Friday, November 5, 2010

Reincarnation Instant Breakdown

“Dearly beloved,

We wish to welcome back the recently deceased, divested and sifted through ashes and dust. Please squeeze this squirming mass of reignited dendrite-subways into freshly rotten robes.

Now the Spark barrels down the black-lit mindshafts, the thoughts amazed to find themselves home. They hang their hats in disbelief, and breathe in the musty odors of familiar life.

The moment is upon us. He is nearly born.

It is time. Let us praise him:

May his door never be darkened by the shadow of a stranger. May his thoughts never be troubled by the death that came before. May life keep him or reject him, and hold him far away from the truth.


copyright 08/08/09 Jeremy David Kaufman

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Madness In Your Eyes

You don't have to slumber when you sleep
You don't have to drown beneath the deep
If you wake up and you're all alone
And daylight's turned your dreams to stone
Then dream about the madness in your eyes

You don't have to break down when you cry
You don't have to give it one more try
If crooked love tore your life apart
And all it left you is a broken heart
You can learn to love the madness in your eyes

You don't have to worry when you're old
You don't have to lie in a box of gold
If the years have come and gone
And there's nothing left but you're still hanging on
Hold on to the madness in your eyes

copyright 08/2010 Jeremy David Kaufman slumberbird music

Wednesday, June 10, 2009


The city folds in on itself,
pouncing on switchblade sunsets
with eager twitching and nervous hands.

Alleys race under fire escapes;
laundry writhing on backyard wires
like fish in salty buckets.

Each square of sidewalk rolls past dusty shoes
of winos and barflies.
Some squares are baptized
by chalk drawings of children;
others marred with dried blood and gum-blisters.

Somewhere the sounds of a funk bass
are dancing under dim lights and cigarette smoke.

With coat flung over shoulder,
a local girl flirts with stranger under disco ball mistletoe.
Curly black hair is plowed by her hand.
She giggles and probes at biceps and past,
but his smile fails to alarm her.

She hears only the drums
bending the night
into rivers of sound and silence.

5/11/95 Jeremy David Kaufman

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Born Insane

Sometimes the people you love they are loyal and true
And sometimes they're waiting to bury the dagger in you

But it all comes down in the end
Enemies lovers and friends
The strangers you meet on the street
And the house you were born insane

Sometimes the things that surround you are shiny and new
And sometimes you worry your things are more happy than you

But it all comes down in the end
Fashion and phases and trends
The gossip you buy that will help you deny
You were born insane

It doesn't matter what you think you know
Or what they told you on the radio
When you go, you gotta go alone
That's all we know about the Great Unknown

Sometimes the things you believe in turn out to be true
And sometimes it's just make believe and the joke is on you

But it all comes down in the end
Jerusalem, Mecca, Stonehenge
The pyramid's tall but it's still gonna fall
We are born insane.

2007 copyright Jeremy David Kaufman, slumberbird music


Night and Day
It's always been this way
When one is done
Another has begun
But soon you'll see
The only thing you'll be
Is just another memory
That no one can recall

And it's one last shove of the gravedigger's shovel
One last turn of the screw
One last plea to the hanging tree
But the branch won't break for you

And it's one for the road and one for the bottle
One last honk of the horn
One last squeal from behind the wheel
And you might as well have never been born

Work and Play
It's always been this way
When you have fun
There's work that must be done
But soon you'll find
The life you leave behind
Is nothing rare or precious
Just a moment lost in time

And it's one last shove of the gravedigger's shovel
One last turn of the screw
One last plea to the hanging tree
But the branch won't break for you

And it's one last glance at the face of the doctor
One last chance to know why
One last twitch of your cerebellum
Bleeding out of your third eye.

And you know nothing lives forever
And there's nothing you can do
Everyone you've ever loved
Will disappear from view

But you're no different when you're sleeping in the dirt
You'll be trading in your trousers for a wooden shirt

And it's one last shove of the gravedigger's shovel
One last turn of the screw
One last plea to the hanging tree
But the branch won't break for you

And it's one last push of the big red button
One last flash in the sky
One last scream when it's not a dream
As we blow the world a kiss goodbye

2004 copyright Jeremy David Kaufman, Slumberbird Music

Let Me Sleep

Yesterday was good to me,
But then I broke her heart.
We tried to stay together,
But I always come apart.

And I know that I've done wrong,
But there's time to set it right -
Lord, let me sleep tonight.

Today withdrew the dagger,
But there's still a gaping hole.
Now my blood is full of poison,
But I'm empty in my soul;

So I smile like the future,
But inside I'm so uptight.
Lord, let me sleep tonight.

Let me stagger in the beauty
Of a night so vast and deep.
Let me stumble through the city streets
When all the world's asleep.

Let me linger at the window
Of a dream I loved before...
Once again I'm dragged from slumberland,
Awake and out the door.

Tomorrow tears her bitter rags
Of guilt and shame and tears.
I would say it's all in fun
But I've been wearing them for years;

And I know I've walked in shadow,
But I'm reaching for the light.
Lord, let me sleep tonight,

Lord, let me sleep tonight.

08/28/05 copyright Jeremy David Kaufman, Slumberbird Music


It’s strange, isn't it?

Sitting with a pad and pen,
Finding you have nothing to say?

A lifetime of memories, a treasure chest
Of untapped emotion, a perfectly active imagination,
And yet, nothing.

The sword is finally pulled from the scabbard.
No target in sight.

It is inconceivable that writer’s block
Would ever happen to anyone.

Okay, so no pretty prose.
You’ll never carve a single passage of true poetry.
But do you not have something to say, anything at all?

It is not so simple.
Writing is an act of divination.
You feel the joy of relief,
Or it’s still in there, thrashing around and breaking the furniture.

What do you want to say?
Tell the world a story?
Reveal the divine in our comic and trivial endeavors?
Go for the big revelation,
The "what’s it all about?”

And how do you plan to do any of that with words?

There will be no lotus sutra -
No sequence of words I can string together
Will open up your mind,
Like a prisoner set free at last.

They are just words.
They may become a toy that no one plays with
Or the rope that hangs me.

Ha! Losing sleep over writer’s block!
Are misery and exhaustion their own rewards?
Invaluable slumber bartered for blank page or a blinding screen.

All I have to show
Are these clues you use to track me down.

These pages contain hints and traces:
Smoke from extinguished campfires - butts in the ashtray - footprints in the snow.

Read, and you’ll know where I’ve been.
You already know where I’m headed.

I will meet you
At the exact moment late at night
Before you realize that it’s morning,
Or when you stare at the stars
And receive only silence.


Through the vast reaches of blackest space, 
Can you hear me? 

From the first gasp to the final sigh, you’ve been with me all this time. 

Please don’t leave me with nothing to tell you. 
I’ve waded through the centuries to do this, to write these very words!

it’s me my dear / again / like i’ve always done / a simple thank-you letter / nothing more.