Candyman
Candyman
I used to believe in morality, but all fables fade to a gray limbo where Santa Clause sips Christmas cheer from the Tooth Fairy's shiny metal skull. Love is toxic to the tastebuds when not heated to the proper 365 degrees and mixed with right amount of bathub moonshine and tightly tucked away cuddles in the corner of public-affection policemen's eyes. Dreams are dying, and I'm ready to dance with the devil, to embrace the dark-side, Darth. If you can't always get what you want, maybe sometimes you should try to grab whatever looks tasty like an all-you-can-eat buffet of life, cause the cash bar won't be open all night and last call is bound to come around when you're still smelling of pine needles and staring at visions in the sky.
These days it feels cold outside, cold like an early Nuclear Winter is creeping across with every flake of frost on the White House Lawn, dripping from the snow-cone bleeding hearts of the friendlier, gentler Republican guard of the Bush Administration. Maybe I better collect as much free love as possible before the bastards find a way to privatize and profit away all the honey pots. I'm sure the corporate slut divison of Enron will be lobbying for a safer, clearner, more productive form of personal prostitution for the free-wheeling foxy females of America.
Bodily fluids may become just another commodity, another NASDAQ symbol for the Fortune 500 to fuck each other to the tune of. If I spread more of mine before they IPO, I could make a bundle. I could make a lot of bundles, swaddling clothes of cash. I could tele-market. My hot new thing is the hot new thing, free of charge, just meet me at a sleazy motel near you and say my name three times in the mirror. Make me a ghost, a legend, an urban myth. Fuck me out of existence even as you spread my legacy. Give me a life of pajama parties and ouija boards while both are still legal.
I'm tired of reality, give me a better place to sleep. Lend me your fantasies for a sleeping bag and your fears for a pillow, and I will live in both forever.
Candyman
I used to believe in morality, but all fables fade to a gray limbo where Santa Clause sips Christmas cheer from the Tooth Fairy's shiny metal skull. Love is toxic to the tastebuds when not heated to the proper 365 degrees and mixed with right amount of bathub moonshine and tightly tucked away cuddles in the corner of public-affection policemen's eyes. Dreams are dying, and I'm ready to dance with the devil, to embrace the dark-side, Darth. If you can't always get what you want, maybe sometimes you should try to grab whatever looks tasty like an all-you-can-eat buffet of life, cause the cash bar won't be open all night and last call is bound to come around when you're still smelling of pine needles and staring at visions in the sky.
These days it feels cold outside, cold like an early Nuclear Winter is creeping across with every flake of frost on the White House Lawn, dripping from the snow-cone bleeding hearts of the friendlier, gentler Republican guard of the Bush Administration. Maybe I better collect as much free love as possible before the bastards find a way to privatize and profit away all the honey pots. I'm sure the corporate slut divison of Enron will be lobbying for a safer, clearner, more productive form of personal prostitution for the free-wheeling foxy females of America.
Bodily fluids may become just another commodity, another NASDAQ symbol for the Fortune 500 to fuck each other to the tune of. If I spread more of mine before they IPO, I could make a bundle. I could make a lot of bundles, swaddling clothes of cash. I could tele-market. My hot new thing is the hot new thing, free of charge, just meet me at a sleazy motel near you and say my name three times in the mirror. Make me a ghost, a legend, an urban myth. Fuck me out of existence even as you spread my legacy. Give me a life of pajama parties and ouija boards while both are still legal.
I'm tired of reality, give me a better place to sleep. Lend me your fantasies for a sleeping bag and your fears for a pillow, and I will live in both forever.
cubist poet
cubist poet
MWAHAHAHA
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