A promise is a promise
The way she said "Baby"
made me so crazy
made me feel like
that one star
she made a wish upon
We met on a lake
in the light of the moon
her smile made my soul ache
and it ended too soon
But before we said goodbye
our lips let out a sigh
and we kissed to the lullaby
of dancing butterflies
The way she said "Baby"
made me so crazy
made me feel like
that one star
she made a wish upon
And as the days went by
our love rose so high
that we carried the sun
in the passion of our eyes
Dusk became dawn
and our spirits were drawn
to the place where dreams
birth songs
The way she said "Baby"
made me so crazy
made me feel like
that one star
she made a wish upon
We met on a lake
in the light of the moon
her smile made my soul ache
and it ended too soon
But before we said goodbye
our lips let out a sigh
and we kissed to the lullaby
of dancing butterflies
But then on a night
as dark as can be
she faded into the horizon
with a whisper
"alone is our fate, our sea"
For fear was the road
she had been raised along
A daddy who left her
and made everything so wrong
And when she looked
within her heart
all she saw
was another man
who would play her false
her yesterdays tomorrow's waltz
The way she said "Baby"
made me so crazy
made me feel like
that one star
she made a wish upon
The way she said "Baby"
made me so crazy
made me feel like
that one star
she made a wish upon
that one star she made a wish upon
made a wish upon
a promise is a promise
and some day I hope she finds solace
The Hunt to the Haunt of my Forever Song
Frisky in the bare full moon journey of eve's dark semblance....howls building up in the caverns of chests....My limbs lope the forest of black pitched ballads.....sunlight kept in coins, hidden in pockets seamless and secreted, held for moments where treachery and abandonment walk a fine line between delusional self immolation and the laziness of underachievement, when hope is a fading melody in a strong coursing wind...and I crawl and skip and wail into the heavy night....freedom....a jaundice joint of prayer in the echoes of oblivion....and in the shadows of my shade women dance to the rhythms of fables, fairytales long ago forgotten and thrown away, tossed to the broken down railways of ghosts and failing priorities, moralities....to the worship of their own divinity, hunger, wants and bottomless aching of a love that was shifted to strange shapeless dreams in the hour of their desperate need.....their breasts shaking their hips and grace etched legs to the down beat of lute struck tonal haunts of immemorial conquest, their silhouettes a remembrance to the martyred acclimation of mothers and sisters and daughters.....to the tributes of forever divided statuesque sculptures carved in the visage of fathers and brothers and sons....these are my mates pen runed in fate....their choreographed sorrow to the hunt of my spiritual assassination....their strength my salvation.....their tireless chasing of perfection the reminder to my dereliction......to the cave drawn annals of my listless lollygagging of lollipop blues......who we choose a choice chosen by very few.......
