*Catching Up With Time*

There's a box full of infamous algorhythms in the middle of a room that stars in a low-budget indie-film
I've given it a lead role in my new novel about life and death: the voodoo effigy
It'll be locked, for sure, and you'll need the key in the skeleton
She'll give it to you willingly, Pandora is her name, she's immaculately arrid and brittle
I climbed an old weeping willow from the top ddown to give her a piece of cake: she gets very hungry waiting inside her closet

There's a phongraph blasting the nostalgic anthems of the past in a jingoistic sauna of heat and beating drums
Maybe it would be better if I left this schene alone
But I can't help myself but to be elegantly cynical
The scratch in the rekkid makes the same trembling line perpetually repeating
But I said I'd leave it alone so I guess that's what I've done

There is a metaphysical twig motionless as wood in the middle of a hardwood floor in a Victorian log cabin somewhere
And now it's dancing like the MExican jumping beans I saw thrashing inside their plastic prisons at the convenience maaket
Something's disturbed it's Feng Shwe or the cosmic balance that holds the twig exactly at the only logical spot on the floor for it to be
Perhaps it's an omen that tells me not to follow the path I'm hacking out with my machete in the hobo jungle paradise
Maybe it means I'm too far gone and there's no turning back
Or maybe my arms are finally behind my back and my eyes are finally blindfolded with black cloth and the pigs of some colvoluted mind's regime are finally raising their guns and aiming between my eyes