my orientation, pixelated on the small screen, tells me where to go.
like pavlov's dog, a ping rings and i obey.
                                                           ­   foggy nights, nature plays her role.
  coordinates escape as the device lethargically reroutes my landscape.

"follow me", SHE insists, british accent and all,
redirecting my already adjunct journey.
"you have arrived at your destination".
                       what does that mean? is this the place?
must be.

a child born or circumstance coerces my mind to meander and i move.
always and forever to the tune of progression.
not understanding infinity, the boy smiles, relinquishing my worry.
he does not yet know these depths his daddy will wander the world seeking HIS peace for the sake of my solitude.

I am merely a speck on a flea living on a fish in a vast sea.
he, the lighthouse, guides me through these deep dark waters.
as the waves churn and churn,
a million miles were traversed to affirm; this type of love

_TRF

i woke this morning to the blues,
tired eyes can’t fathom this phantom news.

fire breathing out his window pane,
in my dream, thought i'd gone insane.

fictitious facts dawned on me,
my heart scrambled for her recipe.
  
                          So i turned it all off and ran away,
           the twenty four hour cycle versus my ten pound nemesis,
                               can't bear this brunt day after day,
            redemption songs need some bliss.

trust in me as trust in you,
find my flaws....... don't perfect them.
a little boy, i'll re-main true,
cease the fire A-gainst the wind.
casualties can't be subdued,
mind the dice........but don't crap out.
there's no ice that seems to dew,
extinguish flames, round your bout.

                                     Be on my side, I'll be on your side.
                                     Be on my side, I'll be on your side.
                                     Be on my side, I'll be on your side.
                                     Be on my side, I'll be on your side.

TRF                                              TENtwoTW­OthousandSEVENTEEN

In a state of catatonic epilepsy, the fragments flux throughout my head.
This paradox lays atop my pillow as I remember about baby steps and think about Bob.
I calmly ask myself to turn the lamp off, but my arm can’t reach the light.
Yelling, “Go-Go Gadget Arm”, I realize my imagination is fake.

Now gone when I need him I lay and wonder, where is Drop Dead Fred.
Anything to get my mind away from this torturous Blob.
Night and day are little monsters beneath my bed with a ferocious fight.
I reach instead for the bottle that makes sounds that shake like a rattlesnake.

After four of those, each vivid memory is as vague as the next
and the paradox continues…

_TRF

"Hi."
Hey. Yea, I know who you are.
You drive merely miles and I now drive far.
You know why I'm here?
Don't look me in the eyes; I don't want to imagine that fear.
" I do. Hey up there, your daddy's here!"

"We're upstairs, one minute or two!"

"Yea, no **** you're upstairs, I didn't say, hey down there."
"They're upstairs and said one minute or two."
Yea, I heard them. I'm standing right here in the doorway like a vampire
"Would you like to come in, we've set a fire?"
As long as I stay on the fringe
I will be ok right here
as will you.

tick, tock sounds my actual grandfather's clock
To believe I traded the rug for that. My rug sure doesn't tie a room together.

"Your son should be down any second now."

"How about this weather?"
*******.

_TRF

(Acoustic slide only open F)

Close your eyes/ stomp yo’ feet
Recognize/ this here beat
Get on high/ be discreet
Baby, it’s going down-

Got more scars/ than tattoos
Smoky bars/ singin’ blues
My guitar’s/ banged up too
Baby it’s going down-

What we got in this corner hear is the journey man’s soul,
He helped me out once, let’s see if he’ll help me some moe oh oh,
All I wanna say is son, don’t you go out that doe oh oh,
Don’t follow in these footsteps and go lookin to score.

Come at me once, come at me twice, my mama said ya gotta play nice.
These here eyes, that you see, You’ll blink twice before ya see me
Before you see me...

Say goodbye/ watch me leave
Can’t deny/ it’s complete
You’re demise/ my defeat
Baby it’s going down-

Now my Jaw’s/ black and blue
Fly to mars/ I’ll pursue
My memoir’s/ your debut
Baby it’s going down-

Jam- Repeat Chorus -Repeat hook -Slow it down -Don’t get shook

Crackling. Rocking. Crackling. Creaking and oscillating, a century old **Mahogany Wood seceded to the paSsage of time.
Particles of sand, confounded by the Peninsula’s chaotic, blasting breeze now revealed a shade of burnt tar.
   Outside of the second floor Maissonette, sways the rocking chair once warmed by Grandpa.
A Tactless, impatient, rhythmic Requiem Bashes near the wiNdow pane as the sunset falls Under the frame.  
                                                        ­    Empty Folklore presides like the Residue of a once lambent effigy…                                               SwOosh. Hush!
           Cocktails were a Preamble to lunch like diabetes to Nephropathy.
Corrosive Rhetoric seeped in to expose the ego of a Sommelier.
     A smile would Parachute down when you needed it like Nicotine to remind that no Precedent had been set, just an Anomaly.
                     Cutthroat beginnings, this was no Analog man.
        In grade school his Cosmos found Zion and “The world to come”.
        This baby’s Cradle, abandoned High atop a mountain was blown by a Chinook towards the Atlantic.
                “I was found swallowed in a stained Table cloth by Balkan children on a treasure hunt, with no Guarantee and no resignatIon. "
                     The boTtle narrates these chronicles and a smile parachutes down when you need it like nicotine.
                                          Dionysus Crafted his accounts while most Garnered his spiels with Snide.                               As they witnessed dream remembrance; he thought his memory was Presumably accurate, and although his tales were triFling to the gathering audience, they became his Heliocentric history.
            Calling me a young Galleon and handing me a map, Grandpa scanned his hand across the vast land
       guaranteeing trEasure would be found if I had no resignation.
               This Asinine assertion to my teenage sister Symbolized the Barring of her unheeding imagination by time and then a smile parachuted down just when she needed it like nicotine.


_TRF