GLITTER (song lyrics)

don't be afraid to look pretty in gold
or of the vast disorder that surrounds you
and cannot touch your hair

Main Street will be your friend tonight
your bodyguards are in their element
there's a spaceship in your eyes
blue sky, blue sky giving way to black
and the infinite

she's petting a row of slugs
as they move past with their antenna trembling
she's driving her rickety car through a ditch
simultaneously
with the radio blasting
something like a harmonium
being dropped from a skyscraper
and landing in an artificial pond

she's sitting atop the refrigerator
with her legs under her
rocking back and forth
as meat slides off the lower shelf
and hits the floor with a tired-sounding flop
she's ripping the upholstry with little scissors
and landing in an artificial pond

she's petting a row of slugs
as they move by with their political signs trembling
she's moving their hair out of their ears
and spitting on their clay
after it's finished

pink velvet's gone
little orange and white is gone
bitten fingers so tiny are gone
gone also are the unhidden eyes

blue suitcase is gone
little splitpaws is gone
kisses in video light are caught
in a tumult of leaving

silver glasses are gone
fogged eyeglasses of terror are gone
gone is the prowler in white and orange
gone are the computerized hours

gone is the year of sack flour
that we struggled under
gone is the rift in strange time
that allowed us a broken breather

pink velvet's gone
little orange and white is gone
bitten fingers so tiny are gone
gone also are the unhidden eyes

someday all the bloodied nobodies will come
knocking at your door
they won't have weapons
they'll just stare

and if you try to answer
the question you think you see
in their stained eyes
it will be revealed to you slowly
that there never was a question
they will simply pour their eyes into you
you will simply look back with your eyes held in place

and whether you stop speaking
or continue to chatter
someday all the bloodied nobodies
will come knocking at your door

He have been forced to be happy
with the loveliest robot deer in the whole world
and now he am condemned to stay on this planet
with all him pathetic lifetimes
walking arm-in-arm right behind him,
in a long row.

She too have been forced to be happy
by brutal music from the necks
of those who surround her, him with each arm
extended toward a grove of grey tea.
They're the lovemakings; the tender
nesses floating just above cool grass in a blue fire,
accidental.

You have a neighbor in your teeth
and a hard life coming out of your skull.
The oil that once covered your body
has become the skin of a hairless cat.
The sky's colors are no longer
distributed properly. But your dinner is huge,
and the favors you do for your fat lover
help her sleep comfortably
through the end of her life.

The raccoons who came last week
to take your garbage into the rainy gutters
are back again, with a fresh prize in their teeth;
they carry your neighbor's ears and fingers,
they are protected by androids
whose machinery is made of sunlight.

Yesterday you gave birth to several children;
now every one of them is living on the sidewalk!
right in front of your house. Two are experiencing!
similar nervous breakdowns; the others, who seem!
to be mushed together and perhaps numberless,
are struggling toward the curb in order!
to smash their teeth on it.!

And the noises they make when doing so!
make the water flowing out of the sink's faucet!
wobble on its way toward my hands,
and the rust color it had has been replaced by silver,
and the dishes I am about to wash!
look like something I will never actually touch;
though that is not a possible appearance, and never will be!

Those children are making the linoleum crack;
they are making yesterday's rusty water!
leak out of my eyes, and the sky is heavy and low!
like a dome cage covered with vines!
that surrounds the neighborhood.!

when I was six, I was also five
and all the bright rivers followed me down

kitchen counters all covered in grown
grown men wearing white wedding gowns
in the crimson lounge

they're all lizards
covered in honey and they're ready to pounce
as only the old and hairless can pounce

we polish the silver
by cutting the bloodiest steaks,
by having flesh parties on gravel inclines.
that's where we make music with trash,
and cut our deadlines out of the blueprint.

but that isn't where we slide down long polished
wooden tables on our buttoned bellies

and that isn't where we plan the weather
in our tinfoil hats,

making the chimneys weep
their chimneysweeps with brooms on sticks
into the ashen afterworld
into the living room
sheathed in shadows it once drew back,
letting its only garment drape.

there were trees dancing
in a space that wasn't meant for them,
there were flames of green
lashing your peak arousals.

there were green flames moving
in a tin journey that wasn't planned for them.

at lonely times
the valley speaks to you
from far below the town

the crows surround
your angel in the mud
the swingset dangles
kid rhythms in your blood

you feed the slugs
a leaf that they'd eat anyway
& nothing needs your help

I'm a life alongside the world
where nothing hurtles & nothing
hurls itself a mini-self

the eyelash in my tongue's left lid
opens a neon forest in your left shoulder blade.

we both heap our rag bodies into the brightness.
we both have a night's worth of poolside kisses
stored up in our first set of stomachs.

the eyelash in my tongue's left lid
left me here, praying to the wing under your collar
for the whipped honey under your skirt
as if a subway breeze
were cleansed with water

my love
your hair is the only breeze
where the snare drum hits

Into the scrapyard with you,
into the brambles, into the pile
of crushed saxophones. Try it
in there for awhile, without women
and without music. Eat the branches
that whisper through the scraps
from buried trees.

And there will be a rhythm never heard
felt through the body, through the imagined
pillows, through the screaming underground
and high above ground, seen from an airplane:
you will die there in your own branches,
cast onto your reaches from the molten core,
through the frustrated soil and the bright
silver diapers, metal bent and pinned
by metal around a tight and hungering body.

I'll go as far as I can into this night,
into these purple tree streaks,
these sidewalks broken by robot paranoia,

these yellow clotheslined blouses in a white sun.
and green chairs lined up beneath water.
and ceremonies performed by anxious ferns,
trembling,
like protrusions into the land of the dead,
the softest place in the bread was her hair bun.

if you can turn toward the light on the water
and see a new dimension open,
with me in its torched slit,
waving with a book,
turn away.

if you can see me as one in a series of paperdolls
linked at the arms, don't move with your lens
until the bend sees through your unbending,
don't move such instruments as you have
past the rippling frozen at edges of court.

If their jackasses can run
with their teeth wobbling
in their goofy heads
from so much running
from so much running
from so much work spent escaping from leisure

then perhaps we can learn to play
behind the library
perhaps we can look at the ferns
while the vinyl spins
quicker in the pond-soaked yard
and the overflow
fills a fetus jar with murky green
for the firehose to finish
with a hydrogen lobotomy

I want to sing through your waist;
you, the daughter of fighting mists,
you, who play with a brass dish
filled with clean water

deepinsidetheabandonedbrickbuildings.

I want you to wait for my dog tongue
to come and find you and make a mess
of your unpowdered cheeks.

Since you make death sticky and real,
I want you to devour my life;
since you make me want to love
everybody, and I can't, I will love you
hurriedly and without hurry, my love,
who looks into the water and sees
a way to heal me floating
like a fish just above the sand.

At night in the hotel that is kept open
only for those who never sleep,
I lay on the ceiling with my buttocks
pressed against the hot bulbs of a chandelier
and worry that you
will never understand how wonderful you are

and I wonder why you, who also never sleep,
are not at this hotel
with me

I was a high number all the time
to take the books off the shelf
and be pumped for brine

I had fallen
in a shallow bay
hey hey, hey hey hey hey hey hey

and I had high wrinkles all the time
and I had high wrinkles all the time
and I had melodies in my spine

when I laid down on the stormy blueprints
where your life in architecture dried

and the long roads lead back to that skull,
and the long roads lead back to that skull.
in the white knowing, in the white knowing,
what itself devours,
what itself devours.

the white light basking in the orange appetizers,
glued to a promise on a blue and bright blanket.