We are barely covered
The *** is boiling over
Forest fires are raging
For hours, here I've hovered
With my lucky clover
Blessed and bald and aging

Let's open up the cupboard
Turn the bottle over
Our fears to start assuaging
Against these woes we'll shove hard
Until we start to sober
And dread commences caging

Everybody you encounter
Is fighting a battle
That you know nothing of...
That red-faced guy who's always yelling
Is probably on the verge of tears
The anger is a facade, put up as a defense against the world
And its crushing weight

Mike was that guy
He was old school
A stodgy codger
Life dealt him a tough hand
He lost his son seven years ago
I went to the calling hours
So incredibly sad.

I think he gave up then
What was the point anymore?
Meaningless, meaningless.
Since then his work ethic declined
Understandable.
I think he gave up seven years ago
I wonder, would I do the same in his shoes?

An ******* to some,
Belligerent to many,
His struggle was heavy and real
Last week he chose Hamlet's second alternative
He chose not to be.
My heart grieves for his wife, remaining son, daughter, and mother.
I pray God will rest his soul

Brother Jimmy, stop a while, take a seat and listen ...
Listen to the whoosh of the A/C ebb and flow...
It seems imbibing corporate rules and little lies that glisten
Is not a healthy diet, don't you know(?)

This place has got you sick and tired and haggard as a hound
But bless your soul with rock, and roll your eyes, you stilted hack,
Though this time, maybe, wait until review time comes around,
"The man" is just the man to hold you back

We find that just a tad of mirth to hide the grit-teeth might,
Just be the way to keep the ship from sinking.
And when the pounding's in my head, my eyelids clamp down tight,
My prayer then, is reign me in, and guard me from free thinking

Cement and mortar
Endlessly eroding
Cool breezes occasionally intervene
In your Dad's first job as a crane operator
Lifting piles and drivin' 'em in

Rerouting a part of the river
A steam engine pile driver still used
Years past are sketched with his words

So many little details he'd convey
Always pleased to recount them
Yesterday's scenes told and retold
Remembered romantic scenes
Eternal pictures now extant in our brains

You were a good man
I wish I'd thanked you more
You never sketched out this plan
Now you walk along the golden shore

Along the edge of the glassy sea
Outside of time and space
One day you'll give us the nickel tour
As we grow accustomed to your new face

We will know it's you right away
From the way you welcome us all
With your oh so familiar laugh
And your West Virginia drawl

And you'll regale us then
With the deep things you've derived
Hand in hand with the author of life
Between 2016 and the day we arrive

And so I fall again
Into the blackest cycles
The dark patterns
Of dreary steps
Running on auto
Not feeling like I ought to
Piloting the craft through
Though taking many hits to the hull

And perennial pardon ,
Sure as the sun will rise
With the impending dawn,
****** my plaintive passions
Sickening and splintering the dream
One from which I awake with a start
Bloodshot grogginess
My purest art