1. this is the key

that ya make me see,

to check out

from this hotel

after knockin’ on this door,

to take a trip

down a memory trail mix,

in theĀ  rhythmics

of life’s kicks.


ya got me fallin’

next to this guitar

leavin’ this song.

2. give me what ya got,

to hit this spot,

with leavin’ candles burnin’

in these rundown hotel windows

of this early mornin’

catchin’ a rainbow

cuz cuz i’m carryin’ your hangover

in the hangouts

of your whereabouts

in a pop country crush.


ya got me fallin’

next to this guitar

leavin’ this song.









hey girl –

it’s a flirtation,

in the surrender

of the s&p index,

from erie to la

on summertime decks

in the counter fits

of cornhole games,

leaving a fix

in the usual politics,

serving up ther drinks,

for a bunch of sore losers,

like an old harpster,

jamming in the strings

from a dust covered guitar,

with another send off,

in a sneak kiss,

in a long lost –

stuck in the mud-

to seize a buck,

in this shake it down,

bandit in this town.







it’s a stare-roid –

with a big wheel to steer,

into the clear.

puffs of smoke,

in shapes like a ghost –

in a believe it,

carry the light,

and be a scrappy happy –

make like grappling

the rocks from the mountains,

throughout the centuries,

clinching to pieces,

in the mix of a mason’s heart,

as if pressing the air and the rust

into preservation’s mortar,

in a get lost in a rustic song

feeling the bonds of life –

make like unification’s

become a strength of achievement.




in my board of works,

this world is going

to give bear –

a man an offer or offerings

of some bread

for sustainable living,

whether or not,

i continue to goto food pantries

in times of need.

I’d like to think

it’s a sign of strength,

rather than some better than me

thinkin they are a blank star hero

driving down the street.

radiance has a way

of showing it’s ugly face.

that’s why a metaphor

is a great thing

when I come to the food pantry

on a line by line pickup on paper,

that shows a little value –

go figure!!



it’s a hip hoppin –

wanna hit the ramps

off the charts –

in a jingle,

wanna be a single,

in this die hard world,

to stoke up the fireplace,

in a runnin be romantic –

that can well be sure

lovers will be coming here,

where old habits

of love’s burning old moon,

is a deep hot blooded –

remember we have gathered

to make the rounds

upon the stompin grounds,

in a sing along song

down a dusty road

with pop cruisin into country.