"Land Your Machine"

Our houses become a prison…somehow paid
with odd requests – cheerful strings not in store
this is the dawn of true danger – mind games
on mushroom gear and drums, selling ourselves to Muzak
tailored governments…accepting foreign gods
and leaders…nickels on the motordrome…
slob beauty – bumblebee bubble
sun-energized workbench, ribs and powder
young clapping night

Our houses become a prison…god rope girl, floating
fork, the prize and questioned direction – desert out
on gaudy trains, fantastic nipples, frosty vitamins
of youth – alive orbital thing – solid fence airplane
in safe gyrations, American symbol – asteroids mixed
with books, funk prophet wad
obsolete minutes lost in heartbeat, exploring your
ocean… yeah, I could… kiss… you

Our houses become a prison…happening arms
blow jobs – examine recent years, your tingling shirt lifts
illusion, practical, then alone
possible spare parts
mildly protesting own mouths
grounded against the building
gravity slaves
it’s usually Earth, man…
land your machine