24 Apr 2008

magic fader

once i conjured synesthetic braille
i didn’t have to try very hard
colors were tasty, contours loved me
vonnegut hated me
then i drank a bottle of glenfiddich
and had the best drunk of my life
a literate drunk alone
posting poetry and replies
spinning, nauseous to a
spiritual hangover
when penance didn’t hurt

now it’s different
now there’s more channels
and most of them don’t work
but i keep my finger on the magic fader

stay to the left
and you’ll get through the maze

i love my magic fader
i love my magic fader
it is my favourite fader
because it’s magic

there is no magic anywhere
except the fader
that’s why i keep my finger
on the magic fader

i got a magic fader
smells like a magic marker
it is a lucky charm
it only works on me

i wish it worked on you

i love my magic fader
i love my magic fader
it is a lucky charm
it keeps my fingers busy

this is how we do it on creek street
this is how we like it on creek street
it used to be like this on stanley street
but they moved on to bigger and better things
and he gave the lease to somebody else
some earthbound family, not the cosmic family
and i would invite fast friends from the rotwood porch
into my corner to play with the magic fader
it was not my fader, it was our fader, we’d have magic parties
that would fade, but there was a picture of a mixing board
on the fridge to remind us of the magic fader
that might have some earthly avatar
in a studio temple in the mountains
across the lake

stay to the right
and you’ll get through the night

i got a welfare cosmos
i got a welfare co-ah-ah-ah-ah-os-mos
pharm-fresh filling up the cavity
we'll call absence substance tonight

kootenay snow in the sinuses
state boundaries make good riddles
empty heads make good rattles
good nexus makes a good nexus

i got a welfare cosmos
i got a good deal
take it with a grain of salt
and a gram of soma

this is how we do it on creek street
this is creek street welfare
galactic information warfare (sic)
every good boy deserves fentanyl


~~~


i’ve got nothing to say
the pungent lines i wrote two houses ago
have gone rancid, cerebro spinal fluid, perishable
but i have the gall to make them look poetic
tomorrow i’ll weave them into a fugue
for geese and clouds

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