Bugolgi Apparatus

  Sixty-Seven flowers everywhere music in the streets   conventions turned upside down   questions about everything   then numbers came   crunching billions in their wake chaining eyes and minds was it a colossal mistake   I take off your granny classes you remove my dungarees   we rediscover an energy   rumored to be extinct   those were the times   these are mine   and there's   nothing guaranteed   I do as I like   like a child until I find something more   interesting As the past threatens the young   As snipers build a nest   the old question re-emerge   grammatically intact

  On it How can anything   be a love song   with everything going on   how can we think of us   against these flames   in the background   maybe lovers in Vesuvius   thought the same thing-   smile and pose for history   we’re in the moment   exactly like this   how can anything be a love song   so that’s what you thought   as I make the world stop   for a moment and you can   put down your phone   and take off your clothes   if love isn’t struggle   if love isn’t loss   if love isn’t the finger   against the darkness   and isn’t what you hum   on your lips against these horrors   then I don’t know   what   we are  

  Slip Permission   I screwed up   and I got back   to where I swore   I’d never find myself again   amongst the ranks   of fallen men   that familiar smell   of failure I know too well   and you move inches   away from me   seeing less of what you once   saw in me   I’m falling by degrees   you warned me   there are no   guarantees   and how I want to be back   in your graces   as soon as I can   face myself   until then I promise   I’m not enjoying this   only a little it feels   too fucking good to happen again  

  Flipping the Cup Sometimes I’m a critic  I try not to be a cynic  I’ve been spun by life  too many times that  I’m not always with it  I look for a narrow line  I don’t find it every time  but I often see you there  and I’m so happy  to share the moment  I block out  more than I take in  as the glass remains  almost full  got a lot to work with  I don’t give in  I’m not impressed  with every fool  I move towards the beauty  while I still do my duty  I’ve seen too many movies  not to know how this ends  you make a convincing case  that we could mix our fates  together with a lot of things  beautiful and dangerous 

 My fictional past  my past keeps changing  like a snake  striking at targets  changing shapes  just when you think  it meets its fate  it sheds its skin  shaking another tale  of course I’ve been there  and done that  even if I haven’t  dreams and memories  start to blur  what does it matter if I didn’t  there’s no way  to escape this fate  adding layers  soon starts to fail  in the scenario  of the worst case  look it deep in the eyes  and bite before it does the same

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  Gimme the unusual I’ll take a drop of the tropical  pinch of the atonal  stirred with a time signature  that remains unknowable  gimme a shot of the unusual send it over quick  I’ve had enough of the banal  to last me many years One more narrative  without a thread several cut up  fifties experiments  a whole tale dictated  by a pink monkey in pants  a teenager uncertain  if they’ll survive themselves  give me more of the unusual  before I go to bed  as I’m not convinced  I got any desire left the one with the stutter  and the bad teeth smoking cigarettes  in twenty thirty-three fallen model  disgraced debonair  dame with the eye patch and seven inch scar we don’t get along she’s been knocking me off a little at a time  what’s the rush? another shot of the usual you know I like it raw  anything too neat  just don’t cut it all