God is in the mud,
not in the stars above.

God is not real,
But in things you feel.

God is not dead,
Neither is your head.

God is not love,
Just something further up.

Let Him stay there,
leave Him be,
He likes it in the mud.

Buddy you are moving way too fast
Its a happy New Years Eve
           But Sometimes the grass is greener, the wine is sweeter, on the other side of the hill.


Turn your socks inside out like a Brody
Its time to find Jack Straw...

The secret to a Wild Man's heart
Is to Bribe him with your food.

I learned what Paul Simon meant when he said he blew that room away
I learned what J.D. Salinger lied when he said he would do it anyway

Bruce Springsteen said to Terry Gross every Rock'N'Roll song means one thing:
"Pull your pants down."
Huh!

My heart swings forward
across the line.
The doors lock behind me.
Now there is no choice but blue skies or rain.

Then I wonder what heart "means."
I wonder why the sky is blue,
and why things bother to grow at all.

But "growth" continues its bored stretch,
irregardless of my inability to understand it,
and I have better things to think about now.

I have her.

Her and that little grin that grabs hold of the corner of her mouth
then turns toward me and opens.

She knows that I lied,
before I do.

She makes me feel like a little boy that ****** his brand new shorts,
and a man that's found a woman I know

I will love,
whether I want to
or not.

I still sweat in my sleep, and grunt when I move.
But she is there sometimes now (when schedules provide).

When I wake in the night,
a boy that thinks he's a man
just because I'm not afraid of the dark.

And the light breaks through the bull,
that electric touch,
"The Spark,"
she knows it in her deepest sleep,
her deepest dreams,
as they bend my own dreams into,
a new future.

I touch her where she is covered in my paint splattered sweat pants
and her arms open to hug me
before she wakes.

I feel the love like a child,
like it was always there
like it just might always will be.

Like God has spoken, but we cut him off 'cause we already knew.

We will **** and we will laugh like we have and like the others,
but there is something else in this.

She will change me.
I know this.
Into what, I truly do not know.

Our planet spins and circles.
Wars begin and end.
Multitudes suffer.
Microchips shrink at an exponential rate.
American politics deteriorate, dwindling down Democracy to a joke.
The Giants lose.
My money runs out.
My leg hurts.
The fridge is empty.
The house is burning.
The fabric of our reality is splitting in two, and in three minutes this world will end and we all will die unremembered.

I don't give a ****.
I love her.

If your mind is in the right place,
a wound that keeps dripping is just an annoyance.

Blood on my lips because I opened the beer bottle lighter style
with a cheap blue steal knife
that mistakenly snapped off the glass with the cap
and left edges that are sharper than they look.

I sipped anyway,
and now my top lip is bleeding like a geyser
but it doesn't hurt.

The only problem is someone else might see it and think I'm weird.
Which is the same **** problem as always,
except usually I don't actually bleed.

"Your eyes look wild," she says with tired concern.
It must be true, but it can't be helped.

My thoughts feel feral,
gnawing at themselves like a confused animal
with a wounded foot.

In your dream this morning you were running late,
fumbling with leather straps of equipment
that used to fit you better.

You heard their voices through the walls.
Sounds without form.
Your friends are skating on fresh ice.

Lonely, hungry, bleeding in the brush
the feral does not wish for company.
He does not remember he is alone.

But cold skin wishes for sun,
empty bellies whisper of food,
thirst does not ask, but orders a drink.
Your next breath is not a choice.

Life does not always find a way,
but Death does,
like water finding the end of every crack.

What Life finds it steals from Death,
and plays with like a toy,
until the toy becomes the player.

Your back is almost broken.
Your mind is almost taken.
Your *** is just a token
Of the hearts you've broken
On the day you kneel down.

You used to know the clean cool water
As it drove itself around the bend.
But you forgot the notes from father
His will found you talking without end.

Find the silence frozen in you mind,
The half-song that was your pride.
Feel the stomps of boots on soil.
That's our rythm, and the sign its time to move.

You feel the hands of thunder reaching out to touch
The lightning you forgot was still hidden in your groin.
Everything else you know doesn't matter that much.
Lets find our masks and guns and go find the coins
That only we know were ours, but still belong to us.

You will know the answer to the riddle in her cries.

You will remember every word you ever heard.

You will finally know why you did the things you did.

You will agree with all the reasons why she left.

You will see there's no wrong, but only right.

You will see the ***** dreams she dreams at night.

You are the ****** and the *****.

You are the guard at your master's gate.

You'll hear the the secret that you feared.

The music of the game of masks.

You'll know the end has come and gone.

The sound of lightning when it comes around.

On the day you kneel down.