Kings Without Queens - 2001 Draft Pt. 3: \"Artistry (It's the Attempt You See)\" (The Original Draft)

Artistry (It's the Attempt You See)  Hiding in tears' rusty walls caged and unfeeling to the point of decadence come and shout into the wind and feel the destruction of Babylon cascading slivers ram into your skull and spine deepening without and coming around within we want to say we're in love but another shudder betrays the truth afraid afraid of sex intimacy openness communication another lost line simmers escapes to the top scraped off and tossed onto the page gold refinery only the purity comes and stays the dreck thrown on the page another line given to you and another line thrown away watching the hands move in slow silent insanity sending sending watching the movements in brilliant red rhapsody no longer sheltered you run into the guttered [cow dung] glass wear store opening hoping not for misery but the life of a ballerina swimming from the channel of deprecation to that of prostitution we dissimilate those we love and toss them into the wolves' arena it's called psychological treatment as the terror closes in upon them stripping them of their cloths naked, wet, cold, shivering with thorns driven into their sides flesh taunt with muscles and veins another woman comes to turn and look nothing but a stare the autistic children gather around watch the stones turn blood red as the nations clash together disharmony and the ways of magicians, inventors, and sword craftsman the depression seeps in at the base and leaves through the eyes in forms of wet salty feelings turning turning turning another attempt at that [wild mercury sound] feel known only to the poet and the customer thinks in disbelief we've come to love you they say and no one can find their fellow conspirator only a dried up shell the women baring their breasts say we will nourish you glory comes and glory goes but old age comes to stay wiping the sleep to watch the dance a card game goes up without arrival of the puppeteers and the golden guns and the white traced lily photographs stand on the edge marked with seamen and the hopes buried in the past silent roar of last night's thunder broken not by cries of passion and sex but that of a beheaded child skull dancing flesh burning misconstrued musician dances in the light of the yellow auburn leaves sun lick gold two men walk in another joins him black taunt and distraught and the things continue to masquerade about the ball chipmunks to steal their jewels ridicule all that comes from the deepening within I hear the percussion and the words float effortlessly bye and still the failure rings clear as the elephant sleeps in the room our bedroom we hope for that we see not begins the Bible verse and another liberal calls for the re-election of God fools and miscreants students of all the wrong books and all the wrong image-obsessed sex missions shaking shaking want to leave and yet forced to stay locked and cannot escape the magician decides to grant us leave take you on a trip a magical trip journey to the center of the mind but that's where I want go get out of alas then we cannot the trip is canceled what about a refund what refund you know my soul your soul is now my soul to become a permanent memory hanging just behind the fake moose head it's the wall you see the wall to bury all the free and the levy begins to flow and the water begins to bow and the words become mixed up and the walls crumble making an ordered pattern as the blade goes round and round and never up and never down we see tge reoibse a we see the response and the anger borne of allegations and accusations thrown about until the hammer cannot nail them to the wall and the images just melt as the garden becomes more and more densely populated ants ants they dance faerie ring circle comatose gum and the cripples and the saints want to be included and the rest of humanity is told to be custodian of their prospective insanity again I try to find you assort you consort you feel you physically (it's the sex you see) emotionally (it's the power and love you see) spiritually (it's the God you see) union (it's the marriage you see I think God has something to do with that I'm not sure) and yet the nostrils fare and the glasses continue hanging handing out the minstrel visions borne of a troubadour telepathy and the fallen poet or the tarot card reader and consorts of the dead every thing becomes intensely focused on this my solitaire creation pouring every ounce and always afraid I'll run out and yet they keep coming and I keep strumming the rhythm cannot be maintained and the calibre is quite worn plainly and the laughter will not subside for some one hundred years or until the death of yon Master Hill and I reach out someday I'll touch you and be the lover you always wanted me to be Kings Without Queens Trilogy Poem 3: "Artistry (It's the Attempt You See)"  (The Original Draft).Written October 26th, 2001 © on Oct 26 2001 05:36 AM PST, Michael Edward London    contemporary • life • love • lyrics • personal • sad • society • spiritual • thoughts • weird