I need you like I need
a rockíníroll instrumental,
with the guitars soaring
to heaven and the bass
lines pumping hard
the thick blood of the earth.
The bass lines are
thick slabs of asphalt,
painted yellow and
white and crossing the ětîs,
dotting the ěiîs as
Americaís signature crosses
dry lands and wetlands
and dry eyes
And when I think coherent
thoughts
all I know is that
Iím jazzed up over you
and sometimes I have
no idea what Iím saying.
And shutting up only
makes the problem worse,
forcing plausible
deniability and conspiracy theory 101
dismisses early for
the night. Better scorn revealed than love concealed,
so a wise man wrote
to me in a book from years gone by.
Itís my heart I hold
in my hand and breaking it would shatter
the heart beating
in my chest, beating in time with the
drum solo. You
canít hear it, but I feel it every time I think of you.
You never trust me
to think coherent thoughts
even though you know
that Iím jazzed up over you
and you manage to
make sense of everything I say.
(Iím going home to
bed now. My words are DOA
and so are my dreams.
At least they can be defibrilated
and written into my
rockíníroll phantasy where youíre the star
and Three Dog Night
sings the vocals in three parts harmony and
one part groovy vinyl
and convert to eight track tape.
Nothing old fashioned
about that, is there?)