Superman On Ice

somewhere between motivated and cold

you on the ledge of all 241 ways to be you...basing guess upon guess

there...where...somewhere between motivated and cold

believing your good friends down to the bile in their beautymarks...

they who found you counting back toward yourself

so haven't dreamt and heavily armed

yet another blues thief told in however and oneday...

and every monday things begin with indiscriminate street noise

more vague and normal alliance of all those with high levels of work

in their blood and clock in their wake

up early shaving damp breakfast skulls with fresh lady's leg razor

so that the oneday the moon might hold a half million nice size

hoods easy

and plenty fast restaurants

by cum and by egg

and laid low into creature

then

cast out in the one cold of all names,

this song is about disabowed sperm

and the mining of human concern

many cells split, many men died in 1998

the year of my strong, fair rap collection

there are foot prints embraced far out on the frozen lake face

depressed and kept from quite some cold ago,

and they look brave, dangerous, man made

the sort of mark one can make on the world

you borrowed the camera from why

and set it up over by the printer and horsehead

obsessed with your pressing record

to indulge in the shadows of both here and immortal

is it god to name things from thin air

to have the wind blow a few hundred dollar bills into your wallet

to have 100 cc's liquid luck supplement

dug into your blood

by needle point and distant star

are you busy losing yourself

in the quiet cell of abandoned old oakland

pants undone, stole eye starting to water

nailing a sign that speaks fear to a bank at the man made lake

you cop you

will you now resort to black umbrellas in the sight blanching sun

or stay indoors taking the pill to your face...

striking that lightning on nothing

attempting to teach yourself the art of cloning at home

in a smock killing single cell sheep for straight weeks

'til you give it all up for photoshop and using your teeth

there in a box with your things, stabbed airholes, and one wing

or white lung, when your well will you stay

since there is a certain modern earth pain only fit for enduring

which one does endure

like returning a foster child twice or

going the distance on songs for somebody else's compilation.

no one's out there scared you'd set your eyes off

all night on the ceiling in the dark

think of a song or maybe breasts

i thought i told you, this is not new...

skinned by the speed of my one life

you have the desperate fair to your eyes

the look of a child who has just swallowed a coin or army man

almost too attuned to the spoils of loved

wishing he'd been born some sort of succulent or larvae

but you're too soft for all that

you like your blood kept in the movies

and your head in a jar or a vase in a van on tour

your guts clumped like dung in a sturdy hatbox

heart slung safely in the stomach of a clean sock or two

here you are a bag of milk to do tricks

and not as a function of pennies

and how you've dreamt

nosdam's skull been predatored

given a split at the hairline

and hinged with a lid

and in it placed

the single hard marble of art

and it is there it is kept