not particularly interested in truth
don’t need schooling from you
aware of the rules
yes, there’s history to be measured

but fuck all that

the biggest turn off
someone claims to know all
wants to correct at every turn
finds only fault in genuine expression

yes, fuck all that

give me a chance
find ways to speak with this new voice
explore and travel cliches if need be
of I’m lucky, I’ll never stop growing

choking on bile from out of tune banjos
the twang was a bit off
the whole parade route was tainted
running beside the float
the goat laughed and played his pipes
while hungry throngs
waited for candy to be thrown at them
a few bibles were thrown
a few daydreams were interrupted
the teacher’s red pen ran dry
a marching band from another town
played right through
forcing a pleasant dissonance

the marshall enjoyed his doughnuts
while flirting with the diner waitress
opting to ignore the parade filing by
the checkout girl at the fruit stand
watched and dreamed of riding a float
surrounded by flowers and balloons
she’d ride beyond the parade route
further than the horizon
the newspaper boy ran beside the band
dreamed of heralding a great battle
of chariots and lions

the goat tripped the boy
the band hit the wall
the balloons floated away
the banjo played on

nonsense and peppermints
cinnamon and lies
swirling flavors of deceit
turned out and put on display
hot tales burn the mouth
wringing hands don’t quench the flames
let’s douse the lies with whiskey
watch the treetops burn
it never seems to reach us
the frenzy we create
laughing at the growing fire
spitting out spicy epithets
seeing nothing but the marks left
by our own scourge