The Boiler Room
raw stuff
MIDDLE OF THE ROAD
There are these things in the middle of the road.
There are things there and you look at them and you think
That's in the middle of my road.
Funny.
But I can step over that,
Yes.
It's just a little thing,
a little wierd thing.
but you can't
and you stand there looking at this little tiny thing that is in your path,
this little thing that shouldn't be the reason why you can't take one more step down the road,
but it is,
and you're there
and the more you stare at it the stranger it becomes,
it becomes so strange that you know it is familiar
and you know you've got to unlock some secret somewhere
inside of your own brain
that will tell you how to pick the damned little wierd thing up off the road
and put it somewhere
where it won't be in your way.
So you struggle and
you sweat and
you spend all this time
looking inside of your head for some secret that's in there
until you have this really big headache from forcing your eyes
to twist around and look in the
opposite
direction,
and then
at long last
not even sure how you did it
you get the damned thing out of your way and run along the road
so happy to be moving that you want to do it fast
and smooth
and slick
and be
ON YOUR WAY
and you turn some little corner,
and there's that weirdass piece of shit in the middle of the road again.
So you think,
damn,
that's strange
I could've sworn I got rid of that,
and you look at it a while thinking that it can't possibly be the same thing that you just got rid of,
but then you realize
that it is,
and you think
well,
fine,
now I know how to move it,
and you reach down to pick it up with all those secrets you unlocked the time before,
you reach down to pick the thing up,
and it starts moving.
It starts fucking with your head,
and then when you're just about ready to give it all up
and turn around
and go home,
you think,
in a panic,
that there is no home left,
that you used all the home you had up
and there isn't one anymore
and you sit down by the side of the road
and you cry your eyes out,
wanting someone to see you there
and think they need to pick you up
in the palm of thier hand,
since you are so small
and so fragile,
and really quite sweet,
but the only problem is that no one does
and you don't blame them for it either.
Then you find yourself asking again and again and again,
with the wierd thing on one side and your self on the other,
WHAT THE HELL HAPPENS NOW,
AND IS IT ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY
THAT I HAPPEN IT?
Sometimes, when you start asking yourself
certain questions
and you hate the weather
it's best to say
so what.
Yes,
it's best to remember
at times like that
the weather is a temporary thing.
'Get used to the truth shifting on dimes'
somebody's mother should have said
because when the weather is bad
and you know how it gets
Love is just a line in a poem in a book on a shelf in somebody else's house.
And what the hell are you supposed to do with that?
There are occasions
Once in a while
And a person attends.
And you go and you smile and you watch something happen
To a friend
Yes you go and you watch and you put your feet on the ground
There
In the middle of thier occasion
And that's what they want you to do
All they want you to do
Is put your feet on the ground
And stand there
While something happens.
And all of the sudden
Your feet being on the ground
Is worth something.
TERRITORY
There are rules to a person
posted on signs in a
landscape
there.
Rules.
There are certain things you can't ignore
things like your sex and your mind and your time,
the things
with signs
But there are other things
yes
some other things about the landscape
that have nothing to do with signs
and so you stand there
and you look a long time
until you think
maybe
you tell yourself that
maybe
that landscape is looking back
and you take a step
and another
and if the weather is right
sooner or later
you start
step after step
off the road
not a sign in sight
you start
running like hell
there's this temporary blindness
when you move too fast in there
and you lose your way and you can't get back on the road where that sign was
and you don't give a damn
until that one moment
when you really need that sign
and what do you do then?
you're already in there
already running
terrified in some foreign landscape
Where the only sun is open eyes on you
but eyes
rise
in their own time
and so
all of the sudden
You find yourself in the night
in it hard
and cold
Unexpected
In a person
You find yourself deep in the territory
Alone
You find yourself stumbling in the dark
deep in the territory
unfamiliar territory
not an eye in sight
and you wonder how you got in there so deep
in there so hard
in there
where
there isn't any light
Yes.
and it starts to get scary
in the dark around you
things start to move
and you're not sure what they are
yes
it all starts to get just a little
too
odd
so you panic for a while
about where you should step
and you drop a bomb
but it doesn't explode
no
it just makes a hole in the floor
so now there's no ground to stand on
but you're still in there
in the dark
and and you try to get OUT
you push OUT
Against yourself
you push OUT
Against it all
you push OUT
and it's all so raw
and OUT is all that matters
for the time
OUT is all that matters in there
and it's dark and you're pushing
hard
and,
well,
things get broken in the dark.
