it is the belief
that reclusion can be a good thing,
which can fuse
a highly original experience.
in the reflective,
little did i know,
i was looking outward.
inwardly strides toward better times.
to the spirit of the gods,
in patience a masterful fate,
to be thankful for everything
in the strongly nourished
sometimes i can be so distant
that sensitive delicate matters
keep pouring through my mind –
in a just knowing
that it can leave me
completely out of wack.
then i have to understand
it becomes a niche group
to pull me up,
despite all the baggage
that comes with it.
it’s a personalization
when feelings seem like major flaws.
things are never as they appear to be,
then i read between the lines
and hope it doesn’t leave me
to exhausted from my thoughts.
it can be difficult to show love
when overthinking it time after time.
would it suffice to say
that it just needs a lot of work,
and just let it hang in imagination
to get through a little loneliness
in some other long term objective.
i was always working steady,
but it left an ugly mark.
it was vicious –
trouble from the start,
so ya could say –
this is where i found my compass,
and all of my writing charts.
time after time,
i worked it as a slave –
cuz at that time –
it was slave meeting slave.
it’s how i found art,
and wish i saw it coming,
long before saddling up on a forklift.
it can be quite the prison,
to find out what a soul
really means to undying sparks
to find out what a soul really means
when not engaged in the right place.
so i’m enjoying my new ride –
meaning the writing ride,
even if it means
to sing like a meadowlark.
so i guess it’s all that matters,
even if the mist of summer kisses are denied,
as i hold out a hand
lookin for a little trouble.
it’s that little twist
of a swan song that makes life
like a long lost beggar.
who say i can’t blend things
on mutual fronts
in what happens to the heart
this shabby career,
is of so little importance,
and now there is no other.
so urgent
where hunger rests,
and strengthened by the rise
of my predicament.
i’m not the one to say
don’t listen to me,
for god knows my circumstances.
it is the truth,
the very truth,
from the place where it all began.
it really does matter,
when twisted by an appetite –
in a no time to waste
under the influence
poor me.
a poem in lackluster thought,
in a held out from the show.
pour me another shot.
it is here that i used to keep
a full picture of her,
for i cannot avoid.
don’t wanna break no window,
but it ain’t too late to start.
just an ordinary guy
with a bunch of problems.
but here i am
seeing the book of love,
in that it just ends everywhere,
though every atom
of my heart,
i spread forever,
in like there was no other,
cuz i’m just a second rater
in the down and out,
of this little truth moment
in a bluesy alert.
i’m not sure
if this is a poem,
but i’m gathering
up the splinters
of a smashed guitar
to see where it takes me.
but i want to leave it alone,
cuz it’s a different side.
the claim of not being heard,
echoes in the valley,
where the thrust of the sun
hunkers in this milky town.
there are things to obey,
but i want another margarita,
and stop writing everything down,
because it’s an uncommon problem.
i guess it makes a prayer damn worthy –
i’ll write when it’s over.
i had to get crazy
to think like a million dollar business
to fill hip pockets.
engineers drink brews
as well as pipe fitters.
here i am
sipping on a brew,
and bringing on a starlit crew,
leaving a splash
on blue lines
leaving the smoke,
where white is a lantern
in the summer winds,
where money is stacked
in bank vaults.
it’s just a dream
where rainbows consider rainbows,
and crazy gets crazy.
the word is contagious
and the angels tell me again
i ain’t had much loving,
where the gates of commitment
gather up the brokenness.
it’s not because i’m old,
but i’m slowing down the tune,
where there may be wine and roses,
at least for a little while.
the games of luck,
some call fate,
where words of words
written on my heart
become sensual illusions.
my flesh undone
looking for traces and hints
in the money run
with my fingerprints.
i didn’t know ya,
and ya didn’t know me.
for what i felt
on a beautiful day,
i put my hand across my mouth.
but something hit my brain,
and didn’t shut me down.
a flush of sugar
in the belief of a believer.
in a heaven forbid
not to go any deeper.
but i wonder if ya
will let me shine through
with an arousal taste
of a sweet distraction
in the temple of pleasure,
as if luck was all we had.
i’ve lived life
like it never mattered.
i kept ya at a distance.
where i haven’t mastered anything,
except for the punishment of sex.
it’s just the way it goes,
but yet the bridge
in the book of love
brings a breakdown
through these fingers,
in a hit and run,
where every atom of my heart,
sometimes parts through these lips.
but yet i cannot hide
in the moods
that i’m trying to finish
with a little truth.
