Dear Archie,

It's best you find your bunker

The world as we know it

Has certainly gone asunder

Political correctness

Don't it make you wonder

If we should be taking names

And writing down their numbers

Oh and Archie,

Lucky now your six feet under

Out of lightenings range

And all the man made thunder

Those were the days

We could laugh like ******

At each other

Goodbye Archie bunker

The state of the union says a lot, nothing political

the oscars say very little, everything about it is political

to war?  to not war?   

it breezes through the plants, its on top of the little lamp posts sticking out of the tanbark, breathed into the lungs on the bikerides, the dog walking

that fresh silence, the music in the movie where the glances are lit up with darkness in the background

yeah, the people get their news from the comedians, then the comedians drop out in the end for activism, grassroots soaking up coffee loaded with cream and sugar

to lean left or to lean right? Does it really make a difference?  Really?  

my jacket sinks into my skin and my rear sinks into the chair, and the world stirs, whirlwind of expressions, whirlwind of expectation

the uncertainty in the air, there it is, and the answer is to sit back, relax, and watch the big fiasco commence

Like a travel guide embedded in your tissue,
your scars are roadmaps,
they tell me where you’ve been.
With caution, I run my fingers through the grooves,
and I feel every stone in your path
so I steer away from them
and all the places you wish to never return to.
Your memories are the passing landmarks,
and I see the sadness in every weakened construct.
I’ll never take you down those roads,
I’ll never pave my own.
I promise.

Stand within the rivers tide
Feel the cold go rushing past
Only to run away and hide
From the stones that we all cast

Leave alone the reckless liar
And soon he'll tell no lies
The soldier with no war will retire
As the lover with no love never cries

With all the rain, comes another
To follow the rain all once more
To a flame it has come to smother
For the sins on it's soul that it wore

i still see bits of you in every person i meet

When will you
and
I
escape to
some remote island
-afloat-
in the middle of the sea
constructed by our wits
alone

where we shall sustain ourselves
not with
food or drink or sleep
but rather
words words
words
of our own making
tapping ananda
that
***** the **** out of
our minds
and makes us both
***
simultaneously
together as
one?

Wake up at noon and back to bed by five.
Knuckles bloodied and sore to remind me I'm alive.
Hop in the car and start the long drive.
Destination irrelevant just need a clear mind.
Windows down, music loud, cherry burning bright.
Take a deep breath,
and watch the sun set,
as another day goes by.