'If I Met The First Man On Earth'

If I met the first man on earth -
not that I will, for I am one of the twenty-first century,
and we have not learnt yet how to trace back
through time -
I would ask him what his name was
 first. Who

was his creator?
Was there any at all?

Would their limbs resemble my own,
like a brother resembles
a brother or
like a thorn resembles a rose?
At least I would know
if the bible were true to its word
and if everything I'd ever known and
believed in was a lie.

Questions would bloom on his lips,
decaying in their curiosity
and leaving the sour taste on his tongue: what
are we to become? Will my
actions determine that? Will I
live long enough to see your
generation or will I die,
to be buried by my children's hands,
with whose own death I will be
forever forgotten?
And if

I told him what his sons, daughters,
descendents were to
become and what they
will do and what they
could do, would he weep
with guilt or
would he scream, petrified? For
the earth is on his shoulders
and how could bone, flesh,
held by all but each other, stand
and live beneath such weight?
Why don't

you end it, right
now, I might ask him. Save
the world from the
putrid greed that grows in so many
it reaches the clouds. Clouds
that reach mountains we have
reached. Reached so high we
salivate for the possibility of flying
in the black vacuum of space pricked
with dim stars, over and over and
over again. We will suck our
home dry, until it becomes a glassy,
limp prize, like an insects body, wingless
in the lonely night. Why not save
all those souls, fiery in kilts and glittered
armour, blind with glory - yet deformed with
violence? Why not save those lovers and wives,
estranged and lost as knives without sheaths, their
cheeks streaked with tears over pearl and brown flesh over
bones that creak, with age for the old and
for the young, that they cannot speak with the grief? Why
not save those tortured spirits in the ocean, to become
slabs of meat on the cold wooden deck
of a ship, that will travel to retrieve
slaves in shackles that draw blood, blood
that will be swept up nonchalantly? Why
not save those butchered animals, betrayed
by their masters as lambs to the slaughter? Why
not save those punctured hearts? Why not
save

Me?

'That Flying-Dust'

Perhaps, I think I should start off with, I will
never be a good poet and
perhaps I will never write poetry.
It's another butterfly I
cleave onto. I know the
magic dust will smear off onto my fingertips with
the first touch, though.
Just like the time
in Freya's garden, the girl next door, when we
clapped our hands around the blurs of yellow and
red and black, purple, and blue; a crushed wing,
a dislocated stem-like leg, whiskerlike antennas torn,
and a silence tainted by
guilt would fall on our chests
and we would drop the body. Pretend
it had never happened, even when at
night, in bed, I would roll my fingers over
the dusty, musky powder, as
though I'd been handling a gun. I would fall
into sleep, guilt evaded and peace found,
the temporary peace one finds in ignorance, Ignorance
is bliss, they will say, but the bliss never lasts, like
the paintbrush in my hand fell out
of my grasp
like an autumn leaf, old, rotten in water,
my mind cold and bruised
after being beaten for imagination,
whom Bastille takes out for tea
Perhaps I'll see them one day
the two of them
talking
from the shadows
and see their, Imagination's, face
write about the creases by their eyes
the music of their voice
the gleam of their lips in the
summer light, animated with words of
inspiration
that I never gave birth to,
never carried in my arms
and loved and cherished
but glimpsed in snippets
from my finger-smeared window,
at trees silent as me
and a sky just as
empty. They never helped.

'New Times Roman'

New Times Roman
I have lonely hands
Plucked from my body.
And the words are gushing out my wrists.
Yes, I know there's no way back
'cause the flow ain't gonna slow down...

Down...
Down...

New Times Roman,
Cuts into the page.
I will myself to open,
Maybe it will come with age.
New Times Roman,
I let my will be broken.
And now there's nothing left to open...

Oh, tried tying my hands in prayer,
But they still don't work.
Guess the Lord could have a different path for me,
One that isn't so vain.
I've said it 'til my tongue's gone dry.
Why the pain, the strain?
What do I have to do?

New Times Roman,
I need to make something new.
I see you cut into the page,
And I will myself to open.
Maybe it'll come with age.
New Times Roman,
I let my will be broken,
And now there's nothing left to open.
There's nothing left to open...

Words have slain,
Words have swayed.
That's all said and done.
The only thing I'm afraid of is absence,
That there's nothing on the page...

New Times Roman,
I'm begging for something new.
Oh, you're cutting into the page,
But not into me...
Don't think it's gonna come with age,
Because I lost the key.
New Times Roman,
I let my will be broken,
Now there's nothing left to open.
Nothing left to open!
New Times Roman,
I let my will be broken,
Now there's nothing left to open...

