While I was still a child, I chained the beast in me
to a shooting star who had a mind of it's own.
This is the reason why I am pulled in every which way
but the direction I am vainly stuborned to go.
My adversary has magical powers stolen from me while
I wept for a dying sea which once flowed through me.
Thieves don't scare me, but I do fear the beast in me
should he run free. I will be forced to follow my heart.
My heart, I've heard, Iím told, I fear, is simpler than
a dunce such as I can imagine.
Only idiots gamble with the same simpleton they sleep with.
Or drunks! It scares me to think I could lose control over the power
to manifest what I believe to be my brilliant destiny.
So, why even try? A pickled fickle heart never fathered a brilliant destiny.
Thatís why! Itís horrible, it's absolutely horrible
and spiritually paralyzing to think I might serendipitously
end up growing lilacs and roses on the white cliffs of Dover.
Perhaps kiss Kismet and end up making rice cakes
spread with fresh ruby marmalade and black pearl jam
on the island of Morea as I slowly suffocate on beautyís depth,
myself my only partner in crime, licking ruby and pearl stealing guavas and time.
I could easily find myself marooned on a Greek Island
knee deep in passionate love with the love of my life
singing lullabies to falling stars all night long,
then spending each day planting olive trees for tomorrow's child.
Once, every so often, I'd overhear village people refer to me in whisper,
"that's the crazy man who sings to the olive trees of Hercules."
August 21, 2006