Clock

at the point where it won't stretch any more
to the right then to the left and back again
imagine if it were as easy as a shift and slide
moving the old things from side to side
clothes in a pile like shed skin on the floor
all but forgotten behind the closet door
wash the dirt off shed this blanket of filth
so you can see me naked now let me see you
pull and stretch me, touch me and explore me
like a gentle cavity search then more intense
ripped open and torn down like a fence
expanding on the inside and pulling outside
tearing me apart looking for my heart
the piece of the puzzle you broke at the start
the pendulum swings slower and slower
the more time ticks away the louder we shout
the louder we shout the quicker time runs out
to the point where there is no more time left
shake the clock to get one more tick
and hope like hell to get the tock
days and weeks then years fly by
life is short and time keeps moving on
with some left it's the last thing on your mind
but when it runs out you're watching the clock
finally knowing what seconds mean
lying still I feel the rain of your tears
wash away the years wash this body clean
captured in pictorial symphony
remembered in words that came to me
I wish for happiness to come from this
shake it the clock won't tick any more
shake it like you did before
shake it the clock won't tick any more
shake it like you did before shake it
shake it shake it wind it shake it
shake it I guess there is no more

Snapshot of Myself

As I look down I see myself, a wrinkled and abused pile of bones
A voice echoes softly though the PCP fog in the room
A strong weathered figure urgently beckons to me
Although already slowly in an upward drift; my momentum halts
Soft words tug gently on the anchor of my soul
My direction changes
Back down through the floorboards and the ceiling above
The light of my existence had almost extinguished itself it seems
I feel a flicker and my mind begins to unbend
A warmth, a rekindling form within
The drowsy numbness of narcotics still in my brain
They say only the good die young
Well, I would have made a lovely corpse
But then I then I thank Oma for this snapshot of myself
And the chance to live again.

A cottage death

I hear the haunting call of a loon
That's where I want to be
To lie my head gently down
And let my life come to me
To feel so calm, so resolute
Must be a dream come true
I feel it getting closer each day
But until then my dream is you
To lie my head gently down
And let my life come to me
I hear the haunting call of loon
That's where I want to be