Freedom & love are two distinct possibilities in the winged form of flight
You say you want to be free
you want to see
what’s out there
While I sit here
thinking of the things I could say
strumming back alley blues
in the covenant of day
You said love was a gentle flame
warming the halls of eternity
but in the first swallow of rain
you’re running to the break of history
(instrumental)
I sit here
thinking of the things I could say
strumming back alley blues
in the covenant of day
And here comes the rain
here comes the rain
the part where you run away
here comes the rain
to see what you see
to be as you say free
(instrumental)
Feathered flight in the form of love
it takes two to walk the road
you say I push while you shove
I feel like a swamp in the croakings of a toad (Ribbet, Ribbet)
(instrumental)
You say you want to be free
you want to see
what’s out there
While I sit here
thinkin of the things I could say
strumming back alley blues
in the covenant of day
And here comes the rain
here comes the rain
the part where you run away
here comes the rain
to see what you see
to be as you say free
(instrumental)
Feathered flight in the form of love
it takes two to walk the road
you say I push while you shove
I feel like a swamp in the croakings of a toad (Ribbet, Ribbet)
(instrumental)
And here comes the rain
here comes the rain
So I think I'll catch you later
continue along the way
'cause I hear the music playing
a fast melodic beat
and when it comes down to it
I’m just a back alley dog in a blues dream
a back alley dog (howl)
a back alley dog (howl)
a back alley dog (howl)
And here comes the rain
here comes the rain
here comes the rain
here comes the rain
(Howl, Howl )
Noir's Eternal Lust
Frames.......blood silhouettes of demured light caressing flesh in small weaves, small dreams...in whispered words shifting perplexity, shifting vision in increments immeasurable in time's muted steps.......Noir, a movement, an emotional by play in shadows..intimacy in the forlorn expression of breaking.....in hope as a finite thing creasing smiles in otherwise creased brows.......it is the breath exhaling it's last feeble reminder to beauty......it is the whimper in the final shudder crawl of infinite infancy............it is the intensity in words carved upon tumultous stage, in dramatic pose to the inevitable.....it is the charm of a smile half drowned in the night of creation..........and her thighs are pearlesque atrophy of slips upon breasts puppeted to lips........a sip of vintage mottled with age and detrius of ecclestial prayer offered in tones infirmament under the light of crescent moons telling tales better left in the hours of eve's last gasp.......it is art in broad strokes and finite cracks of detail so miniscule as to be unseen and it is this paradoxical whims of fate's carpiscious carnal hunger that true loom of woven canvas is seen, between the inbetween, in the shades of light casting night.......Noir......my Goddess, my thread with which to sleep walk my infernal compression of thought.....
Probably one of my favorite songs I've written in last decade
Dime Store Hustle
He had spent his life
playing the odds
rolling bones
playing cards
A hard road
some would say
the streets of a drifter
an actor in a played out play
But luck was a lover
that always took another
as reliable as any other
a sister, a mother, a daughter, a brother
And it was in this game
he knew his name
knew the dance
knew the pride and the shame
of counting the wounds, the bruises,
the scars, the fame
It was in this dance he had a chance
to tell his story, to leave and breathe
the runes and croons of his beauty,
his glory
For a poor man from poor streets
had little to climb to
little to conceive
less to savor, and even less to dream
But in the carnival of a gambler's
roulette, a spin of destiny
a letter of regret
He could carve a legend,
flip a fable to the concrete
of a solid seat at the big boy's table
Cause it's just a dime store hustle
a street corner shell game
a pick pocket slim jim
a be bop to a stage play
It's just a dime store hustle
a street corner shell game
a pick pocket slim jim
a be bop to a stage play
He had spent his life
playing the odds
rolling bones
playing cards
A hard road
some would say
the streets of a drifter
an actor in a played out play
But luck was a lover
that always took another
as reliable as any other
a sister, a mother, a daughter, a brother
And it was in this game
he knew his name
knew the dance
knew the pride and the shame
of counting the wounds, the bruises,
the scars, the fame
It was in this dance he had a chance
to tell his story, to leave and breathe
the runes and croons of his beauty,
his glory
For a poor man from poor streets
had little to climb to
little to conceive
less to savor, and even less to dream
But in the carnival of a gambler's
roulette, a spin of destiny
a letter of regret
He could carve a legend,
flip a fable to the concrete
of a solid seat at the big boy's table
Cause it's just a dime store hustle
a street corner shell game
a pick pocket slim jim
a be bop to a stage play
It's just a dime store hustle
a street corner shell game
a pick pocket slim jim
a be bop to a stage play
And before his last breath
had taken his soul
to the precipice of death
he would know
that his story would be told
and that all that's carved with gold
would be his tombstone
his legend
his road......
