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lyrics

Joe's Porcelain

The house was huge--
and a cavernous old thing of hollow drips and black time.
The tick-tick of dusty years
echoed miserably across
the uneven floorboards.
Outside, the weather cock spins a Vitus dance in the churning maelstrom of fury, the trees roaring leaf against stem as the moon illuminates
patches of dark against bone white truth.
Inside, I've got a log in each hand and I'm cowering against the shadow, while Joseph comes in, his mouth working like a fish, and he's begging me not to crack the porcelain doll that lay with infuriating passivity beneath me in the bug-infested gloom.
Please he says. I've worked so much he says. It's not that bad he says. She'll never know he says.
But outside
a peal of thunder and a flash of lightning lend a specter of the macabre to our surroundngs,
as this dream-like moment in time
--flash-freezes--
in the subconscious flicker of my yesterdays and tomorrows
Too late. All gone. The compassion is spent.
I bring the logs in my arms down, careening with a whoosh through the dead air toward the dying eyes
the button eyes
The black and miserable empty shoeshine sockets
that already know truth because they already know pain...
DO YOU HEAR THAT?
They already KNOW TRUTH, because they already KNOW PAIN.
He's fucked her a thousand times, of course.
Stolen the soul right out and away, to keep, wadded up like a cache of fruit flies captured in the center of his palm, to giggle over.
Please he says. It's okay he says. She likes it he says. It's her time he says.
So I crush the glass cranium, and proceed to devestate the room. Somewhere, in a corner, blinded by the white hot blood red bullet of rage seeping down from one corner of my eye, he cowers in a hole. He's preparing himself for me.
For me. And I'll have him I say.
But not. Just. Yet.

credits

from Curtains: Readings from Molotov by Tom Baker, released November 9, 2019

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Extreme Volume Pop Indiana

Hopefully, my various musics are ultimately like magic bullets that enter and impact at the base of the skull, ricochet around the brain chamber, and then leave a gaping exit wound in the forehead. You may hate them


Since 2006!

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