IV. It’s Always Been In My Nature To Resist

It’s always been my nature to resistNot sputtering words as an endless tropeNever trusting anything popular nor coolThe outcasts & rejects are who give me hope

The Man Has You Grinding Away

      The man has you grinding awayThe organ makes the monkey danceYou’re looking for the Promised LandBut you never really had the chance You’re writing your soul on the pageFriends support & love all they heardBut the critics cry foul & laugh bitterlyYou’re only as good as your last word

Great American Notebook

Great American notebookTime to add our verseOr merely help to tread waterWhile we all surviveRinging the ship’s bellPutting on warm tunesHoning the proper wordsTo elevate our voice

Rubbing Their Fingers Over The Stereo Knob

Rubbing their fingers over the stereo knobThe frequencies distorted on the airwavesKings of the new world & thus apocalypticSearching for something more pragmatic to crave These technocrats with no concept of realityTasking – without offering an alternate fateDemanding citizens for homages to be digitalWith no power to control – or else we attenuate Words of

Empty Wine Bottles Clink; Devoid Of All Inspiration

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

Evading Their Ongoing Tragedies

Evading their ongoing tragediesForty summers spent down in the dirtWithstanding the weight of apocalypseEmerging; though slightly less overtBlast furnace of the afternoon sunDali walking barefoot on Tampa’s shoresPale riders within unabsorbed lightEmbracing purity through perception’s doorsThe paint of our secret love notesBut can only be read through the keyholeShying away from all public renditionsHer passionate

Sheets & Reams Of The Nonsensical

Sheets & reams of the nonsensicalLiterary blood lost in the shadow of inkThe lifeforce of a simmering soulMarginal hearts writing love against the kitchen sinkLeaving behind the caricature of an artistContributions to society felt in these empty sheetsFingersmudges marking pages not so whiteStarkly exposed with revolutionary words in the streetsTraces of hereditary ideals eroding awayIgniting

I Trace Your Lips

I trace your lips with my fingerSuch pouty perfection in this faceI want to devour you right hereBut in public is not the proper placeSo I whisper one word: “tonight”& let you think upon that all dayYou’ll stew & simmer & imagineHow all this love will be conveyed

Wipe This Life Down With Bleach

I’m gonna wipe this life down with bleachMy words deconstructing Samson’s beamsWhile I slowly & deliberately devour your peachAlas, you discovered too late I was the man of your dreams

Offering Up A Minimalism

Offering up a minimalismFinding cool without effortNot weak enough to shareTough; never going to revertA mental state removedNot allowing for them to killMy soul still beating todayThe essence won’t be distilledTry as you forever mightI won’t be boiled down to a wordNo single thought or characterAll my expressions slowly heard

Telling Stories After Dark

Telling stories after darkOccasionally with Tom Waits in the leadFantastical little allegoriesBringing a light to those souls in need No need to whisper in the shadowsLuminous words to prepare the wayRemoving barriers to our enlightenmentWitticisms fleshed out & on display Short tales to get creative juices flowingHarking back to dreams that we might meetSubtle differences

I May Not Be Everything

  I may not be everythingBut I’ll always try to beYour lover, friend & accomplicePeter Pan of the high seasMy flaws are mightyThough I’ll forever be trueYou have my word & my heartI’ll always be in love with you

Hanging With Suspicious Writers

Hanging with suspicious writers An overly socialized troop Collectively creating An emotionally battered group Pondering word placement & the value of existence The quiet utility of thought Inspiration compounding persistence

Collecting Fragments Of Free Thought

Collecting fragments of free thought The missing pieces of a discarded word Unknown & forgotten loves in innerspace Unfortunately time reduces us by a third Intellectuals hunkered down – protecting wisdom Throwing bones, sharpening knives & wit Critical theories to counteract  The cultural elite reminding me I ain’t shit But I continue down my solitary

Laura Ingalls Wilder

    “Home is the nicest word there is.” – Laura Ingalls Wilder

Word of the Day

This is amazing.