dustcover.

This one's still a work in progress.

This one's about music.

It's about death and forgetting it,

the rhythm in your breath and hearing it,

if I could count the in and out I would be a C or C sharp

'cause I'd rather not sound dull.

This one's about that lull after laughter, the quiet.

It's about the gods sitting chest-high in the soil of distant planets

and a little girl wandering, wearing a gas mask

and other ideas just sitting, playing solitaire, waiting for an author.

A Muse pushing a pen in his lazy hand and a gun to his lazy temple

and knowing the lazy bastard would rather die than write,

it's easier that way,

and she mutters "this writer's broken I'd like another."

This one's about half past the end

and the sixth of june eighty-eight,

it's your birthday everyday,

it's never too late to begin again.

It's a bout between the child in us all and

the news the schools the rules the roles the fools that beat us down,

build yourself back up.

Sometimes it helps to shut your eyes so hard you

erase the world outside the dark

and you see that black for what it is -

a canvas.

Every sob is a scene.

And we all cry paint.

This one's a bout between me and the me I fight to be

every hour of every day.

This one's about breathing out the smoke.

This one is for you and only you so don't tell a soul.

Like I said, it's a work in progress.

We stole the dustcovers off turntables and kept them on our heads and on our hearts, I hear it takes years off your age.

Ah fuck.

Lift yours up and put on an old record, any album at all it's up to you.

Let it spin in your chest

and listen.

Hear the keys and melodies and heartbeats

over decibels of dissonance of discharging rifles and dishwashers,

glasses shattering in the heat inside.

I know you still carry the shards

and the dust on your ribs,

we all do,

it's all right.

We all hide decks inside our chests,

it's just that some of us forgot it's there but it is.

Some us forgot love isn't a diamond stone you hold so let go,

it's a sound you hear so listen.

Some of us forgot our hearts aren't set in place, they spin sometimes

if you play the right songs.

Let the vinyl scratch awhile and I will too, I swear.

And I can't believe this thing still works

but it does.