Riding The Winds Of The Hurricane

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Riding the winds of the hurricane
Knowing we’re going to lose power
Stacking the ends of loose leaf paper
Don’t know the time/ don’t know the hour

Pouring a drink, settling in this night
Toast the storm, this one’s going to be a fighter
But when all is said & done
Imagination is how I fuel my typewriter

I Never Said I Was Good At This

I never said I was good at this
I have no fancy training or school
I just close my eyes & spill my soul
Without any regard if it will be cool

I’m a bush league hack at my best
Wandering my way through eternity
Endless reams within your dreams
But I’ll never be a victim of your modernity

Empty Wine Bottles Clink; Devoid Of All Inspiration

Photo by Anastasia Shuraeva on Pexels.com

Empty wine bottles clink; devoid of all inspiration
But that’s not the way you remembered they bled
Choosing the perfect wording for posterity
A trembling shadow of what the poets once said

We once set out to create a fresh universe
But that’s not the way I can any longer think
Falling in love with strange, beautiful women
The source & reason for all the dedicated ink

Our souls entwined in deliberate communion
But that’s not the way that I came to be lost
Specific writings to engrave our cosmic lust
Forever entombed within this highland frost