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taoist head on a stick the music follows you everywhere & everywhere you go people mistake you for abel's brother head frozen in that split second when the right profile is called for & stepping lightly because you were bred for better things the phone book feels fatter than you remember your fingertips are numb & revolutionary this is the distance once dreamed under the crush of presence something brushes against muscle something not yet pinned to showcase breaking all known physical laws a clean break from sacred heart you'd like to imagine feathers of a new identity but the clothes you're wearing fit too damn right & you always stay at least one sentence too long an archeological ribbing that can't be laughed off forensic caricature that redefines the weight of proof, burden of numbers false rapture that knocks the wind right out of you graceful orgasm like a painted sunset prettied up & priced to sell because "small death" seems extreme, even oxymoronic you could no doubt mimic your way through ritual but cover versions rarely get it & you can't seem to wash your hands of idealism though you've tried & tried poke at your reflection watch self ripple away & proclaim yourself healed it's that easy
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