Tower of Babel didn’t reach this high That edifice which touched the sky So fell the tower to crush their pride How I wish that mine had died I’m afraid to fall
Afraid to fail or disappoint I stand up here without support Don’t ask for help, I stand aloft Only raging storms could through me off But this still wind-it makes no sound The trees are green, the sky so blue So I enjoy the lovely view Rain clouds are not seen today All my fears are swept away ‘Till I look down
Tower of Babel didn’t reach this high That edifice which touched the sky So fell the tower to crush their pride How I wish that mine had died I’m afraid to fall
On Monday the pigeons are sketched in black and beige quarter notes on a wire staff shitting down jazz across the sky blue page
I compose a smile I hold a tune the people are poppin' they have to work but they have time for 'How High the Moon'
On the bus an accident occurs, two foreigners find out they are both French: him with his wounded cat in a box on his lap, she works in a French restaurant but has time for a chat
Later I see a dandelion puff plummeting towards a brick about to bite the dust so I blow it over to some dirt to lay hay babies while the sun still shines
We lay in chaste silence tongues intertwined my hand resting lightly twixt your legs and O God I swear that for an instant we were the fabled red spark from the cinnamon Lifesaver
Tower of Babel didn’t reach this high
ReplyDeleteThat edifice which touched the sky
So fell the tower to crush their pride
How I wish that mine had died
I’m afraid to fall
Afraid to fail or disappoint
I stand up here without support
Don’t ask for help, I stand aloft
Only raging storms could through me off
But this still wind-it makes no sound
The trees are green, the sky so blue
So I enjoy the lovely view
Rain clouds are not seen today
All my fears are swept away
‘Till I look down
Tower of Babel didn’t reach this high
That edifice which touched the sky
So fell the tower to crush their pride
How I wish that mine had died
I’m afraid to fall
On Monday:
ReplyDeleteOn Monday
the pigeons are sketched
in black and beige
quarter notes on a wire staff
shitting down jazz
across the sky blue page
I compose a smile
I hold a tune
the people are poppin'
they have to work
but they have time for
'How High the Moon'
On the bus an accident
occurs, two foreigners
find out they are both French:
him with his wounded cat
in a box on his lap,
she works in a French restaurant
but has time for a chat
Later I see a dandelion puff
plummeting towards a brick
about to bite the dust
so I blow it over to some dirt
to lay hay babies
while the sun still shines
Here we go, the award-winning
ReplyDelete"The Fabled Red Spark"
We lay in chaste silence
tongues intertwined
my hand resting lightly twixt your legs
and O God
I swear
that for an instant
we were the fabled red spark
from the cinnamon Lifesaver
CinnamonGhoul
j_gulbranson@hotmail.com