'In The Morning'

Feelin lost in time,
Think I invested too much,
in the wine of the keyboard.
Being stuck,
is the worst thing,
when you know you've gotta go,
And I know,
I've lost home.

Itchy dresses, concrete feet,
whiny voice, and it's all retreat.

Well I've come to accept that it's not my fault,
and no one else's.
Just gotta live it out,
Buy a little house,
Cleanse the keyboard,
Fix my head.
Oh...
And I know,
I've lost home,
but I'll be back in the morning.

Singing sad tunes,
Seems such a waste of time,
Would you prefer it if I sang the blues?
Do I have to make this rhyme?
Got no more sense,
Got no nonsense,
just me.

How do you love yourself,
when you don't even know them?
Should we marry, should we befriend?
But she's all I got, so
Leaving the lights on behind me,
You can follow, see,
Where I go,
it might be home...

Itchy dresses and leaden hands,
Whiny voice, not knowing if it's a choice...

Well I've come to accept that it's not my fault,
and no one else's.
Just gotta live it out,
Buy a little house,
Cleanse the keyboard,
Fix my head.
Oh...
And I know,
I've lost home,
but I'll be back in the morning.
I'll be back in the morning.
I know I'll be back, in a thousand mornings,
or one.
I've lost home. But I'll be back...
in the morning.

'The Frozen Lake'

I am drawn to him like a moth to a flame
His voice is sweet poison, drawing me close
I wonder, was it like this when he first came along?
I am breathless, even when he goes
I am lost in the need of him
Rendered a blind slave
Is my love a sin?
But it's too late

I was always the thorn, never the rose
Only pain can be given out by me
And inside I am bro...ken
And in vain I will try to be
something he could love

I am a frozen lake
And my love is dragging me down through the break
I was in a dream
now I'm awake
You could never love me
It would be a mistake

Sometimes I wonder, could I have stopped it?
Perhaps from the start
 he was catching my heart
before he dropped it
Oh, I am lost in need of him
lost in this maze of mirrors
why does it sting
that I can't wake his heart
When I've already fallen apart?

I am a frozen lake
My love is dragging me down through the break
I was in a dream
now I'm awake
I am awake
I am awake
Now I can't escape
Oh, could you ever love me?
Do you ever need me?

I was always the thorn, never the rose
Only sorrow I will give
And inside I am broken...

And I'm a frozen lake
My love is dragging me down through the break
I was in a dream
now I'm awake
I am awake
I am awake
Now I can't escape
Oh, could you ever love me?
Do you ever need me?

'Alone'

Maybe we're all the same
Maybe we're all game.

I don't want to be alone
I don't want to be alone
Time crawls by
so slowly
and the thoughts
they fly
oh, they're so lowly.
filled with wishful thinking
euphemisms
and poetic linkings
why, ah, why
do I freeze beneath the breeze
that we call life?
I don't want to be alone.
I do not want to be alone.

I'm sorry
if I am so on edge
I know we're in the eye of the storm
and this quiet
is just a warning
I can't loosen my grip
I don't want to be alone

Haven't you guessed: why?
The skin you see
hides parts of me
and the day runs through it
Lies take a long, long time
to die.
Oh...
I don't want to  be alone.

I don't want to be alone
(I need you)
I don't want to be alone.

'Burn Down'

The edges of my vision are running away
The sun is down
But I am too awake
Tried driving up town
But you’re always around
Always around
Always around…

Yeah, I tried lighting the candles in this house
But you hate the light
You don’t wanna be found
You don’t wanna be found…

But can’t you hear the night?
They said it’s chasing you down
Tearing down the trees
Shedding this light
They’re creeping closer
I can see
They’re rippin’ your clothes off
What you gonna do, baby?
They’re rippin’ your clothes off
Why won’t you face me?
As you burn down…

See me through the flames
I’m a picture on the wall
Wearing that smile that you tamed
See me through the flames
I’m standin’ so tall
See me through the flames
I’m not gonna fall…
I’m not gonna fall…

Yeah, I tried lighting the candles in this house
But you hate the light
You don’t wanna be found
You don’t wanna be found…

But can’t you hear the night?
They said it’s chasing you down
Tearing down the trees
Shedding this light
They’re creeping closer
I can see
They’re rippin’ your clothes off
What you gonna do, baby?
They’re rippin’ your clothes off
Why won’t you face me?
As you burn down…