- |
The spiritual heart has nothing to do with blood or muscle. The spiritual heart looks nothing like the physical, veiny, bulbous, wet organ in medical books. It can't be truly seen, but children know h...
Posted by kid_headcase on Mon, 17 Dec 2007 11:54:00 PST |
When the Devils at your mercy |
When the Devil's at your mercy He looks very small, indeed When you take your retribution He'll just scream and beg and plead But you can't undo his damage So, the truth upon you, feeds; Though the De...
Posted by kid_headcase on Wed, 28 Nov 2007 12:55:00 PST |
Favorite green shirt |
"It was there, all tied up, the whole enormous sadness of a shirt." - 'On the Road' by Jack Kerouac That shirt was with me on the night of my first kiss That shirt kissed her floor the first night I l...
Posted by kid_headcase on Wed, 07 Nov 2007 12:36:00 PST |
The consortium |
A song written up on the wallAnd faces you saw in the grainYou traced the expressions you sawAnd gave away some of your pain The person you loved from afarInitials I carved on the busA...
Posted by kid_headcase on Mon, 05 Nov 2007 01:19:00 PST |
Drink |
Sinthe fell down the mountain side and took the night along Sinthe fell in the kind of dream that's dremt when head's are wrong She had not a thought of death, though I feared I might drown She had ...
Posted by kid_headcase on Sun, 07 Oct 2007 05:10:00 PST |
My lovers sky |
Heaven taints my lover's sky Otherwise, so sweet to fly Hidden Angels guard the heights, She believes, beyond these sights Hers is not a gentle Lord Cold, is he, and yet adored Silent when she's pain...
Posted by kid_headcase on Wed, 04 Jul 2007 01:38:00 PST |
Things unspoken |
The sweetest gift was given me By one who's heart was broken She took me in her arms one night And told me things, unspoken I felt the heart inside her ached I sensed she'd been forsaken And so I trie...
Posted by kid_headcase on Thu, 04 Oct 2007 08:46:00 PST |
Silly drunk poem I quite like now |
People are headstones in the making People, loved and hated People are headstones in the making Unless they get cremated
Posted by kid_headcase on Sat, 21 Jul 2007 12:43:00 PST |
The departing dream (on meeting David Gulpilil and questioning everything) |
I can see your pain; it stares out, through your eyes,Tormented to regain a meaning, but it fliesTangled in a myth that long outshone the truthA broken, sad old man; the specter of his youthAnd yes, w...
Posted by kid_headcase on Wed, 02 May 2007 09:30:00 PST |
Untitled poem |
Time's an awful sparkFrom the heart of godAnd the hour handis a lightning rodAnd the hour criesand arrives, roughshodAnd we are alone
Posted by kid_headcase on Wed, 02 May 2007 09:28:00 PST |
