The New Moon Dear mother, how pretty The moon looks to-night! She was never so cunning before; Her two little horns Are so sharp and so bright, I hope she’ll not grow any more. If I were up there With you and my friends, I’d rock in it nicely you see; I’d sit in the middle And hold by both ends; O, what a bright cradle ‘twould be! I would call to the stars To keep out of the way, Lest we should rock over their toes, And there I would rock Till the dawn of the day, And see where the pretty moon goes. And there we would stay In the beautiful skies, And through the bright clouds we would roam; We would see the sun set, And see the sun rise, And on the next rainbow come home. Traditional/First printed in 1832 in a book by Eliza Lee Follen called Little Songs

Carpet (Swirl Elixir) How can I describe the lying in wait? In a room dark with silence and windows all closed? How can I describe the sun waltzing in splendour? Like a gold flake drifting through a moat of desire? In a room dark with silence and windows all closed, sits a man drowning in the carpet he wove with his own hands stuck on the loom he has built with his own hands swimming through the warp and the weft of his own weaving caught on the thread which will unravel his being busted on the slide when wasn’t even looking lost loaded on the edge of a silence magnificent drained of his pain by the ink he is writing devoured by the truth that he’s just like another speared by a narwhale that glides through the darkness at a depth of one hundred and eight thousand fathoms under the sea, It is a matter of open (ness) and receiving some wish it were more simple a matter of not

Lull a bye (goodnight little angels good night) Some people hide under rocks so long they can’t stand to be seen. They like sitting on docks with their heads in the stocks picking the locks and poisoning clocks they would rather grow cold and be mean. Those people stare in despair they hide in their lairs catch you unawares and attempt to convince you their lives aren’t obscene. Poets like humping our wares daring the stares sometimes we like to puff and blow breeze. We are children at heart run through by darts lost loaded on a river of steam just singing to them all lull-a-bye and goodnight and when the bough breaks we come clean. Some folks won’t even show they just run for the dough they are sprinters for pork and for beans. Those rounders go to charm school so they won’t look the fool at the debutante ball when they stroll down the hall and they wish they were forever sixteen. When the poets come out and the night light closes about and the leaden wind howls and sings; When the pages get loose and do loop de loops, when the whole world looks like a scene; Are you on the guest list tonight or afraid of the light do you croon just as well as you dream? Can you still do the zoo? Or walk on the moon? Have you learned how to puff and blow breeze? Poets stride into the moonlight lunar eclipse bright sometimes we even puff up a bit and blow breeze. We bank like gliders and sliding night riders dream hanging by a note and a gleam. Poets study books write songs with hooks and flow sideways into the slipstream. Some hi-fliers parachute by day they leap but can’t even bray they just crash and never careen. Other folks are stuck by their calabashes like ghosts with whiplashes they look like a come to life fiend sobbing in their shoes lost in the blues not knowing Poetry’s still green. Poets flow with the glow of the smooth blowing snow and sometimes we puff and blow breeze. We like to pour in the words like great flocks of birds and then add some real heavy cream. We chew on nails spit spikes through rails other days we just pour Ching Shang tea. When the poets come out and the night light closes about and the wicked wind howls and sings; When the pages get loose and do loop de loops, when the whole world looks like a scene; Are you on the guest list tonight or afraid of the light do you croon just as well as you dream? Can you still do the zoo? Or walk on the moon? Have you learned how to puff and blow breeze? Some people head for the top they can’t even think to stop don’t take heed of the consequences but leap in the pot don’t even knock first but in dry dusty thirst spurt out their births can’t believe that they’re cursed they’ll even take one for the team. Other folks are cutting the fat. They really think that will make their shit fragrant and lean. Poets like eating gooseberry pie with our heads in the sky and sometimes we puff up and blow breeze. We swim across moats poets don’t need boats understand how to float and we smile but not just to please. Poets see flowers that bloom and then reach for tombs with petals that do a striptease. These days there are chimpanzees in trees and prophets on their knees and politicians huffing gasoline. Poets are a come to life scream and we pray for the day when those people fade away in the wooosh of a puff and breeze.

Curare (Left Over XI) Night at temple Secret Diamond Diamond Secret Night at temple Secret Secret Night in Moonbeam Secret Secret Secret Curare Curare Night on the move Night on the move Curare Curare Secret Secret Moves Diamond Diamond Moves Night is closing Ahhh, night is closing

A Whole Lotta Ratchet I want a girl who’s a whole lotta ratchet Twerks upside down and she’s always sarcastic Lookin’ like a Juggalette princess on a ten strip of acid Lay my full house on the table you know she can match it If I throw her a line she damn sure catch it Make me some cookies she’ll do a double batch like she’s bat-shit She don’t need no limo she’s fine in a hatchback 80 miles an hour and that gear box she just smack it I don’t know where she’s been my GPS can’t map it She bring me an empty bowl say can you pack it? She say I can’t see you I say it’s just those glasses I say where you been she say down in Natchez Sittin’ in the bar eatin’ cheese curds drinkin' old fashioneds She packin' heat and bullets like a pyro carryin’ matchsticks I want a girl who’s a whole lotta ratchet Sits upright like a lady and she’s always sarcastic She say come over here I gotta itch you can scratch it I don’t turn up my nose I just start chopping like a hatchet She ain’t afraid to get dirty when she dig into that mess kit Never had to tell her she just know where my stash sit I never bounced her a check cause she knows where to cash it She been going so hard for years her panties got patches She only listens to Beyonce and all of her smash hits She can spit like Little Debbie and in the fast part she just crack it She say can I kiss you on the cheek I say that’s just the half of it I say now I got an itch you know she gonna scratch it She got silver and diamonds down where her snatch slits Always over the speed limit but she never gonna crash it Catch her lookin' thru my wallet but that ain’t where my cash at She got one hand on the wheel and another on the flashers She a heavy metal chick and like a high hat she just splashes Doin' her dabs with a flamethrower like she tryin' to launch the space lab