Make them suffer, fall in love
Words dripping with emotion
You're the singer....alchemist
Words and Music are your potion
Make them cry, laugh, and sing
Make them react to every line
Stir the *** some....Alchemist
On a tightrope made of rhyme

One chance is all you get
Working without a net
No one will hear you fall
You're tightrope is made of words
On stage at the Bluebird
You've only one chance...that's all

Write your thoughts out, share your dreams
Do it in three four time
Put it to music, bring them along
On your musical tightrope line
Go out and sell yourself, nightly
And make them feel what is inside
Remember, you're up on a tightrope
And each night, is a completely new ride

One chance is all you get
Working without a net
No one will hear you fall
You're tightrope is made of words
On stage at the Bluebird
You've only one chance...that's all


There's no support but words and music
At the Bluebird, you're on your own
Make them a part of you, do the best you can do
Make them all family, sing to them each...alone
Don't forget don't look down, just focus on the light
Come on now, Alchemist, stir the *** some more
Make them all cry again, make them remember when
Sing from the tightrope and they'll fall in love once more

One chance is all you get
Working without a net
No one will hear you fall
You're tightrope is made of words
On stage at the Bluebird
You've only one chance...that's all

i am about to be nothing.
on the cusp of a wisp
i am dis-jewelled
and the farthing in my hand
is a clip of my purchase.
to destroy is to be a manling.
i come from dust
and this is the love
that has no name
but claims the cinch of my wrist
'round the throat
of my tulips.

again....

i am made to unmake.
i claw at the virtue of my truth
only to suffer
the cavernous ploy
of my wishful thinking.

you are the sun
that spoke my name
and said "why? "

i am the smoke
in an otherwise
sterile balloon.

i am lost and that is no wonder in the world.
we have our monsters
and the picture of our beautiful, is the sting . not the beast,
i need to sleep awhile... because the night is the night
and God weary.
i have no hands to grasp this completely
but i have you
to make terrible, my every concoction
of how it truly Is.

but here it comes.

i do not linger where you want.
i ***** and trump in the loam
of our distinguished withering
and amass a lump of false joy
for our trouble.

could you love me in my narrow caul ?

would you allow for the winters of our rubies
and still be sweet ?

can we sever
the ties that blind
and regard the sun
a friend ?
when so much
is the devil's orphan
and so little
the day's
moon ?

can we wait ?

Or are you such as I -
and can no longer be
Yes
when the short answer
is a Novel ?

that hasn't slept....

Bucket full of coins and lint
From pockets of the passing
He sits there staring silently
His sign board does the asking

Truth be told he only wants
Money for his drink
His sign expresses honestly
What the passers by all think

Why Lie, Need *****
is written on his card
But, to look this man right in the eye
Is really something hard

He doesn't smile, is dressed for warmth
Even though it is quite warm
I don't think it's for the weather
It's for his own internal storm

That rips apart inside his soul
A storm that no one's seen
It knocked him on a wayward course
He lost who he might have been

We'll never know just who he was
We only know him at this hour
For those who pass him here each day
He's known as Whiskey Sour

He sits there with his plastic tub
Watching people on their way
Whiskey Sour thanks them kindly
No matter what they say

A victim of his own devices
Or a victim of all ours
No matter where you walk and look
You will all meet Whiskey Sours.