Monthly Archives: April 2014

good morning, all musicality

four bands there on the stage, hey
six hands clapping and waving
i’ve played to a lesser crowd
just my friends paying to get in now
i know it’s a waste but
it’s so great to be falling
out of time with tapping feet
and i so crossed and clipping

three songs and it’s over
next up is just another cover
artist playing songs they memorized
and didn’t write

oh, but i can’t stop
i’m just going over my slot
fifteen minutes and i’m gone

see you next week

good afternoon, all humbled

i stood at the back of the room
listening intently
i clapped as the music faded out
i was kind of blue
and sort of expecting something
to land next to me
a girl of twenty-three
and i, the lowly tree ghost
no no, the supposed so

she captured me on canvas
painting with melted crayons
there’s nothing left to save us
so away i ran
to the center of town
no, the outskirts of the city
with my back against the wall
crossed-legged and sitting

i am humbled at the thought
of you and i alone
across from the lakeshore
throwing stones
and skipping them across the water
teasing canopies above
what makes no sense to me
is the closet
filled with love’s lost love
alone with your thoughts
stay close
or go home

good afternoon, all springtime rain

i awoke to a pouring rain
took it to mean today wouldn’t be the same
as yesterday
when the sun was out
when the flowers were in full bloom
maybe they still will be
even more so, now

i ate and then i smoked
another cigarette
i’ve got some planned shows
and i’d bet
that they’ll go over well
or well enough

and now i’m sitting here
and now i’m wishing you were
close by

good morning, all creatively out of time

this is just another day
another plan
another way to say
i loved you
but that love has gone away
to another place
another town
another face to place blame

make me a pattern of your peace
where there is only facing down the grooves cut through a 33
a 45 to tell the story
that i’m always out of time
born too late
payed no mind
to captions of the picture
telling stories of the victory
wanting not to gamble with the stripes
before your eyes

be just another candle
burning low
i couldn’t handle you
and now you’ve gone
and so it’s true
that creativity comes when you’re low
or high as hell
and heaven below

good morning, all facetious

disguise your well-being
in a forest made of sticks and twigs
and zoom in
on trees growing tall
and fall

be a martyr for a philosophy, old
and be told
not to die.
for your sins
are bold and forewarned
between to faces, lifted
up above the ceiling, high
below the sky

drag the field
and get real