Text:
Throwing Muses In A Doghouse

baby, cry At twelve o'clock a meeting 'round the table For a seance in the dark Voices out of nowhere Put on specially by the children for a lark Cry

and collarbones gray (Frank Lloyd Wright, try to sleep under a dome under the sky) side by side down the road it's my road, once more alone as a warm

Your eyes so clear That your face goes on and on Its lasts a long, long time You could be very easy . . . The beast within Can I come to your house?

corner Run away Oh, he had a nightmare Go, I'm losing my person I'm only talking But look at me I'm in bed, I'm asleep I'm a mess, at my hair Oh,

The picture never moves My books are very still You slide to my feet You slide across the floor I, throw your head across the ice I, throw my head through a

it enough to grow old? Is there enough to go around? To have a box in my snailhead? I don't know Is there enough to grow old? Is it enough to have a

And a night Frightening dark and It was light A big tree branches and I was dancing I'm straining My broken neck and Walking fast Look at my glasses then

again Your face in paragraphs Caught in a game of hope A year, found another year A year, found another year When we sit at a table There's fire between

The kids were flying today Don't call her girlfriend, we were saying And I was locked into a frame but listening again Don't wait up for me I know what