Made in the shade of a weather-bent grave
Fly like the flames in a cave of an old age
Eye of the cliff side takes gaze at the blaze
A world burning as it’s turning like a half-flipped page

While the sage boils sage in attempt to re-engage
The memories of centuries as they fade into the daze
A gypsy drops spades, says that everything will change
Now the grass blades sway like waves and the moon is strange

Like a whisper before the war, a sigh before the slaughter
Mothers escape into mountains with their arms around their daughters
And the suns rise ready for the fight beside their fathers

And the gypsy woman lied, a pretty penny paid
For her to say that everything would change
Yet it stayed the same

(c) 2015

A bird rests its wings
On the thin disfigured fingers of
The trees branches
Reaching ever so helplessly
To pull the clouds from the sky

And the breeze beats them to the stroke –

The wrinkled eyes of the painter grin in an open field
With a canvas the bristle has yet to caress
Before rolling it up
Like a chess mat
Or a map

He taps it shut like a telescope
Departing for home where there is a woman waiting for him
To inhale her sweet aroma
To swallow the food she’s prepared
To delicately draw the hair
Falling over her face
And tuck it behind her ear
And whisper the words
And brush her skin with quiet hand-language

And he will not be beaten
To the stroke

(c) 2015

The things I do to pass the time
When I don’t have you right by my side
I smoke I drink I try to write
I can’t fall asleep so I’m up all night

Staring at stars trying to learn their names
Build a fire in the woods and get close to the flames
It burns my boots it singes my jeans
And nothing seems real like it’s all a dream

The things I do when we’re apart
Oh they’re not that clever and they ain’t too smart
There’s too much mind and not much heart
In the things I do when we’re apart

The only remedies are your lips
Laying naked together slow dancing to a kiss
It could rain sleet or snow I would run through it
Hand in hand with you just for the fun of it

The things I do to pass the time
When I don’t have you right by my side
I smoke I drink I write I wait
Not a thing in the world could take your place

The moon rides high now but it ain’t your eyes
Your scent is on my sheets now but you aren’t beside
I smile just knowing you’re on the other line
When you ask what I’m doing I’ll say
Just passing time

(c) 2015

It was cool to see the Gibbous moon still
Glowing this morning
And the four birds flying in the shape of
Delphinus
The sun slow to crawl, hidden behind the
Rooftops
Its light, climbing like smoke across the
Sapphire sky
I was like Poseidon, thinking of you then
Dreaming your face into the canvas



The way the leaves sound like scuffing
Heels
The way the trucks peel off like subways
In the distance
And the wind cools everything
Then the sun brings warmth and silence
And the flag settles
And all is still for a moment
Standing in the middle of it
Grinding my teeth
Saving the eight dollars in my pocket
For something other than another pack
Of cigarettes
Waiting for the break to be over
Waiting for the last leg of the shift to end
Waiting to be with my woman again



How is it that all it takes
Is that there be you to come home to?
And my spirits are lifted
My purpose sound
Everything set perfectly in place
Not a worry to be had when there is
You to come home to
Not a thing that could bring me down
When there is you to come home to
My skin still feels your touch
And my lips still feel your lips
My arms are still holding you
I feel your heart
in my chest
beating

(c) 2015

I met a dark girl
With evening skin
She swam beautifully in

Moonshine eyes and a forever smile
A dance in her step all the while
Young woman had style

She reminded me of Mama’s hugs
Out in L.A. in that old jazz club
As we strolled the cobbled stones
Out so far and then back home

By the shadows cast of the tree’s
On the buildings dress and front steps
Up three or four flights she sang to me
And that sound has never left

It was autumn in Boston and all was fresh
The song of her voice, the shine of her flesh
If brass were black, she’d be a saxophone
(with her own wonderful tone)

Swimming in and out of that spotlight on stage
Even her father named her
After a song
By Coltrane

(c) 2015

O my Luve’s like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve’s like the melodie
That’s sweetly played in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry:

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only Luve,
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ it ware ten thousand mile.