The Wanting

Darling please believe me
I have tried to understand
What was or what wasn’t
What I could demand
I touch of tenderness
An opening of hearts
The light behind the shadows
A brand new start
But I have got to know
Can you tell me please?
Have you ever been the fool
Down on your knees just like me?
Talk to me talk to me
Fill me with your words
And I’ll forgive your hunger
If you’ll relieve my thirst
But I have got to know
Can you tell me please?
Have you ever been the fool
Down on your knees just like me?

****(written by J. Schaerer)

*****performed by A. Schaerer and penandprism

The Wanting – Full Song

The Wanting – Long Version



I watch the wheel in your hand as we drive north
Dust in the air, your chest straight and high
How’d you come to be 80 miles from Valdosta?
I am sitting here, and we are nowhere
The martyrs are never there until they’re gone
I think as your hair unravels in the air
Was it ripped, or natural
40 miles to Valdosta
The car is moving but I can’t see you there
You’re always going and they’re never coming
Two score 10 and 4 heart beat beat drumming
Drawn and quartered for the last time
Suzanne, break free and start running

Suzanne – Full Song

Candy Colored Horse

Inverted candy colored horse
Bareback rider
Twisted flame hooves
Mastering the battery
Trotting of the cavalry
Baby didn’t come today so mommy is a beauty queen
Her chariot is never spent
Because she loves the shit
She loves the rush, the obtuse spine
“For $12.99 I called you mine”
Get back on the saddle?
Hit the light before you go
Bleeding heart, bloody show
Plastic never moved too slow
Aloneness never hurt so good

Candy Colored Horse – Full Song


There’s a fire screaming through the trees,

I watched her grow from a small flame to,

A raging beauty,

Against the frost of a damp southern morning,

Scaling the prison bars of these grounded things,

Leave them behind,

She transcends and there she lies,

Naked, burning in the sky.

Two Hands

Still life in grayscale

Handheld –

Walking through the threshold of a future memory

Reaching –

Your world slipped away

And fell on me

End Over End

Black crosses cross’d the white linens of the unlit master


In a pastel four bedroom house on a picket fence-lined street.

Sundays shrink to Mondays and the black turns to grey and then

Grey to white and then nightfall and indistinction. And then


A boy and girl approach and a hand at the doorknob is drawn sharply back

As a glass of white zinfandel tumbles

End over end.

The dog has no conception but he scratches at the door,

Sniffing at his intuition.

Tastier than the used feminine pads in the beach themed shared bathroom across the

Hardwood –

More savory than the stained boxers in the boy’s dirty clothes hamper.

When they come home early they find Daddy in front of the computer,


And when they come home late they find an elephant cooking dinner,

But hands away.

Prettier High

I’m prettier when I’m high.

A teaser to a movie everyone has already seen.

Or rose color cloud dreams.

Or maybe it’s the truth –

Beauty is truth, truth is beauty,

Read it in a book – Somewhere,

Before anyone found me,

We look eye to eye in the bathroom,


Me –

Before I had a body,

That was abused by times,

That we’re possessed by autonomy.

They were never mine.

Talking without speaking –


With the ghost in the Machine.

She said I am no automaton.

Behold! Me! Purity.

I don’t know.

It’s the weed.


Oh apothecary, 

Thy drugs are quick,

Pour the honey on,

My Chelsea grin to fix,

Awaken me to the lark and,

Hearken the song –

Warmth from beneath the once hollow lungs –

Bodies move as waves of light,

Blood turns to liquid sugar,

Betwixt the sun and moon,

I watch me watch me,

Watch she watch she,

Oh apothecary,

Hellfire could not destroy the beauty so –

I hold her hand and sing,

“Yea! I am faithful to thee,”

As the decibels roll through.


Macrophages filled with ink.

They say that science tends to destroy the beauty

But maintained is the


young blood

immortalization of a moment.

And how nice.

They are the prettiest scars I could have

In an era when self-flagellation is so passe

When the moon cycles through

Through the sicknesses of the seasons

And the bad humor fills me up

And like a consumptive maiden

Iā€™m begging to be bled