Mood:  caffeinated

My fingers are made of strings, my friends

and so are yours. The tick tock of that clock

just might be controlled by the timing of the rhythm of my fingers.

My fingers are made of strings and they push and pull and 

manipulate agitate cogitate and amputate

the way you see hear taste feel understand me

My fingers are made of strings that push and pull

and you can feel the movement of a soul or three on the waters

in the skies over me below you

because in the moments where it counts there are no truths or lies

only the things that are

and my fingers are made of strings

I can't undo my own knots with my fingers

the strings won't undo themselves and before I know it

I'm William Shakespeare and I'm all tangled up

in a web of lies and fear and honesty

and it's all because of these damn string fing ers

that just won't untie themselves.

See, my fingers are made of strings, my friends and so are yours

because the zenith star above won't come crashing down

on its own. You have to pull it down hard

onto buildings and trees and you and me

to cover the mistakes and burn the tangled mess

and start over again 

with these damn fingers that are made of fucking string

cat's cradle games aren't written down

they are stored in memory just like this poem 

Maybe someday the string fingers will stretch out over the 

cosmos and forgive all my mistakes.