Hollywood Wyomingite

Every time he leaves his house
he does his bolo tie just right
And he'll be drinking gin and sipping wine
And talking finances all night.
Then when he's
          Done
He'll hop into his Silverado and drive home
to his mansion in the mountains
Where he's gonna pass out cold

And he'll wake up in the afternoon
     and do it all again.
'Cause it's the pricey, practiced habit
of his investor-cowboy friends

Hollywood Wyomingite
I think your Stetson's on too tight.
When are
you gonna stop trying so damn hard
To win your country, cowboy brownie points?
               Now quit it.

Any time that you might ask
he'll say he don't like "Mexicans."
But he can spare them fifty dollars if
they'll mow his lawn and trim his hedge
And when he
          Fights
With his wife he'll buy a brand new SUV
For her to drive so she'll shut up
For rich men, peace don't come cheap.

Then he'll wake up the next morning and
     go through it all again
Know he hates his damn reflection
So he yells at his spoiled kids

Hollywood Wyomingite
Invest your cowboy bucks just right
When are
you gonna stop trying so damn hard
To fit that fucking plastic prototype?
          Now quit it.

And he sleeps sound every night inside
his million dollar home
He's got the archetype down just right
But he knows he is all alone

Hollywood Wyomingite,
I think your Stetson's on too tight,

That's right,
You got the Stetson on too tight,

I said
Your stupid hat's on too damn tight

So quit it...

Crawler

The ceiling sucks you in
And the rafters wrap around
     and devour
While the daylight outside
          begins to doze.
The corners of the room
Start to accuse with silent
phrases which they toss into your mouth.

          Time to walk to the next one
          Alone.
          Single minded but softly, bluntly so.
Time to dare the world to judge you
'Cause you're forgetting; "frogs will jump...
          by request or no."

Time to stumble to the next one
     Bile summoned to your throat
Doors open and inhale you
As you think about your breathing
Far too hard and carefully.

Half heard conversations start to wrap around your neck

     Time to loosen the belt
          around your waist.

You step out for some air.
They're smoking--fancy that.

Time to fall into the next one
     When you belch it tastes like soap.
The floor springs toward the ceiling
     Drop a dollar in the cuss jar,
                                potty mouth...
And cinch your hat down tighter
     Like you hope it eats your head.

Conversations yank you to the motherfucking floor
And the rafters chew you up
          and spit what's left into your hungry hat.
The corners are done with you...
...so it's time...

So I'd like to see you try and crawl home.

Yeah, I Listened

I listened when they told me--
     "None of this has consequence"
And I listened when they said
     "Son, ideals won't keep you warm."
And I listened, yeah, I listened
     to, "Just worry about your plate."

I listened well.
I listened well.

I listened well to advice
Which struck me pragmatic and sound
I heeded when they told me
     "Feet are safer on the ground"
I listened--closely listened
Seems I'm listening even now.

I listened when they told me,
     "Kiddo, miracles are dead.
It's only grass and sky and clouds and sun--
Live your days out in yoru head."

I listened then
I sit here, now.

Always depleting
Never filling

And I wonder...

I heard them when they taught me--
     Nothing matters but your lot
And listened as these lessons
Opened wounds that wouldn't clot
          within
     the bodies of all hopes
And doused the energies of
          hearts around the species

And, now, I wonder
still, inert here; leering at the wall

I wonder...
"I've listened so damn well,
     can I still wonder at all?"