1/2/11

For You and Little Boy Blue

Riding that same old train
500 miles of twisted track
Those familiar station stops
Where your name is on every sign

I can taste the rum on my lips
The scotch and the vodka too
Those simple sweet poisons
That get me through the day
The week
The month

The pills I take
The drinks I make
For addiction's sake
And for you

And little boy blue.

11/6/10

The World Ends In a Yes

Stumble step in an alcohol spin
Heart shatter smile, shake your hair
Eyes cast down, arms raised up you dance in place
Little giggles and sidestep fancies
Shared glances and stolen kisses
The world ends in a yes

12/24/09

That Moment of Thunder

It is then that I think of you
That moment of thunder
The one that is not a rumble
Not a roll
Not a
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When the charge lets go right there
Ozone in the air
Small hairs on the rise
That thunderous exlposive
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It is that sound
That is the sound of your name
That small nuclear hell of a moment
That's where you live in my memory
A brilliant flash of
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12/5/09

Coldest Night Since


Tiny smiles unseen with hands reaching out
Wondering what the name of man is
Dropped broken forgotten in the mud
Is a word unspoken in your world or mine
A taste of something future past present
On the wind in the blank spaces between
I drift lazily twisting tumbling heavily
On the tide of memory questing questioning
Finding only the smallest dram or
Quietest portion answering in untrue form
Regret of the smooth cool touch of your laugh
On the hairs of my skin taunting
Smiles sliding through my insides
The bitter flavor of your name on my tongue
Yellow bilious chalk swirling in the drain



2/1/08

Trying

A still image photograph
In a painted eye
Sepia tone slide show haze
Graphite scrawls
A page of words
With corners on them

Sharp edged vowels can cut

Tabletop crawls
With a blurred vision of you
Sketchpads and smiles
Articulate utensils
Speaking in smudges

And lines

Shaky hands now
Withered hearing
And the lines just won't talk to me
Like they did before

Parents arguing in another room

I'm trying to listen
But I can't
Make out
The words



A quality of ignorance,
Self-deception may be
Necessary to the poet's survival


-Jim Morrison