The field Where We Lived Again


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I see the field, feel it beneath my shoes as I run behind you, the scent of your hair in my nose, along with the wet grass. It is early in the day. You are younger, but I sense you were once older, perhaps someone I knew once before, someone I looked up to, someone for whom it scared me through five lifetimes to be without, yet knowing once more we would be together. Yes, the day and the season are early. I can see it clearly.

I am ugly beautiful.
You were beautiful ugly.

Ah, but the omniscient author foresees having to convince you of that. I will try to convince you while you mind pulse message friends and family. When our tongues meet we will again know each others’ thoughts, and to whom they reach out. Are we going to be ready for that pain again?

The King’s Highway


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Kings highway is always a two lane state road filled with pot holes that meanders through bergs of inbreeders with unscrupulous morals. It is traveled by passive aggressive hags and coots that slow down in the no passing zones and speed up in the passing zones. Calling it Kings HY reminds me of the Tibetan Buddhist crawling toward the temple and stopping to bow in the dirt at after every step.

Rodent Killer For President: 2016


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With a hot dog walk and a bicycle horn nose that kinda just squeaks, but still it blows, not content with the ham on his sandwich he cinches up his bows. 

He’s got slingshots and knives, rifles and mines, and if it breathes he steals their spirit by harvesting their bones. In a soul’s last leap for comfort his bullet will find a home.

He’s got blood on his chin in the morning without firing up the stove, he blows heads off of doves in silent groves, never inviting anyone in but demanding their reason.

And from the shadow of cover he dances with images, manipulating symbols within himself to dream himself an existence in which “The lion and the lamb lie together” is somehow read to mean The Lord of the Flies.

He touts a spirit of the wild but his talk is foul communication, angry justification, a superimposing of the rodent hunter upon the kingdom. Nimrod was his name of old, and he it was who was so bold to proclaim that his mastery of the predator enlightened his spirit and gave him knowledge to rule over others.

But even he sought spiritual credentials from Ishtar. So, where does a Bozo turn for spiritual credentials today? Perhaps a “news” organization that promotes editorial condemnation of personal choice and uses Bozo the Hunter for 2016 as an ad campaign for its propaganda.

Sister’s Little Helper


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Johnny Cash stepped to the front of the stage and looked out into the smoke and haze, wiped a tear from his eye and said, “this first song goes out to a man in the back. Folks don’t know his name, but they told me last night that his Mother died. They say he’s a little stunned about what happened in the past, about what caused all the pain that wasn’t supposed to last, but, if you will all stop to think about what she did, why she did it, why things couldn’t be different, well, maybe you’ll see a little of her in both you and me.”

There’s no use crying now, grandma had to say, you’ve got your life ahead of you now. But before I was old enough to know her, grandma was gone just like mother before her,

The way was set down for me to follow in the moon’s spotlight, shifting my gaze waiting through days escaping the daylight, dancing through the willows, creeping through hollows, swallowing inspiration from the dark of night.

As long as i recall growing up, there were traces of the moments grandma left behind, and though i can never recall mother’s face in my mind

I can hear her tell me, “no matter how long it seems that I am gone i will never leave you behind. Once days have passed and you are getting older you’ll no where i have gone.”

Steady I watch from afar, racked with guilt and pain, in the shadows I’ve left behind, the woman who replaced the comfort of a womb with an ice cold virgin stare.

No matter how hard I tried to please you, you just gave me religion, and brotherhood too, with brothers made for squeezin’ and making life blue.

I live life as a stranger, the one who is always in some sort of danger from folks pointing their fingers needing a symbol to blame all there troubles on.

But sometimes I take a while to linger with those who take the time to take me in, with heartfelt intention on these wooden floors through the swinging doors

Belly up some peace, lay it up at last, fling away the extra baggage to the bottom of the glass. We”ll pull on our boots and stomp on all this misery.




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I’ve been wasting time waiting on better days. Thought I’d take the time to paint the clouds before they’d blown away. But when I looked outside today I couldn’t place my heart where I stood. That’s when I found out I’d been wasting time and time was running out.

Sanctuary, been wasting time on thoughts pretending, shut in my house, I’m on my way out and I’m locking the door. Free on the air and grass to my knees, arms open wide to feel the warmth everywhere

Since you went away, I’ve been down to the point of weeping, always like i just fell off my horse. Endless nights of restless sleeping. You ended up instead, with somebody else less demanding. I set the table for myself with with no regret, just needing what you couldn’t give.

I don’t want you to cry or feel the way I feel, like a dragon’s snagged my heart and made me to heel. Forward you go, no need to pull me ahead. I’ll be there if you ever come home again.

Sanctuary, been wasting time on thoughts pretending, shut in my house, I’m on my way out and I’m locking the door. Free on the air and grass to my knees, arms open wide to feel the warmth everywhere.

You were always reaching and I toward you, with fingers outstretched, on opposite sides of a window, you in the still of night and me in a dream. I couldn’t start to to blame you for closing the door, no questions why, for wanting what is more, what’s waiting on the other side.

If you could only see your face inside my head, you couldn’t misplace all the memories you have given me. I don’t want to say I want to leave too and I cannot keep away, in spite what’s best for you.

Sanctuary, been wasting time on thoughts pretending, shut in my house, I’m on my way out and I’m locking the door. Free on the air and grass to my knees, arms open wide to feel the warmth everywhere.

So many times i started to say I am sorry, so many times wanted you to need, too, but i know you could never feel that way, and i will loathe myself for reaching. So it’s time to step away, don’t fear the trap door, we’ll both figure it out. It’s not too late to follow the path that is open.

Give a Little Love to Your Bozo


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“yuh Bozo hatin’ sunnuvabitch! Why, we’ll teach ya to hate Bozo, we, us, I, you know but it’s US, WE started this nonprofit thing called Bozo’s Hose, er, yeah, Bozo’s Hose, callin’ out tuh alla(h) Bozo’s Bitches. Come on now, pitch a buck back tuh Bozo. We gotta make the man show us some respect. We can’t let him go around talkin’ ’bout Bozos like that.

Nettles and Dust


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Nettles and Dust

bless my lips and lift my soul away
this one’s done, this one’s done
kiss my breast, let your lips awaken
this one’s done, this one’s done

We swallow mountains in the blink of an eye
and rivers drown us in the moons of time
harvested seasons gathering must
my heart blows with nettles and dust

if i spent eternity in a day
just one song
the ending’s just begun
and if the sky bursts
pulling the curtains away
just one song, it’s already begun

with a hammer and dowl
we make hours fit
we play with power
with steaming fits
and intention anew
we are, we are
the chosen ones
we are we are
if everything is anything



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