dancing choose

he's a WHAT? he's a WHAT?
he's a newspaper man
and he gets his best ideas
from a newspaper stand;
from his boots to his pants
to his comments and his rants,
he knows that any little article will do!

though he expresses some confusion
bout his part in the plan,
and he can't understand
that he's not in command;
the decisions underwritten
by the cash in his hand
bought a sweater for
his weimariner too.

now i'm no mad man,
but that's insanity
feast before famine,
and more before family
goes and shows up with
more bowls and more
cups and the riot for the
last hot meal erupts
corrupts his hard drive
through the leanest months
shells out the hard cash
for the sickest stunts;
on aftershave, on gasoline
he flips the page and turns
the scene.

in my mind i'm drowning butterflies
broken dreams and alibis;
that's fine.
i've seen my palette blown
to monochrome –
hollow heart
clicks hollowtone,
it's time.

eye on authority,
thumb prints a forgery
boy, ain't it crazy what the
lights can do
for counterfeit community;
every opportunity
wasted as the space
between the flash tattoo

and the half-hearted hologram,
posed for the party
now he gloss full bleed
on a deaf dumb tree
cod liver dollar signs,
credit card autograph
down for the record
but not for freedom.

angry young mannequin,
American, apparently,
still to the rhythm
better get to the back of me
can't stand the vision,
better tongue the anatomy
gold plated overhead,
blank transparency
in the days of old,
you were a nut
now you need three bumps
before you cut
not that i should care about
nothing i ain't scared of, but
i guess you had
to
be
there.

in my mind i'm breeding butterflies,
broken dreams, and alibis
that's fine.
i've seen my palette blown
to monochrome –
hollow heart
clicks hollowtone
in time.

i see you figured in your action pose
foam-injected axl rose,
life size,
should something shake you
and you drop the news,
lord, just keep your dancing shoes
off mine.

- TV on the Radio, "Dancing Choose"

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