If you do it right,
you never have to turn around and walk
backward
into your life.
Oh sure,
you turn around all the time
to look
to make sure
to do the remembering the way you like
but to turn around and take steps
backwards
with feet that don't fit anymore
where you stepped before
and fix things
you'll never use again,
and would rather forget
but you can't move forward
till you fix them
because it's a rule or something
that really stinks.
And all the sorry in the world
comes down into your feet
and hurts like hell
and then,
to top it off,
half the time
even before you've turned around to look at how far you've got to go
you know
all the broken stuff
back there
can't be fixed anyway
because the tool you need
walked off.
Broken Poetry
a little of it is
Good
for the soul
A little raw
emotion
tumbling in words
It helps somehow to let it tumble there
to speak out loud
with eyes open
halfway
on you
is too damned hard
Much easier to let it tumble there
in those unspoken lands
in private
Yes
A little broken poetry
it's good for the soul
it's so tame out there
where People meet
in this land
of some living
How incomplete it is to breathe!
So
a little broken poetry
It helps
a bit
It helps
otherwise
it is just
A day.
another day
and there's a
ROAD CLOSED.
No reason.
Nice road, nice ride,
Helluva car you're driving
But ROAD CLOSED.
No reason,
No danger,
None of that
Construction
In sight.
No. No. No.
Just
ROAD CLOSED.
So what do you do in the desert when the only ROAD
Is CLOSED
When you don't got the gas to get back where you were,
And besides,
The map flew out the window
Back there...
Somewhere...
Yeah,
What do you do when there is no turning back?
Turn back?
I don't think so.
No.
I think you get out of the damned car and just
Walk
Till you
Drop
By the side of the road,
Right longside of that road,
Just don't step on that road
Out there
In that desert,
No
Just you walk and you drop
By the side
Of that ROAD
'Cause it is CLOSED
To vehicular traffic.
and so what
at the bottom
of some hole i dug myself
so what
there are those things
that seem
there is the unusual wildlife
making its way through
this time
my life
the rare birds
and there is still
an indisputable joy
to unusual wildlife
coming in glimpses
passing through
so quickly
you have to wonder
did you really see
what you thought
just pass through your life?
and
Where are you going?
A question,
so clear in this head of mine,
where are you going?
A topic
with no conversation
Where are you going,
there is a way to be taken,
a way to be made
through,
a way to,
an always forward thrust
to this
basic
state of existence,
THERE IS NOTHING SMALL ABOUT A SINGLE LIFE
everything is huge and then is
MADE
small,
MADE small by scared
and hurt
and shamed
and blah
and blah
and blah
the whole of life,
and all those worlds within
too much
to spring from the small
from the
tiny
thing
of human body,
it is just
too much.
And the where are you going comes back,
it comes back
and comes back
it is a returning thing and
no ground is made,
only circles in
sand
or something poetic,
only circles,
not pretty
or even
or divine,
only circles,
since standing still is not an option
not when you want it to be,
oh no
and Help doesn't come down this way, to this place,
oh no,
Help steers clear
of places like this.
So I ask again
and again,
returning with this returning thing,
returning to the thing coming back always,
where are you going?
There are so many places to walk
within the privacy of yourself,
so many places like gardens and deserts and
the weather!
Oh!
The weather within!
there is
liquid
inside a woman,
more than inside a man,
I know there are,
such liquid things,
which
ARE
moved.
and then
Dignity takes itself away
sometimes
turns its back on you
and your intentions
those Good intentions
Dignity takes a walk sometimes
down a road
CLOSED
and I stand on that street
in front of some sign
in a whole bunch of rage
It tells me that this
ROAD is CLOSED
that sign does
But I can see my dignity walking down it
My dignity seems crude
walking down that road
without me.
So
PAY ME SOME PRICE
I got myself in some
Trouble
here on this road
The monkey I keep on my back
Is hungry now
so pay me some price
in food for my monkey
he's not eating enough to keep me alive
All kinds of prices are being paid
All kinds of
money
changing hands
All kinds
And the sun is really hot
And the air is really dry
And that wind is really sharp
And I can't find the way
out here
so
pay me some price
in food for my monkey
He's robbing me blind.