Murphey dies young as history books collapse on male breasts lathered in sweat and hair peeled back like potatoes in Russian households dancing atop cakes at birthday parties twirling like ballerinas in bowling alleys dancing like middle schoolers in well lit garages slow dancing to Cee-Lo wishing this night was over.

Squares drop down roll down bow down bowling alleys in space and void and black oasis drinking from water falls on mars raining squares smaller as time goes by but still lacking that refined edge that we’ve all come to know and love.

Alright, here start this one, I can’t, I can’t do it! Its a party in the USA! So pour out some coffee for those co-workers working late on reports expensing Red Bulls in exchange for wings. And then, and then leave a Gap. I think those ones work well – it’s a party in the USA! So drink a little Red Bull and twerk on the sun till your butt turns red. Wow, we still have a full beer. Do you think they will want to kick us out? NO! Its a party in the USA? Its a party in the UK? The day? Today? No way? OK? OK.

Rivers run dry when beer bottles run cold and he said that she said that the dwarf danced well to disco, but then I went to Thailand and he cheated on me with a Victoria Secret model, he was italian with blue eyes so I went back to Australia and took a lot of drugs, met a guy from Senegal, he was so nice.

Birds flock in slow motion/ To the beat of some man’s stick/ Waving “eight” from below/ But above we watch from below/ But beneath trees blowing in slow motion/ For the heat of this new day/ From the safety of this green shield/ Waiting on merry-go-rounds to pass the time/ To count the chains on these links/ To capture a second glimpse at that well-groomed beard/ To pay tribute to Philip Seymour Hoffman/ To dip wet sharpies onto dry canvas/ Blue with remorse, but somehow indicative/ Somehow not preoccupied/ With literary regulations/ With hopes that five dollars can buy/ The future/ Regardless/ Of ability to spell/ My ability to blow dry this five/ Dollar bill crisp as potato chips/ Dipped twice/ At once/ Dialing 917-860-0037/ Praying on predictions of family/ Portraits for Black America/ Only to look up/ Only to find the loving embrace/ Of Barack Obama/ Tie-dying parking signs/ Making Pigs hip/ Somehow managing to say no/ To drape dumpsters in blue/ To dance on blue with chalk/ To forget the broom at home/ In vans made of glass/ Lacking transit for one moment too long/ Earning orange badges/ Wearing masks made of the skull of birds/ Once filled with air/ And time/ In slow motion/ To the beat of this man’s stick/ Looking up/ Forgetting shields/ Embracing bravery/ Finding courage/ Off Dekalb.

Shooting down ducks / Crossing liquid cracks / Avoiding certain catastrophe / Chasing mortal men / Yellow in flesh / Seamless from skin to hair / to robotic tendency / to jump / to dodge / to throw flames / in spheres / so hot / so blue.

Snakes travel through tunnels unborn waiting for the scent of that polka dot egg to hatch and unleash Jesus from space, but not before Dracula busts from the black hole of your tar pit moving platforms left and right and up and down and sayyy whaaaaaaaat!!! Ave Maria!!!!!! Sun!!!!!

Birds landing on unibrows disguised as monkeys only to expect an award for coming in last place – kids these days – dancing on dumpsters deprived of that new car smell fabricated from used car lots on saturn – falling with each rotation yet prices are still on the rise so what the fuck is that all about – apologies for the harsh language – that wasn’t me, it was the bird on my unibrow disguised as a monkey waiting for the polish to dry and for the shit to lose its stench – here’s hoping.

Lyrics: Leaves ripple in the sun light as shadows dance in France down sewer pipes – Just want Sunday morning, take my life to your mouth – take my wife to sushi – where the rats lift weights in preparation for the apocalypse – Bowling with Murphey and Coldplay on holiday with Katy Perry’s dogs grilling T-Bone steaks Crawling in the dark, looking for James Brown in some dark alley on 5th and Main Background Vocals: dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance pants pants pants pants ahhh ahhhh ahhhhhhhhhhhhh ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh waaaaaaaaaaaaaa pants pants pants dance ants what yes no uh what suga suga suga suga TOP TOP cherry what dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance dance fuck you.

I am the woman in white embellished by thorns and dangling dead birds absorbing fresh blood welcoming cats and monkeys while the flowers fl y and the butterflies rest in my hair watching as I Hold my own hand on bus benches beneath impending storms sharing life with scissors and miniature memories spilling on wedding dresses where the birds nestle and rest and nap Where I rest on hospital beds soaked in my child shedding tears for flying snails and the machinery of life, picking flowers, facing reality, doing the math, feeling alone Although the knowledge that he’s on my mind is both comforting and frustrating causing third or fifth eyes to blink causing this hair to fall down stiff shoulders As tears plant seeds for family trees flipping through photo albums, but I’m not quite there walking tall within blue courtyards standing naked and fearless watering cacti with sperm piecing it all together like red ribbon Weaving like improvisational bobsleds whilst earning empathetic understanding one arrow at a time as toes turn to hooves and ears become antlers realizing the target is I, and they are doing well But hands hang from ear lobes and thorns hang from necks foregrounding silver leaves shining like chrome reflecting in the sun, praying on rain to keep these flowers alive and well In the desert where grounds crumble at my feet and roman columns separate my breasts adhering skin to bones to nerves with needles sealing pain with tears and tight bandages while what is left of my privacy blows with patriotic fl air And these grounds continue to crumble showing no sign of life aside from one drop of milk embracing me and mine Like fresh bed sheets sewn with orange thread woven in ivy as mirror reflections of what is to come rests over head embracing flowers Only before one more meal – So unveil the curtains and watch as I dance like Jesus with puppets giving this all my weight ensuring this tablet doesn’t run away From fresh cut lettuce giving birth to opportunity and light, but Confused by identity crisis slipping on my best pink dress waving flags, building temples made of steam offering fruit built on the mechanics of sound Ringing true Gazing with mouths open as stars fall through cloudy skies making way for tombs and golden brick roads leading nowhere but down embraced by mist landing in morning papers read in Manhattan to the sound of coffee to the flip of the page but the image bleeds through When the girl soaks in patterns distracting you from a subtle change in breeze above Mayan ruins finding two moons yet still managing to lie awake, lost and alone, in this wet desert overwhelmed with the reign of odorous oil – Wait! – If you’re trying to kill me at least lynch these two dresses along side so that I may have a change of clothes for the sweat of hell as my heart washes ashore ready to burst like a rotting whale Ready to come down now ready to open up ready to carve holes in my chest for the ivy to thrive and find solace finding comfort in finding purpose so I let my hair down for a second Only to learn that he killed her with 1000 knives... Balancing deformity with obesity with skeletal infra- structure keeping us together in a land of monochrome homes and dirt and sand but the piñata hangs high so FUCK!!! the disparity let’s take shots and revel in this sun’s existence so FUCK!!! this broken spine let’s dance and lay sore in the morning – it will all be worth it As long as this watermelon stays moist and this owl stays wise As long as I welcome milk from the breast of this dark stranger trying desperately not to let go and not to swallow foreign hairs Whilst gazing into the eyes of this dark stranger, posing for thy own self from this horizontal home, sinking in cloth, waiting for death to awaken this new form of being, waiting for the fl ame to dance alongside a cool breeze, Waiting To kiss him goodbye.