'cause there ain't nothing more
a card shark, beaten up blue bruise
from the wrong tracks,
the wrong parts,
could hope for
as his spurs dug into the wood
rodeo roping through the door
Eternally fucked up artist
Thoughts are crazed rides against the fabric of ecclestial perfidity, warped lids of eyes turned spiraling inward into twisted maccabre breaks into dark alcoves and seedy underlit bars.....too many thighs in short skirts and painted on mimicry of emotives in ruby reds and electric purples.....too much cleavage and not enough heart, too much sweat and not enough truth......it is in the knee scuffed beggar's jaunt where hard blues echos much chewed over sooth to the diadem of art's secrets, the cache of genius and the thin divide of such from the cliff drop of white jackets and chains on tangled up limbs, and it is within this fulcrum of need, in this see saw eternally teetered hunger for balance and clarity that the carved brush of masterpiece stretches, claws it's way into the periphreal of a ghost's tombstone smile.....it is in this much talked about ride that we slide into the want of neccessity and the lick lip teeth first chomp of want, it is within the shadows of these story book trees that we seed to breathe and dream, and fuck and thieve all we were ever taught to hold faith against to not believe, and it is in this shit storm we dig up a modicum of wisdom, a kernal of choyed up worth....and it is within this pit of self escapulated delusional set that we understand in that final push to forever, that we are but a child in the pin point of a thread weaving eternity, and our pitiful grasp at immortality is but the parting of lips to the canvas stretched beyond the loom we do not see and can not fathom....that we are the proverbial ant beneath boot...
that we are the garden, and the snake, and reaching of hand to forbidden fruit
Hills n Pills
the hills loom haunted eyes......a myriad of paths dry humping eternity in an ever spiraling loop of divinity, a lopsided grin....a come hither smirk and wink......a loner's cove in the break of waves back spinning lucidity in a broken down poor man's shade, and the way her hips told a story made you lip tongue hunger crave all the lullabies hidden in the nectar she gave to very few,,,,,,,the curves expounding on truths, on forgotten moments of lap it up, shimmy shake, pound the thighs, ass clenched thrust of tears you have bottled, saved....in the sorrow you have collected in the small recesses of starved spirit, in the caresses too few and far between, in the warmth of arms covering fragility in breaths that never exhaled, in the slips of gaze that never latched on to anything worth something, worth anything or at least a moment of jack in a shot.....and the skin carved new scars and crayon drawn wrinkles and the bending of time's immovable pondering has carved chains upon the now too slow steps of vacant hills and popping pills and the cracked glass of reflection that appears all too close to home......we are minutia in the teeth of forevermore.....
Walking the willow
We met in the shade of a willow tree
Her eyes like stars guiding me
We had a love that flew high free
Until another came and turned it to three
I was a weeping man
That fated day our souls communed
She danced like fire to my touch
A beautiful angel, a drug addicts rush
But then the story unfoled
And she told me a secret worth more then gold
There was another she yearned to caress
Another woman in whose womb she could rest
Cause we were walking the willow
Walking the willow
We were walking the willow
Till it ends and sorrow begins
Cause we were walking the willow
Walking the willow
We were walking the willow
Till it ends and sorrow begins
We met in the shade of a willow tree
Her eyes like stars guiding me
We had a love that flew high free
Until another came and turned it to three
I was a weeping man
That fated day our souls communed
She danced like fire to my touch
A beautiful angel, a drug addicts rush
And then the story unfoled
And she told me a secret worth more then gold
There was another she hungered to caress
Another woman in whose womb she could rest
Cause we were walking the willow
Walking the willow
We were walking the willow
Till it ends and sorrow begins
Cause we were walking the willow
Walking the willow
We were walking the willow
Till it ends and sorrow begins
Cause in that end
She chose her other friend
And left me alone under the willow tree
A weeping man weeping for love in the shade of a willow tree
Cause we were walking the willow
Walking the willow
We were walking the willow
Till it ends and sorrow begins
Cause we were walking the willow
Walking the willow
We were walking the willow
Till it ends and sorrow begins
As the wind blows
The wheel of a temporal toss of bones changes as the wind blows...years etching themselves in the lines crossing our back trail......
