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Michael McGuire
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The Dreamer's Landlord
She's sweeping out the dust that has collected,
In all the sleepy eyes of the morning's apathy, Every TV; every mirror has been infected,
With a blindness only first born sons can see, Something has been forgotten and is nagging, Like a sock turned under at the toe,
Like the history of dreams we've been dragging, It's just something you're sure you ought to know.
Meanwhile nothing at all is happening anywhere else,
Though your convinced that it is,
We just never know what to do with ourselves, The focus of the camera's blush; that's show biz.
Smaller than a gnat; this caretaker of dreams,
Ah but the world is a gnat; hung in Heaven's hide, Only the void of Virgo is what it seems,
One drop of water lost in the moon fed tide,
Over in the building where the landlord's lover lives,
There's a woman on her back in a pool; swimming meltdowns,
She's got the kind of blue only the makeup artist gives,
She and her dildo are busy breeding ghost towns.
The tongue of the satellite stutters in revelation, Our hero's gut digests the Beetle bones,
And desire mixes with faith to brew desperation, Dead and dying gods; prayers and karmic loans.
With deadpan significance the night chews up another day,
Until time is all that's left of the meaning,
The landlord gives you two choices; move or pay, And every building he owns is leaning,
He gets his clothes from the butcher's tailor,
Gets most of his best sex from his girlfriend's mother,
He's got the heart of a prisoner and the soul of a jailer,
Behind your back he's your ex-wife; to your face he's your brother.
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There are eleven people moving with the eye of the hurricane,
Where the weather is like the hungry stomach of a lamb.
And you have to water your thirst with a fistful of rain,
But you'd have to give everything you have; just to give a damn.
The sun gives shape to the same old new world everyday,
That's the landlord's deceit; he just rents the light, But the caretaker; she knows the wingless way, And how to separate the yoke of day from the egg of night,
Something other than the what could be is turning her vision,
There goes the landlord's lover; she hates that bitch,
Who moves like a piston while she drags her indecision,
Across the aching heap of Virgo and the butcher's ditch.
Black and white dreamers are being hauled into labor camps,
It's hard to find a reason to live that won't kill you, The landlord's lover; she dreams false labor cramps,
Owe the price of nothing and she will bill you.
Inside some mind's eye in need of a lens,
The landlord is constructing gods and revising sins,
Incognito seasons build upon the arrogance of his causality,
And elevates this pulp fiction to high tragedy, But the caretaker she continues; all on a beggar's wages,
She is always crushing grapes and building stages,
And the blue lady she wants to take the landlord's lover's place,
But it will never happen because she's got a mirror for a face,
The landlord he doesn't believe in the butcher's charity,
Just the blindness of the dreamer's clarity.
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