Teased by success,
we are like vampires in a tampon factory.
It doesn't have to be that way.
Someone plug my lungs back into the guitar amps!
More distortion ladies!
Hear ye. Hear ye.
All distortion, all the time.
More overdrive!
Thank you, Air Roadies.
Aren't you sick of being appraised wholesale?
Aren't you sick of sailing on listing ships?
Aren't you weary from playing cellos with ex-lover's bones?
I want the bu*terfly brigade
to grant me a year
with no stomach problems.
I want to affix the word un-blame in the dictionary
so I can screw up your spell check
and so I can call him without shaking.
I want a piano that will not warp outdoors
when the rain demands slow dancing.
I want to know how to sashay on a Saturday
with a mouth full of sa-tay…
with Latter day Saints.
I want to skew the difference
between Tai Chi
and Chai tea,
and end up drinking a tall gla**
of graceful force.
I want to lick my hands
after I touch someone that has just
become razzle dazzled.
I want birds to come close enough
to hear them speak Aviation Spanish.
I want your record collection in my throat,
and my thumb in the electric a**
of the all night jukebox.
I want my shoulder blades mounted
in the museum of knives.
I want church in a bar.
I want to pa** out and hear you say Amen.
I want a skeleton night light in the closet.
I want your wow in my
now so we become NWOW.
I want the light in your attic
to shine down
to where the sidewalk ends.
I want free sh** to not cost anything.
I want you to feel like a disco ball of fish hooks
so you can hang on my words
and I can spin in your small miracles of light.
I want my kitchen to be a Brazilian dance floor
with a pot of your sweat in the oven
and a fridge stocked with bu*t lust.
I want new sheets.
I want your silver muscles cut into a quilt.
Let me sleep under your strength.
I want more pony lamps.
No reason, just give me the lamps
I want to sing this into all tail pipes
until I'm exhausted.
I want to smell everything.
I want to remember that the sky is so gorgeously large,
I feel stranded beneath it.
When I gasp,
I only want to gasp for more.