DOMINIC'S CROSSROADS BELOW ABOVE

https://tonnan.bandcamp.com/album/dominics-crossroads-below-above

Just finished recording this.

Thanks

Dominic Francis/Walking Doctor Tonnan

1. WHERE ARE THE ALIENS?

Soon after midnight, the moon is almost at its height.

The light of the ghostly bright sun has run from sight.

It might sound trite, but you have to fight your appetite.

The incredible moon seems edible if you look at it right.

Beware, if barely awake, you might want to take a bite.

Soon after midnight, you'll be near a thousand miles away.

If you were here, I'd smile but wouldn't know what to say.

Some things are best left unsaid until you're dead, anyway.

But I want to finish my essay on the moon before I'm grey.

I'll write at night when weary but query the theory by day.

Soon after midnight, I wonder where the aliens really are.

Do they sound like thunder and is their dress bizarre?

Maybe they're on a distant moon or an earth-like star.

Suddenly, I feel a sense of awe glancing at my radar.

Then I gaze up at the sky and realise infinity's really far.

2. THE MAN AT THE DREAM INN

You can tell by the way he strolls in that he’s a man with a soul in his pants.

He walks up to the world with a wholesome grin and her girlfriends scatter like ants.

I guess profession is his depression because he hasn’t worked a day in his life.

He just loses himself in animal expression, and wastes time wishing he had a wife.

Well, I never thought you’d fall for him when you could have the cream of the crop.

I suppose in some clothes he looks slim, though I heard that his daddy is a crooked cop.

I guess I bless your right to make a mistake, but if it were me anyhow I’d leave in a breath.

Apparently he took you down by the lake, spouting about how cherishing ‘now’ is death.

I don’t feel well but jealous isn’t the word: I feel as emasculated as if I’ve lost my dick.

The idea of happiness seems so absurd like a feather that’s heavier than a brick.

I used to think you were my only muse, but now you belong in this stupid thong.

You gave me blues silence can’t diffuse, so somehow your gong got me all wrong.

Everybody’s texting, and he wants to text you.

It pulls on her sex thing, which fits into the next you.

She’s got a world of greed, and you’ve a plate of hate.

I can feed me what I need, but it’s for you whom I wait.

3. THE CURTAIN

Beauty is beautiful when it’s ugly sometimes

Bodies barter and minds commit rhymes

I got a cold angel and she ain’t even my head

My body is owed so my joints are walking

The road is forking and the toad is talking

I got an old angel but we can’t even die dead

My sole burden is the curtain

I see nothing through nothing’s eye

Something sings behind the certain

But all I hear is nothing cry

I’m afflicted by abstraction and addicted to distraction

I’m attracted to action and unrestricted by faction.

Satisfaction is slow and pride is free

I act methodically despite what they say

I make a pact with night most every day

I got nobody to know and nothing to be

I spy the old invisible moon

And her sadness steals my sleep

I hope to know her one day soon

But knowledge is not cheap

She moved like some groovy Bergman scene

I said she was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen

but I didn’t really feel the need to read the sign

Some successfully translate their mind

I just undress mine and try to be kind

I love everyone and yet I can’t stand the design

And so now I greet tomorrow

The late artist of recent years

Fate meets me in my sorrow

And I borrow both of her ears

4. A SILLY FAD

When smitten saviours committed to the mad,

then my comrade slept with the new truth a tad.

Because forever was a dream yesterday never had,

I fought both clever thoughts of good and bad.

When I read the brittle bighead on a lily pad,

then skittles slipped into the little trip a silly fad.

And as the radicals committed to the new doodad,

the embittered truth left the blues doctor sad.

5. I WARN YOU

Indifference towards the scrutiny of the other can be liberating in some respects and damaging in others.

Freedom for self-consciousness can be conducive to self-expression but when this freedom is taken to its unlimited extreme, it can result in an egoic sense of solipsism and a diminished sense of the truth of one's position of over seven billion human living individuals

This is perhaps the root of all insanity, because of the fact we're living in a modern age and we're suffering your tells! At the very same time, the concept of normality and sanity differ from society itself.

The frugal pescatarian's hips twist to the sound where the buyer tipped and now the crier slips the sentient soul trip to annul every chance I had.

The truant freelance owls growl at resounding woe as doors close and liberties moan at the phone to the captain loaned a happenstance to be sad.

I had a dance by the growling stone but the smitten high jinx of the bitten sphinx procreate with the thoughtless ink and the media pedants blink glad.

I warn you, s'bad. I scorn you, I's mad. I warn you: pawn's had.

The soul of the unlit whole rants before the lawyer's skit like a dit as I forget my signature and ignore the boars as if I didn't before the descending glove.

The unblinking ants who shatter the clatter and the matter of the pomegranates who say you're fatter than burden of the dove.

The walker with his stalking confiding bride talks to the other side & cried a while as the Gaia smile it because he lied and spied my love.

Ward you, s'bad. Bored me, I's glad. I warn you.. the pawns had...

6. BEFORE FOREST BECOMES ZOO

   
   
   
   

   Lunar compounds soon surrounded the tunes of new men,

   
   

   consuming towns of prose detailing our walk back to them,

   
   

   frail impossibility chosen by the sleepless rose yet again,

   
   

   shots forged by the newly forgotten two who grew ten.

   
   

   When your heart department hospitalised art-attack zen,

   
   

   forget that greedy heads lead wars the weedy condemn,

   
   

   but pencil dreams on the hill sent the dreams of mayhem,

   
   

   and I still love yesterday now in the same way I did then.

   
   

   Though slow growth was the oath of the slack showmen,

   
   

   unseen herds of birds sending both back to slow no gem.

   
   

   But what of shot saviours & razors who first begot them?

