Haven't had any alcohol at all in a while;
It dampers the dimples in my smile.
Feeling better for now, it's been awhile.
So I smoke and stare blankly at the mosaic kitchen tiles.
Now I'm walking down the street spitting carrot juice and
Even my teeth are orange,
So I drink carrot juice to stay in a good mood
No matter if it's of any good use.
I drink carrot juice. I drink the carrot juice for a
Figuratively-"On the Prairie" --
More so, it's a comparatively care-free mood.
I drink the carrot juice. I drink the carrot juice.
I Don't Want Any Trouble
Up and over mountains that tower in the sun
I'd be so very much more at home
Far away from civilization.
For years I've been in the middle of a modicum of trouble
Living under a roof or two.
I've wanted so much to say goodbye to trouble and
I hadn't known how to,
But unlike most trouble that burns we'll vanquish in the sun
I've been chased by trouble as far as I can run
And now I'm gathering the crumbs.
Tangled up in a color that someone once said wasn't fun,
The only thing there's left to do is to be like the bird that flew and
Keep up with what keeps you on.
My pen is leaking tears from the inkwell, straight to you.
The clock-hands spin like a sickening carousel
Even when I don't want them to, but
I really can taste an ending to what I've been moving through
So I laugh as much as when I cried of every little thing
That trouble once put me through.
How have I been so ripe with trouble,
As fruit turns from ripe to bruised?
I don't want any trouble anymore.
I will keep my face painted until the coming rain allows me.
Obesely educated to say I never ate it,
Don't you let all those things ever change your mind.
A drop of water settles on the tongue as the sun climbs higher.
The fog rolls in and climbs into your lungs to make you out a liar to you.
Become what you became when the widespread roots of shame had
Entangled themselves up in all the vegetation grown.
Unlike a perfect stranger you know well of the dangers
That lurk in the grey of what's ours and yours alone.
Counting shapely days within the square that encircles me,
The moon will comb the ocean like your hair and
I will look on and sing along as you.
Microscopic Fine-Print Contract Clause
Days are that much shorter in the winter frost,
With no worries of gathering moss.
I put my clothing on and then I take my clothing off.
Someone's in the kitchen and it's not who I thought,
But no questions seek answering sought.
In every circumstance there's a pre-written law that
Something won't be what you thought.
Letter on the foyer floor: Dead guy mail.
There'll be another croaking sometime soon: Without fail.
He ought to be out on the ocean with the wind in a sail,
And though he cannot tell Earth from Mars that too is not his fault.
Paraphrasing someone that I used to know,
Who knew just how the blowing wind blows:
The watch works fine but the second hand most always slows.
See the man on fire drop and roll.
No water can extinguish his soul.
Most things in this world are funny at their core
And Death collects to even the score.
Midnight peanut butter spoon: Don't get caught.
I always knew that you were voyeuristic: Not my fault.
Had I read the microscopic fine-print contract clause
I'd likely not be here at all and someone else could take the fall.
All Words © Tavo Carbone 2013