Bow Down

Bow Down

Now for the bow-down appeal
Gotcha me in her tracks
Soundtrack music starts its ahumming
I’m like a piece of uplifted bread
Feeling yeasts of growing transcendence
As the rebellious sense of what she’s doing kicks in
And I don’t know what else to decide
But we can wait around for the pizza delivery
Or the scolding schoolteacher with the wavering finger
And all cares of the world fly away
As if I’m a pigeon loyal to a something-or-other
And I never thought her grip would stay devoted
But such is the information I receive
When letting another take control

Freak Parade

Freak Parade

Rose Bowl time with flashy glitzy English smiles
On the freak parade with cameramen hidden
Ready to take a most embarrassing picture
As she enjoys this ha ha moment
Securing her victim like an overzealous octopus
Using a flesh-based lock and key
But her makeup is perfect for a front cover
Soon we shall be in the tabloids
While I yearn again to rub my face on the carpet
To match my mood of sour-lemon Renaissance
Shouting experimental phrases all a-gaga
But she keeps grooving in synchronization
Prolonging my deconstruction by holding me together
An artist in need of a warden
No one chooses my side of the story
Her career is intact for all the talk shows
I wish I was neurotic enough to scream
So I could pretend not to enjoy the festivities

Grabby Grabby

Grabby Grabby

Women just take what they want nowadays
With no thought to the oblivious pursuee
She takes my hand all grabby grabby whatever
Talking about a zig-zag of subjects
While I stand in a surreal daze
Unprepared for any workable strategy for escape
All because of some sort of unavoidable attraction
Of what seems good when passing each other by
But turning into shock value during confrontation
I want to get back to my abode
So I can hide behind my books and music
As my hair stands in chaotic surprise
Ready to dance a mock-Charleston
I keep telling her a polite goodbye
But further chapters are yet to come

Her How's It Goin'

Her How’s It Goin’

Surprise comes in the hallway
As my neighbor gives her how’s it goin’
With her hand waiting insistively
Giving a message of its own
I’m still in a daze from all that television
All I need is coffee and a face slap
So I can face the world of people
But she does not seem to care
And is not about to go away
So I am faced with a decision
As I stare at her sexy T-shirt and shorts
Paint-splattered for that sugar-frosting trash-glamour appeal
Like a punk rocker on a good-bad day
I’m clouded with visions of motorcycle mayhem
And piano saloons of the wild west
Her attitude is coming at the right-wrong moment
And all I can do is act numb