Too Many Punks

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Too many punks
But only in the aesthetically pleasing sense
Bought their shirts at the 5 & Dime
Along with safety pins
& commercially foraged tattoos

(Can we discuss how punk’s not supposed to be safe?)

Where’s the independence?
Where’s the penchant to damn the man?

Find your sovereign spirit
For no one’s really punk
Until everyone thinks they’re uncool

The Magic Of The Holidays Still Gets To Me

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The magic of the Holidays still gets to me
You’ll find me wiping my tears with a sleeve
I’m not ashamed to outwardly proclaim it
I still believe

These days I walk the streets with childlike innocence
Searching for anything with the Christmas spirit
But I find most of the world has become Scrooge
A sad truth & many of you don’t wanna hear it

But I know we can be better than this
All of us can always return back here
To the love & magic of the Holidays
Let me be the first to pour you a cup of cheer

It Was A One-Eyed Kind Of Morn

It was a one-eyed kind of morn
With evening’s festivities going awry
I scrawled out all I could remember
Once a gentleman, turned drunken guy

Slight images of a lovely form
Olfactory sparks upon my brain
Sketching the party’s guest list
But no new faces could remain

Racking my skull for a proper memory
Writing down every & each detail
Compiling a list to rediscover
I’m trying to think, but it’s to no avail

A faceless gown with affectionate gloves
Somehow my mind is able to recall
Cognitive fragments begin to linger
Clouded out by last night’s alcohol

Scenes slowly begin to return
I believe we’re out on the dance floor
An embrace of smoldering desire
Yet I couldn’t figure out any more

Scraps of notes spread before me
No identity to place upon the truth
Scant reason to be shy in my search
Basking in honesty of my lapsed youth

Cobwebs have been sparsely lifted
Won’t think of her in the past tense
Her ghostly touch encourages me yet
We shall meet again, I firmly sense

To hold her with determined spirit
Seems fantastical at this sad rate
Yet she’s left fingerprints upon me
Remaining until I succumb to my fate

You Give Up Your Voice

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You give up your voice
When you choose to take their hand
You sacrifice your honor
When you go joining their faceless band

You deem yourself unremarkable
Once they take away your vote
No longer choosing for yourself
Their drudging spirit grabs your throat

The hoard directs you how to think
& can make you recite all sorts of things
You deserve your time in Hell
When you hand them your own strings

Dreams Of Pretty Dancing Girls

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Dreams of pretty dancing girls
Tartan skirts & gold buckles on their shoes
Legs draped in such fine stockings
High kicks, but treasure out of view

The fantasy of a joyous party
Spirited music playing a bit loud
Fiddles & bagpipes; what a scene
You pulled me out of the dense crowd

Beauty of drinking black beer all day
My stature begins to slightly tilt
You quietly asked me for a light
But there’s no pockets in this kilt

Envisioning what the night might bring
Is it possible that you could be this real
Sharing a pint in a secluded corner
A second Guinness is considered a meal

Trying To Conjure The Ghost

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She said I was, “trying to conjure the ghost of Bukowski”
I told her there was better writers to admire
I’m not in college anymore
Drinking & degrading women won’t light my fire


I’m looking for inspiration to ignite my soul
A need to be revolutionized from the daily grind
Normalcy & the mundane will kill my spirit
I’m pushing forward to nurture & excite this weary mind

Let Me Get Out Into The World

Let me get out into the world
While everyone else is still in bed
Let me move these old bones
I need to get fresh air into my head

Too many stagnant mornings
With nothing to show for the exertion
Feeling low in my spirits
Like I’m a soul still prone to desertion

I need to discover a permanent solution
To rid my life of heartbreak & pain
I don’t want to struggle anymore
Results from my effort & not simply remain

I’m Not Feeling Strong These Days

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I’m not feeling strong these days
With my soul in traction
Weakness seems to manifest itself
Sustaining a chain reaction

I’m not feeling invincible anymore
With my heart on the gallows block
Life can crush your spirit
While we’re busy serving the clock

I’m not feeling perfect, quite honestly
But I know there’s toughness somewhere
Upon a solid foundation I shall rise
With a firm grip on love & a fist in the air

Typing, Hacking, Thinking – Smokin’ Hot

Typing, hacking, thinking – Smokin’ hot
Typing your best to empty all thought

Pouring your soul into force upon the keys
Your woman walks past with a dress above the knees

Now you can’t think or type or stammer straight
The hell with with deadlines – this one’s gonna be late

You pray to the spirits of procastrination or whatever you think of
Burn this project right now, sacrifice it in the name of love

The Twinkling Of Stars At Night

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The twinkling of stars at night
Dispatched souls with nothing to lose
Our lost matchbook fantasies
Dwindling into aging suburban blues
Not fond of Covid nor the Spanish Flu
I’d rather have some Spanish Fly
Mix it in my cup, “yo baby, what’s up?”
I’m still that awkward ass, abnormative guy
Fading time to time into darkness
But I try to emerge into the light these days
A bounce in my step/mischief in my eye
Growing younger in spirit despite all these grays

Picking Up My Girl Along The Way

Picking up my girl along the way
A short enough skirt that’ll surely tease
Soft tones upon the extinguished day
Wine & song that I might forever please

Snapping fingers & popping buttons
Ample latitude that I might play her fool
Admittedly; for her touch I’m a glutton
My own words reveal me to still be uncool

My ravishing mettle giving her just cause
Subtly picking up her heels and hemline
This rakish spirit providing her pause
Exposing joy & unadulterated sunshine