   
   

   Forever leaks dreams down the drain to free the hot den.

   
   
   
   

   The incredibly blurred infinity to which these inedible words came,

   
   

   once more backed the trite awe to restore the art-attack game,

   
   

   but the rain-dance restored the surety of happenstantial blame,

   
   

   borne to requite war or the brain-chains the sane blamed tame,

   
   

   warning more sheltered hearts that spelt the heart all the same,

   
   

   leaving the absurd to sell the melted words that wrote my brain.

   
   
   
   

   Levelled computers and looters grew fruity teeth,

   
   

   confusing useless mutiny with the muse of relief,

   
   

   amusing the completionist feat of bruised beef,

   
   

   resplendent heat sweetening the defeatist chief.

   
   

   Though a stoned unknown owed the lonely a bliss-home,

   
   

   it was because of the abyss that they tripped to this zone.

   
   
   
   

   Because your authorial fission warred the tour-division of the one act happening,

   
   

   more fought against wars and blessed the courted thought of a vision shambling,

   
   

   but as the boss of slow crossed himself to make a loss of the coin-toss grappling,

   
   

   then the difference you knew to know lost subsequently cost the balancing,

   
   

   grappling with the frosty moss of costly clues and the blue moon's blackening,

   
   

   but the reactionary sides forgot not the peopled trees they knew maddening,

   
   

   refined factions of skies reminding my eyes that inaction relax free travelling,

   
   

   though the surprise shined like eyes to compartmentalise hyperbole slackening.

   
   
   
   

   You dismantled the obsolete tune planted deep within the one & the thunder anew,

   
   

   wandering within a beginning granted to you obsolete and to repeat the day true.

   
   

   Your eyes revived ships & crackling tips whose gambling slipped into rambling too;

   
   

   I slipped into sleepless extremes to dream of the bliss that let forgetful me meet you.

   
   

   Though the unknown owed me a stoned blissed zone,

   
   

   don’t miss the abyss on this slow lonely tryst home!

   
   
   
   

   Whenever Forever’s differential simplicity dwelt in shelters you used to cook,

   
   

   grave-meaning saved individuality’s cave eyed inside the bride of the brook,

   
   

   beginnings hidden within surprises forbidding rising truths smitten nooks,

   
   

   as if taught by the rain where you fruitfully complained about beauty's books,

   
   

   or wrought difference learning men cooked into burning thought by hooks...

   
   

   the bold taught cold thought and brought images near:

   
   

   if you fear her judgement, then hold your grudge dear...

   
   

   There's masculine mystique that some women steer,

   
   

   surviving the sweet nudge that defeated touch's tear!

   
   

   I was lost to the herd like the seen forestation of elaboration,

   
   

   duly freaked by a scandal clean of that dreaming imagination,

   
   

   but I was corrupted by the thoughts that bought more frustration,

   
   

   mindlessness entering into me to remind me to be kind and true,

   
   

   perplexed by extra-time that resigned me to the confines they knew.

   
   

   The clever dandelion thought that he was freed of needy forevers,

   
   

   so they feed her herculean lines that superseded all weedy tethers,

   
   

   needy-wine-song feeding the speedy-fine-wrong to seedy weathers,

   
   

   thinking sounds drinking coffee-rounds to pleadingly sever whatever,

   
   

   but you embossed the lost coin toss to shot seeds of being together,

   
   

   cost by the frosty losses of the bosses’ oddly libidinous treasure.

   
   
   
   

   Though the unknown owed me this bliss stoned,

   
   

   it wasn’t a lonely trip to the kiss that you loaned,

   
   

   so forgive the living heart’s growing attuned,

   
   

   due to the true baloney of every poet mooned…

   
   
   
   

   … so her scarlet slow fingernails slowly grow to know high heart,

   
   

   hopeful embraces chasing avenues misplaced by her sky art,

   
   

   so the homegrown mountain petals know why I play my part

   
   

   for your wars fought the saviour erased by the day’s sly smart.

   
   
   
   

   Halfway to twenty-seven, there’s a gate and a door.

   
   

   You breathe a little breath and wonder why even more.

   
   

   A committal death could let you forget all your war.

   
   

   But halfway to empty heaven, your soul starts to soar.

   
   

   On level where I revel, happiness does not come cheap.

   
   

   You keep all you’re meant to in a transcendent leap.

   
   

   You feel so blue or so happy you could almost weep.

   
   

   On level where I revel, the ghosts wake up from sleep.

   
   

   Halfway to Devon, I forgot everyone’s name.

   
   

   I realised that we are not all fun and the same.

   
   

   I finally knew for true what my wonder became.

   
   

   Halfway to Devon, I learned that life is no game.

   
   

   Halfway to heaven, you realise hell couldn’t be a kiss.

   
   

   Halfway to heaven, you shan’t feel any specific bliss.

   
   

   Halfway to heaven, you can’t afford deals with the abyss.

   
   

   Halfway thru that night, old feeling warred this tryst.

   
   

   Her dead-line led mine here to dread the fed rhyme,

   
   

   but your heart nearly resigned in time to wed mine,

   
   

   reminding mankind of the deadening rhyme’s rewind.

   
   

   I don’t know if I lost faith in the cost of dynasty right there,

   
   

   but the recent revelations show that the boss might care,

   
   

   an early graceless prayer there by the grave nightmare,

   
   

   as if to save every relevant word to requite right there

   
   

   though amen was the only real word to requite prayer.

   
   

   Me? I wasn’t looking to cook something terribly specific,

   
   

   water buffering daughtered mares only to feel critically hit,

   
   

   daring to drive the epiphanies who superpowered it,

   
   

   admitting that the truth towered over problems like this.