The World Won't Let Me Go

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This response to Lennon's "I'm Only Sleeping" is a kind of Beat generation parody with a gamabilly sound bed. The song takes place in "the middle of a dream" where there is nothing solid, and everything is shrouded by a gelatinous fog. And I am the impersonation of the American psyche, the escapee from a tired life of drudgery at a soul sucking job, and a realization that, just as in 1966, 2006 was a vortex through which change preemptively created a new relationship with time. It is the same nearly every three or four years now. Destiny, however, does not change the same way.

The World Won’t Let Me Go

A little.wine and some weed, and a time line,
floating inside a rhythm that grooves when i’m in flow,
a different sound from a song, a poem where the groove,
the beat, and the scene welds the steel in a mind,
traps it to find the scaffolding, the web to fly.

I’m in a drunk flow feeling the breeze that blows it into
fuzz out of focus the trees, clearly at the front of my mind
but I still can’t see. I’m like a blind man lookin’ through his hands,
a madman floating out the window over land but never seeing
the grandure and the riches the birds see everyday.

I’m being sucked down vampire, money mad, ripping hungry
all the time and forever in a state of distraction,
confusion, deception, derision and neglect.
My eyes are on the floor, there’s nothing I expect anymore.

Believer in the past, in yesterday in sadness.
Love loosened by Imaginary Fingers,
who smoked out the losers and threw them
into the hungry stew of a squint eye poet;
a squealer, a car thief, who cleaned them up
and sold them as good taste to supermarket gazes.

Ah, sweet surrender!
You’re like dirt to me.
You’re the earth and I’m your tree.
Let your warm rain swell my roots.
Rinse the devil’s tooth in me.

The world won’t let me go.
The world won’t let me go.
The world won’t let me go.

Let me play in the air like a long kite tail, waving in the breeze,
dancing time away. The mingled past and present past with
harmonium clippers, shearing the fruits of loaded time
to plant as seeds what came before it, and what’s seen
as far too late for the world to celebrate it.

We dance into memory’s own shadow world,
those treasured relived moments that glow, recolor and recomment,
recorded embellishments of imagination taking you way up -
a dancing kite in the air.

The skies, the wind, the birds,
the dust, the world
won’t let me go.

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