revolving doors to play with
No lightbulbs to trade for cigarettes

No one lives in the house of freak
And I haven't found you in anyone else

Ritalin, Demerol, lithium
When you kiss me, everything melts
I'm not sure what things are secret, but I'm way out past the desert anyway
Window shop for souls
Wave hello to the hell street residents
I'll tangle up in your barbed wire dress just to help you wipe that melancholy off your face

I'm still not satiated
So light my cigarettes and turn up the music
I'm still not waiting for your kiss
So light my cigarette and turn up the music