Here is a poem I wrote last summer that was meant to be a song, but I put it off. I finally got around to making a rough draft (when I probably should have been doing my taxes or fixing my ceiling) and this is it. Please excuse the bad recording, I just used the built in computer microphone and the high notes get a little loud sometimes.

Another Siren Song

She’s that fantastic person in the blue and white dress
She wears no make-up, her hair is a mess.
She’s pretty and lit.

She takes my breath and stores it in pockets,
She takes my soul and hooks it to rockets
That come in a kit.

If I could open her skin I’d find sunlight and clover,
I’d roll in her waves, over and over,
She’d drown me in azure and make me her lover.
She’d draw me a sword.

You’ll listen to her words through her limping tongue
And think of brown cows licking their young
Out past the spring.

Her muscles are wrought with fat womens’ whistles
Her knees are implanted with alien missiles.
I hear her sing…

“Come into my kitchen with your tin-kettle hat,
I will break your will with my wiffle-ball bat,
together we will sever all the muscle from the fat,
the babe from the cord.”

And slowly you’ll find your fancy yacht tipping,
Your sails from the mast, your own volition, ripping.
She slips off her perch.

Walking barefoot on the carpet, her eyes blue burning,
She’s the keeper of the zoo, the cages she’s turning,
And peeling the birch.

You’ll lose your way in the ivory wood.
You’ll forget your life was ever good.
She’ll lay before you veil and hood,
then climb aboard.