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My eyes are all dried up I can't cry anymore
Even if I could I wouldn't waste my tears
It's all in the wrist a simple twist of fate
You have a beginning before you have a finish
When you **** one out it's not the end
Just dig in and pay the price of the ticket
Fire yourself out of a hundred foot cannon
And choose your death before you fade away
Slap your woman on the *** and show her you love her
Let her know that after the fact you'll still be there
Pass on the torch and roll another number
Lay you to rest before you turn into another.
Here we go baby
It's coming 'round
I'm reaching for the stars
I'm stepping out of town

I used to be as worthless
As **** on a bull
I've turned that around
Now I'm nobody's fool

You may have a choke hold
I'm going to knee you in the *****
You'll relinquish that choke hold
Before the darkness falls

We're on the threshold
Of a whole new deal
It's called turning the thumbscrews
Let's see how you feel

If the revolution is a shot in the dark
I'm hear to tell you it won't be a walk in the park
If you are going to be stupid you'd better be tough
The game is fixed and I've had enough
 Aug 12
Elena
I think love is what we need in the world.
We needed it so badly we created it. Then we fought over it. And we corrupted it. It even became a disease. Until we found it had a medicinal effect. It could heal.

Love seeps into the ground where we bury it. The decay leaves traces of it. So is love also in death? Love is powerful indeed.

If love can find its way in life and death, it must not be mortal like us. Perhaps we can call it Divine. It must be what we see when we look up to the sky.

That’s why we describe it in so many ways. It flows like the blood in our veins. And when we no longer have the strength in our heart, it becomes the soul of our own.
We walk this long highway together
Nothing can pull us apart, no never
The sun so low in the sky headed for the horizon
In the garden, things look so inviting
The flowers they just do as they please.

The trees shake their leaves as we walk by
Hidden secrets they whisper in the breeze.
A long time ago when we first started
I knew you were the one, you were so kindhearted.
Beneath a be-bop moon I want to croon to you
Nothing short of our giving it our best will ever do.
I'll be right here putting all my eggs in one basket
Sweeping sentences into the corners of my cranium
Shaking the cobwebs free to feather in the light breeze

Passing ancient ruined relationships gone down with the ship
The proverbial creek with out the paddle rocks left rocks right
In my right mind there is no turning back you see

You worked hard for what you got welcome to all your stuff
Let's us go for a stumble spilling beer down the front of our shirts
I will skip across the waves like a flat stone to meet my burial at sea
You can have a pistol in the small of your back
And still have your heart upon your sleeve
While mine slips into my palms before it jumps to my throat
My fingers draw across it now you know exactly where I stand
One plus one is two but did you ever feel one plus one equals one
You have to face it sometime and maybe now is right-and-ready
Full on there-you-go maybe tonight's not the night
Can I really be free
Staring at the back of my eyelids when I rest
Thought age would give me a leg up
Little did I know it wasn't the flight of any bird I live
Phoenix or not at times I still tie my ******* in a knot
I crucify my ownself in my mind's marination
Lifting my skinny leg to **** on a tree
The apple doesn't fall far and you can see it in the lines of my face
******* away any freedom that could be had
Can I really be free.
In  between jobs
heard 'no' so long
begun thinking isn't no 'yes'
they think you owe them those snobs
coming home to a hug  I hug her tight
the smell of salt on our cheeks
in our ocean of sobs


Whistling dixie
passed the boneyard by night
going to walk the cat in a dog park
don't worry he won't bite
a newborn's head
in the palm of a hand
is an awesome sight


I've grieved so many times
keeping sake's in every room
so used to death being around
there is no place for gloom
grim reaper can kiss my ***
where ever he loom
Pick out the stars in your eyes
When you stare into a constellation
And if you pass a beggar on the street
They're so you can share your wealth
It's not like the end of the world is coming tomorrow
Even if it were, the beauty of the Super Nova makes a good selfie
No sense living life head up your ***
When money is useless a good meal may be hard to come by
Pack up your troubles and go out in the Nova's blaze of glory
My wife and I
we talk about all
the good times we've had
and about what good times
tomorrow will bring
When we see others
not understanding
what a gift life is
we hang our heads and cry
It's been so long now since
I've touched a pen to paper
But life goes on  and still this crazy world keeps spinning 'round

I wanted to say something profound
But the words wouldn't slip off the pen
I tried to follow life around but was told I had to stand in front

The next time I think about writing a poem
I'll know that if I really had anything to say
People wouldn't listen anyway
I want to
go back to the days
when they let us sing
in the fields
while picking cotton
in the blazing hot sun.
 Jun 23
David Adamson
I stand at the flagstone fountain in the park and gaze across the street at the red brick bungalow where I lived as a child. Am I supposed to intone something? Summon a spirit? Or perhaps I’m the one who’s been summoned? Ghost of myself.

Set into the steep hillside, the house faces west. A boarded-up plate glass window makes it blind in one eye. In the summer, from that window, I watched postcard sunsets. I also learned watching there that the world was TV.  You watched it. It didn’t see you.

On the opposite wall, on a sofa, our family watched on a 15 inch portable Sears black and white with the collapsible rabbit ears men first walk on the moon.  We welled with pride in the space program. I ate Space Food Sticks and drank Tang.

Around to the side, behind the rose bushes, through that small basement window was my bedroom when I was 10. A tiny square of sun on the brightest summer day was all the daylight that ever got in.  There I first felt inside the base of my spine a small hard coldness. The night before, my three best friends had slept over to celebrate my 11th birthday.  Tonight I was alone.  The coldness grew.  It tendril’d into an icy tingle that radiated up my spine and through my arms like a metal cage of disappointment.  

Years later I learned the name of depression. But then it was just  cold inside my spine. And the cold spoke to me. “Davy, this is how it’s gonna be. It’s just you and me. Make room.” “You’re wrong,” I said.  “You’ll see. I’ll meet Ruby Tuesday.” I turned up the transistor radio and pulled the music close to me.

Through that bay window just above, the dining room table, my father and draft-age brother late on summer nights had it out over Vietnam.  

“Immoral, unnecessary, we should not be there,” my brother said.
“You know what happens if we’re not there?” says dad. I was in Korea. When the communists took over, in came the guys with the clipboards. Anyone who spoke English or taught school or owned a business was lined up against a wall and shot.
Yeah, well, we should not be … dying … bombs…bloodbath…reds.

Drowsing I no longer heard the words, only rising and falling pitch, a duet of bitterness, anger, wistfulness, probing for connection And into the night as darkness took hold and the voices merged with the rising and falling rhythm of cricket sounds, harmonizing like sleep.
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