It all starts with toddler steps stumbling after butterflies crayon drawing innocense in stutter breaths.....stretching itself into youthful adolescence hitting baseballs and sliding into muddy bases screaming out the pure joy only still rosy youth can muster....care free in a still colorful world....then slip slides into awkward teenage calvalcades into shy glide rides of innebriated first drunken drives with promises of a possible first kiss at the crescent of pubescent day dreams.....then before your eyelids do a shake bake blink, beginning drifts of early bird bids into adult cracks of real world back alley jacks, our moving hips and hungry lips paint their gift wrapped sultry trophies of hollywood cool tool shades in the light spitting ascension and bright lit accolades from the top of hills seeming so attainable....then before you do a double take crow's fate into the glinting shine of a rearview mirror you find yourself in pitted asphalt with way too many scuffed knees from unexplainable falls....engine stalls....and realize that hill was a grinding climb far elevated above the the ascerbic time you had originally scribed in the first do bucket list you had infant sighed....yet still your aching limbs asmatic themselves into another proverbial try as wrinkles seem more prevelant upon the smiles you used to flip as easy as apple pie.....and then in the endless pull of a moon driven tide you find that now middle age has made it upon your ever crumpled page....and from a fool's tongue of youthful pride you are now spewing the sage words of the same old man you used to deride, hair once dark as remembrence now shining silver lumines to the serendipity of fate's draw....listening to ravens on desolate shores caw and caw and caw.....and again you are still spinning wheels upon the burnt rubber treads of inclined dead ends with belief now a tattered carapice cracked and leaving debris on the road swaying avenues trailing into the sun at your back.....how it all seems to be stacked........and we started this dream long ago in that infant stream to dream all we could ever dream....and yet here in the middle of the highway of bi ways......the fusion of toddler youth seems like a distant tale told as lullabies to send head to pillows to lift ones self to used to be's, could of beens, and a girl we should never haved missed what would of been a sweet sweet kiss, a hell of a romantic fucking tryst that we leaped over instead of diving into....watching drive bys of someone else's life....and wishing with all that we can wish that the dish of existence was as easy and understandable as when we were starry eyed, flushed cheeked, and believed with a heart pure as angel wings that all things were possible......before the lick of a trick sent a twiching tick across our ever fleeting smile, before the street had carved it's painful flesh wounds into the bones of our scars....before we realized the ever pugent importance of a world based on too many lies and not enough truth.....but no matter the waver to a never appearing savior.....if iron was on the tip of your tongue when your weave wove itself from a mother's womb......giving up is never a choice to choose.....so shaky, weak....forgetful....meek.....the top of that ever prevalent hill seeming a mountain peak unattainable in it's glory....your feet move to a fading yet persistent beat ever and forever as strong and as permanent as the wind blowing upon the skein that cave drawls the epic, some day your legend -- a sin city black and white film noir with carefully chosen color emotes.....that's all she wrote....the fat lady just hit hard achipela.....
Smoke rings are dreams(edited)
I blow smoke rings around life, exist in the Haze it creates... Hold poverty like a Linus blanket.... Suck my thumb and dream about could bes.... Would of beens.... And count the tick off second hands spelling the terms to falling....I once..... Yesterday..... Do I matter..... The shroud of midnight does a slow Calypso to the ever ever of broken toys. .. My eyes are half lidded and thinking of you... I'm sorry..... Sleep is the one place safety seems assured... Egg shells strewn across sand swirling in a Kaleidoscope of idioms.... My lips echo beauty to the ending of small things.... The door is cracked and the light frail and wavering...a candle gutters in a strong breeze...... Simmetry is left to those with more money then I.... The Haze is slowly drifting apart... The blanket forming holes, eye slits to bones.... Tombs are back drops to ghost stories told in the wee hours of doubt......I crawl through the left overs of the hungry.... Someone save the young..... They are broken on the wheel of progress.... Heavy pockets of old men counting green.... My breathing has slowed... The moon has spoken love..I listen and hope....
