currentsea.

Expanded and rewritten for your reading/slamming pleasure (subject to several more rewrites). Here it is.

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My head hurts.

Ya see, Wall Street crashed on top of me the other day

and, well, you can't buy that kind of helmet

on a teacher's salary.

So I'll cut to the chase.

Do you have my money?

Like the currentsea of a river, slowed from a run to a walk to a waltz,

you dance a deal H and O as I fashions flutes from shoots and plays and prays

its riverbanknotes are in the right safekey.

Can you finance this flood?

Do you have my money?

You've spent too long (years) in my heart

and I want my fucking rent. 

It's about that time.

Out there's a moon that needs howlin',

it told me last night, see, it orbits all that empty Space in my bed,

said that sound is what keeps it round and it's damn near close to falling down

and breaking into eight million pieces and I said

me too.

I'm sorry.

I've rid myself of wolves and dogs.

From here on out, I keep my company with people.

Besides I'm more of a cat person anyways,

After all God's just a cat and I'm her kitten

carried

off to heaven, off to love, off to wherever

by the scruff of my neck whether I like it or not,

at least I hope so.

They tell me I'm descended from apes.

And I think I let go

of mother's neck years back.

You seen the news?

Wall Street crashed again and I went with it,

Made a bad investment, but I'll make do,

cause I got paid today -

paid respect, paid attention, paid vacation, paid my dues,

and I'm on a new currentsea now.

Sorry.

I don't speak your language.

I don't carry your cash.

I got two-hour phone calls stashed in my wallet.

I got late-night queso runs stashed in my wallet.

I got "I swear, you will be ok" stashed in my wallet.

I got friends stashed in my wallet.

I got family stashed in my wallet.

I got God stashed in my wallet.

I got Brahman stashed in my wallet.

I got songs stashed in my wallet.

I got music stashed in my wallet.

I got love stashed in my wallet.

I keep my fucking heart in my wallet,

and your face ain't on one single Bill.

No.

The Beatles were right -

you can't buy love,

but you can spend it.

I'll take my dealings elsewhere.

I said I got love stashed in my wallet.

Empty your pockets.

I am sure it's in there too.