Pieces Andrew Babian Spring Break 1984 words are shattered pieces of glass from the window to the soul Pieces page 2 morning of february 15,1984 the unhindered rose climbs higher to the blue and does not see visions of booby-trapped refrigerators (I forget the title) where is the grassy lawn I fell asleep on? it's in my head as i lie dead february 22, 1984 crossing the road alone i look both ways and see still pictures, stroke and counter-stroke until both lie down february 26, 1984 i've walked far along the road in my dazed dislocation i wonder if i will ever wake up march 1, 1984 the sun sends down millions of colored sparks, an army of angels to lift up the dust Pieces page 3 march 5, 1984 the truth of death shall set you free from the pain of the need to be march 5,1984, apoc. 1 i remember the other times when things were O.K. i wait for him to take me back. he says that i prefer where i am. march 5, 1984 apoc. 2 i think of myself, a potential friend, an axe-wielder with honest muscles, an industrial robot wearing out a false face, one who sees strokes not his own, a witness to entropy -- scattering dust -- emotions walking barefoot on a glassy road, a ghost in a machine. march 5, 1984, apoc. 3 the blue funk climbs out of the deep blue and cries "surrender yourself" Pieces page 4 march 5, 1984, apoc. 4 to be happy is nice. i'm working on it with a mind that sees red flowers in a desert of blue sand march 5, 1984, apoc. 5 i should crawl out of the bomb shelter into the sun, but the dust and the robots are waiting march 8, 1984 locked inside with the keys i need more red march 9, 1984, apoc. 6 if i stretch my neck i can see faces laughing at the dwarf. pieces 2 page 5 I reach out and You cut off my hand. I smile because it no longer hurts. I'm cool, you're cool-- know death and smile. Time drives his porsche in the left lane. fasten your seat belts we're going places some blackboard fingernails scraping the inside of my skull trying to get out. I think, therefore my brain will explode and sprout red, blue, and purple dandelions from Ignorance and Nirvana and William Jennings Bryan. Sun and wind both blow kisses though. Shades and slouch couches: humans don't have disk drives. With reality at our back and a good star to steer by, we sail out of port toward France or Greece or the Orient. (Who can say why the wind blows and be heard and thanked?) A submarine races around our clipper, boards us, and takes us off. pieces 2 page 6 Step, step up and jump; feet turn to balls and the walls say "please begin." Lie back and run while the pain increases to a gentle crescendo and the clock keeps ticking. Blood runs and follows the sun to the ends of the earth but slips through a hole and forgets where it came from. The pressure increases and the sword point on your skull cuts through and sticks into the dirt but you say it's not so bad. The edges of the flat earth curl up and the sands run out. "HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME" pieces 2 page 7 D-Day, forty years live green babies dancing to heart-beaten drum beats climbing owver walls and target practice shooting Salt water from overboard and undershirt shaking ship 'em out the hun is wating French coast kissed licked by waves and blood and boots breathe lead mercenaries from the angel of God The second and eternal War again sees turn and couterturn and step lively now lads for today we die. red, 4.50 and 8.50 at a florist's thunder-back and rumbling rolling stones and rock not jingling jade Lao-tzu has walked past and rides the ox he found to someone else's mountain Omens are the two flat tires and immortal gnat, but not one-hundred foot tall Please scratch my back so that the thunder will echo and the blue rain will fall. Smile, it could be brown Feb '88 semi-lyric offerings una brushing green, blows a' the early riser dark tangles, folding back, dream good mourning, present join the race but pause, turn blink for una dua Eyes, mirror above, view this His play, tripping leaves fly the current fill the pool with life jump the fence, and walk on down. the moons shine tera hopscotch licorice, blurs the quaint periodic taxi cab ride. the little one pretends to dig tunnels from heart to heart Follow one down to the healing waters where spirits lay quadora i adore you life that none should take you slowly, filling each time with now no breath to catch the wonder of the moment. please hear the sounds against the ground quinida faster, drum drum drum don't slip too soon your grip on the tree branch red again but not enough to sway the blue sky with winds doing 50 it must be done sexa The roar, it flies as the white grass timid dances septema listen. the world passes contented we sit fingers wait to touch spirit. the right way is onward, listen. the world passes. ocata magic, seeing this, nowhere to go sparkling power bounces, wings starlight holds us up to return our polished shine. apoc 2, revisited I think of myself, again a grunge-rat, hungry philosopher-poet, made in minds power seeker with tree friends, spaceman crazy dog o'war helper anarchist joyous bum speaker to the CPU ascetic mystery es banana tor quin shi'r el 'ral nith lem and net dawn drive down push sounds by e pleb nista scree nag nee, nog nee on cha se nefar mon cascade falalling bluebles ant were down the river partly cloudy sailing a piece of mind snake biting tale the wild wind is a mist touching you pulling you endlessly into the misty flicker never find a more wre.. p. 97 my friend doesn't like you flops and blue people the force, hanging around in bars sitting plop sit water whoosh A person committed assault A cop screamed at him "Halt!" They sent him to jail he got out on bail But he said that it wasn't his fault the mystery nothingness such pettiness in anger I walk this rock with no things I am a wall waiting people pass by the sun shines sometimes its wet it's too late not anger, hate the angel flies friends remember hatred the wind blows this the blue angel words words, like don't eye no ewe, rock or star? blow 'knows? I find her I approach her I fall in love We talk She learns who I am She leaves me alone I don't let go I drift, in love. Lonely useless wasted hopeless, love mad strings Jimi was born... but he don't live today June 10, 1984 Timeless mystic hopelessness success is impossible Kobiashi-Maru and enterprise is again gone to be alone means to get no help thus can we be islands, wanderers in the desert, The Waste-Land, dry sand the distance is again constructed piece-reality peace is stillness and not moving, not searching let her live long and prosper.