marcel duchamp

pickups sick of colored rain

lookin for blue cars covered in white stars.

no entrance to decayed fashioned casualties

loves burned into it deadened passion set so far

mate in former life, mate in flight, in mid wife.

dusty bars in foggy sunlight, particles dance in time.

so i though that...

your love was a bone buried by a hooded dog,

ten passed midnight through the floor boards in a synagogue

our differences aligned like misdemeanors to murder crimes

in ghetto white sneakers tied in the air

flea market set in rural, straight and formal like a coral, to score another pair

but they'll eventually all hang like urban mistletoe

they'll make love under statues of salt that line all of the roads.

so i thought...

christ i think if i could kill myself with the push of one button

it would be pushed about a thousand times until id wake up Prussian

the Baltic sea no it couldnt hold me like you can dear.

the jews, the christians, muslims and satanists would all abandon their piers

to all come marchin forth

to put and end to my flaming torch

my body like disease, would be hung up in the trees

my blood caught in a chalice underneath

im your boy and so what could you want more

than something so sure

a quarter to three i dreamed my mouth was buried in the basement of a synagogue

the streets across from cafe tables there's talkin outside coffee shops

i would die to be awoke somwhere i have been

only between your darkened skin and your melting grin.

sneakers tied up, so am i

for your latest show,

publicize how people die and we will all know then

how you take minds like mine and cut them all open.

so i thought...

where does that energy go?

when the sky explodes into different shapes like the ones we placed

in boxes in doctors waiting rooms,

when we still watched cartoons,

comin down like violent colored rain

but there's no ground anymore and no water to retain.

lookin for blue cars covered in white stars.

burned passion plainly like taming another crazy heart.