Boy, SCUBA diving sure sounds fun-
to play in seascape soaked in sun.
I'm certified my classes done,
if only I could rent some lungs.

Carlos described Jerry's guitar playing,
as he exhaled- said it was like stringing beads carefully,
craftfully, filling the room with a network of delicate colorful strands.
He would know better than most- Santana jammed with The Dead,
and there's nothing biased about his depiction- said he personally
decorated by throwing beads around the room.

I totally and completely appreciate, as I exhale,
  sitting in my socks, soaking up a Grateful compilation
track-by-track; a loyal Dead Head.
But I don't see beads.

I've never jammed with Jerry,
but I feel at times that we share the same room,
with it's hazy ceiling tired above the hanging art-
this room with soft, bright walls fit to hold each and every note
which collect neatly and gradually
to hang later like dew drops on spider's silk.


Maybe if I was there when Santana came through the door,
holding a Fender and a bucket of crafts,
And Jerry welcomed him excitedly through his beard,
then maybe we would see some beads.

With an acid-cracked mind
and a fractured sense of time,
he giggled as he wriggled
trying to find the perfect line;
machine grip, nose stripped
as he scribbled from the hip
when another wave of flashbacks hit from behind.

Just when I thought my muse had left
a splintered staccato formed words on a page;
seems I still have a taste for the treble clef.

Haste in the morning fuels the morning breath
for two lovely dumbstruck lovers looking young for their age
just when they thought their muse had left.

I’m not sure I remember the rest;
The words stop like drumsticks dropped in rage,
but I still have a taste for the treble clef.

Desperate to try as my cousin suggests
burning through candles,  tarot, and sage
just when I’m sure my muse has left.

I vote for stripping this verse and shredding the rest
Getting in with producers and out with the wage;
We still have a taste for the treble clef.

Tequila sunrise and a Mumford sunset;
Is freedom a ***** once you’re out of the cage?
Just when I thought my muse had left,
seems I still have a taste for the treble clef.

It feels like sinking,
like I ripped open the emergency exit door at thirty thousand feet
mid-flight.  mid-sentence-
last chance.
Now I'm told to sit tight,
knuckles white with nothing to hold onto.
Nobody steers, nobody stirs,
save a couple slurred words past an in-flight Jack.
That's what it feels like-
it feels like sinking.

A genie of wizards paid tribute to me,
he granted me wishes, as many as three.
As I stammered and struggled to think on my feet
I shuddered and stuttered a wish or three:

You insist that I wish, so I ask you for these:
A taste for my belly
a kiss from Kelly
*and a reusable, snoozable nap if you'd please

There used to be a valley here
where this man-made mound sits,
like a bump on a log,
Well, this used to be a valley.
back in the day before batteries,
before outlets, before highway gas mileage,
before we realized how many life forms we could jeopardize.
Now there’s just beeping, and dumping, and hissing, and honking
and spilling, and wasting and burning, and taxing
and killing.
Now we're filling the part of Earth that we call dirt-
give it a hopeless name so that we can spit in it
years before we’re buried in it.

Flying with night owls
over sleepy smoke signals
leading brujos home.

I want to know
have you ever seen the rain
spark the fuse and
emblazon the grain?

The sun burning through clouds

never chomped so loud,

I'm surprised the moon's still alive.



Breaking ice in the town,

our minds floating around

cold wind throwing crystals and knives.

Longboarding barefoot

I can’t afford to slow down.

No shoes, no service

Sulking blocks of concrete boxes
miles of live wire, chrome cheeks, cityscape
glass, promotions, ticker tape,
canal rides, McRibs, sour cabs
human losses.

I've never cared too much for history, found no appreciation
for it's multitude of names we commit to memorization
there's a certain friend of mine, born in 1989-
Sir Maximilian Relaxilian- and he lacked all motivation

Since the origin of time, I have traced his family line
and their genetic disposition towards supreme relaxation
He's the great great great great grandson
of the founder of vacation.
And this founder's son Clyde, well, he invented the slide
Clyde's kid brother Greg helped patent the keg.
And Greg's great grandson Snyder sold the very first recliner.

So whenever Max was challenged, troubled, bothered, or confused,
He'd recite his family tree, and use the very same excuse:
   "Hereditary mutations within each generation!"


     And so he sat around and slept,
     But never cleaned and never swept,
     Never ran, never lept,
     His promises were never kept.


Maximilian never managed once to get up off his ****,
too tuckered out for bowling, just too lazy to putt;
He Never traveled to the sink nor had he once bothered to think,
too coward for a shower, found no reason not to stink.

And then one super lazy afternoon a quarter after two,
Maximilian had a visitor, I promise this is true:
A tiger stood outside the door which he was too lazy to lock
as if he'd try to find the **** beneath the pile of ***** socks.
And then of course, it's no surprise he couldn't hear the kitty knock
and once you hear what happened next I guarantee you will be shocked...

The tiger tickled him
and giggled him
until his ticker stopped.

So next time you think of staying in,
instead of going out-
or complain about the effort
that it takes to leave the couch,
Or refuse to leave the sheets or venture from a cozy pouch...

just remember Maximilian Relaxilian, King of Slouch
and stay out of bed instead,
stretch your legs and use your head
then count your blessings, kiss your mother
motivate one another.

I have this tattoo
of a cat in a shoe,
and below it reads CAT GOT MY TONGUE.
At the time I was young, now I've grown and it's shrunk,
And that's why you don't get tattoos when you're drunk.

My thinking's too loud for this library.

I need to go somewhere green-

a pasture- somewhere I won't be seen

for miles. Here I'll let my brain scream

as I watch the sun sink,

and just think.