olallieberry pie blues
(moby dicking the conjunction)
Well cup o' coffee, Olallieberry pie.
Smoking words begin to lie.
There's many ways t' tell a tall tale well told.
Your best friend's an empty chair and your stories explode.
I'll give ya something for you t' hold,
Your gold an' you in your grave growin' cold.
So you whisper, "There ain't no crypt
Can hold all the gold in my grip".
The rooster crows three times as you deny
The crystalline dove in the sky.
Your nightmares scream: "although", "but".
You thank the morning sun that shuts them up.
So you whisper, "When this story's through
I sure as hell know what to do with you".
The mouth of a thousand teeth leads your trail
Holding your head and your tale.
But above the warp and the woof,
Above the floor and the roof
Sitting plainly for you to see
In the swinging limbs of the judas tree
The waif of faith strums the air
In the timbre of Upton Sinclair.
But you deny the deny that makes you shiver
In the retch of your liver.
You stare through night, stare through steel
Into the might of the wrecking wheel
That flattens light, flattens givers,
Flattens heartstrings of the livers.
In the lake, in the sand,
In your take of sacred land,
Beyond your deaf of the bereft
The waif of faith has left a taste
Below your mind to pay in kind
All the ghosts that you leave behind.
"But no" you shriek in the stink
Of garbage's exit in your sink.
For there, evergreen, from nowhere,
Into the lair of your stare
Come words a' floating
Beyond your gloating
In the form of a new born.
But formless too for the mold's not through
And echos sing, "Who knew, who knew?"
So she whispers, "When push comes to shove,
We are carried by currents we know not of".
You're a yes man but you say, "no".
Put your finger in dust and say, "so?"
Start a horse with a "whoa".
Turn your AB to blood group O
After turning David Henry to Henry David Thoreau.
So you whisper, "There ain't no glove
Can fit all the crimes I'm innocent of".
Sweet Sam points, she wants you.
Well, you got something else t' do.
CEO for the red, white an' blue.
Slight of hand for a world view.
Flying circles over native land
Coquette flutterin' a Spanish fan.
She's a see-through blindfold
For t' fill your opaque billfold.
Well, Why don't you go to hell?
Go to hell real slow.
The devil is waiting there
Waiting for your soul.
So you whisper, "I didn't want t' use the phone,
Went down t' hell your mother said you weren't home".
One book end gets you through
Your reading list that you never knew.
Physics ends at your vault,
Someone's to blame but it's never your fault.
Insurance claims you command to halt
In your pocket as you lick Lot's salt
To quench your thirst from the river of your order
That never did work but sure shoulda oughta.
So you whisper, "The mourning dove
Cheers me up when I think of love".
You preach love grounded on hate.
Put a button in the collection plate.
Double lock the golden gate.
Go t' sleep for to lie in wait.
You jay walk as status quo
Through the Rubicon of a go man go.
So she whispers ,"When push comes to shove
We are carried by currents we know not of".
Your last word pokes a finger in the eye
Of the newborn's nascent lullaby.
So you whisper "A towel wets as it dries
If I say that, you'd call it a lie".