Ribmeat Of The Family Tree

I Don't Need No Alarm

5-9-05

Off the road with Jack Cadillac,
my bumper twitches like God don't exist
and I'm lightened by
cynical enlightenment.
Fools like me tread heavy over nothin',
monkey wastin'
all I could better represent
by suckin' it all in
and sayin' nothin'.
The bothers bother
but should be overlooked;
Rockstar Jesus orates
to me
while singing along
to songs about pain,
death and heartache.
His shoes
are too big for me to fill
so he looks higher;
taller am I
from what he's taught me.

Battles I battle
are from how I've been rattled
but I only bark
after I've had my lunch
and am too drunk from
exertion
to let leniency in
after I don't get what I
think I need.

I chirp and squawk
like a pigeon maimed;
mimicking ignorance as I pantomime
pretending I'm always right.
Sometimes it takes me some time
to see how absolutely
wrong
I am.

Exhales and sighs.
Jack Cadillac
is full of them
on his own behalf.
Be reasonable;
be not the dreaded reason.
By God, he's right.

I wanted to make love to you in New York,
but sometimes you're right.

My shoes
are too small sometimes
to kick me into
knowing everything as more
than what I see.
One point of view
versus the interpretations
of interpretations
of the next line
of interpreters.
This is what I see, in hindsight,
and it tells me I should know better.