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.