Andy Jones -- What A/rose

dispensableandyjones's webcam video April 10, 2011 07:48 PM

I shot a skull in a backward ceiling,
skipped the moon with its eyes.
I shot a skull in a backward ceiling sky.

I glazed a glance on a outward warning,
a set of secular sighs. I bought,
in pennies, the Virgin Mary's eyes,
what a sign,

but you were all I had in mind.
Dew on a black rose stalk
in the night.

I said a prayer in a back town alley,
went to check on my odds.
I said a prayer to the back town alley gods.

Scoped a star for a taste of romance,
licked its gas with my tongue. Played
a beat on its body, made it hum,
a molecular drum,

but you were all I wanted done.
The dew on a black rose
stalk in a slum.

If you wanted my gratitude for your time--
if you wanted my apathy. If you wanted
my honesty, there's the whole--the total--
the great sum. I was waiting by patiently,
before the pith of your ire grew. I was waiting
to feel your chew, but you spit me into
the wet sand--stuck like glue.

Now, Mona Lisa called young Mamillius,
said, 'Boy, you're quite the sly child.
Won't you swim in my oils, come for a ride?'

'I think I'd love that in many fashions,'
young Mamillius replied. 'But, my darling,
we only exist in lines, what a crime,

but you know that you were all
I wanted to find.' Adieu
on a black rose.

Irony is called dissonance when in song,
and I prayed for my penitence all along,
but I found when I did resist, it was gone--
all that keeps me afloat. But if dreaming
is such a joke, I'd hang my indulgence
by a rope. Let its liquids spill, then it'd float,
on its face, what a waste, this old scope.

I see the sweat that's in your eyes
when you cry and try to find you
alibi alimony--can't you see I am
trying to re-create the same old use--
such a ruse--so become like a fuse,
that it could it explode, mold, and grow old,
all in a second's worth of wishing; I'm fishing
in and out of this, and when I spit these nails,
I just expect to hit or miss; I'm the oak on the wall,
where the dope dreams fall and kiss your eyes--
I'm outside, hanging from a tree, like its leaves--
oh, I leave you, I wish you well--all my times singing
spells meant so little, but I won't go out quietly! no,
wait and see, and there'll be a lobotomy for all your
monotony, and I'll be just waiting around, though you won't see--it can't be that he would traverse the seven seas
just for a taste of a curse; what is to be will be shortly, so
don't you worry--don't have to--you see through the foliage--this baggage is such a drag; I say only one, two
three 'fore the eye's eve disappears, and it's all clear,
so don't you sneer, oh, tell me, 'fuck it!' oh, really, just 'fuck it!' and run--go back where you come--g'on back where
you come; and if I were to lie, I would say I'd get by just
to wipe those holes from your eyes, so don't cry, stay dry,
don't fly, don't find anything solid to stick with--I witness
you slip in the slickness and sip in the sickness, and
it is as beautiful as ice on the hottest day of July, but it'll
grow cold once the sun's eye runs dry; oh, my, has my
third eye really gone blind?

What a/rose, what a/rose, what a/rose, what a/rose,
what a/rose, what a/rose, what a/rose.

Category:

Music

Tags:

• webcam
• video
• dispensableandyjones
• music
• folk
• guitar