Nur am Morgen
Ich meochte es haben
Geben sie mir brot bitte

Welcher Unterschied besteht zwischen den beiden dingen?
Man hat mir gesagt jeder weiss es

Was ich muss tun
Sonst nichts?
bis zu ende

Kommen Sie zu mir
Dieser Tage




only in the mornings
I'd like to have it
Give me some bread please

what is the difference between the two things?
I've been told everybody knows it

what i must do
Nothing else?
until the end

Come to me
One of these days

It can never be,
yet I still Love him
Cold set tears I have cried,
looking for answers at the bottom of bottles

Whiskey and wine
shall aid to my rhyme
and then I will not be so fake

I can feel your heart beat in different time
Faith pulling
Turning body and soul against mind

I fall into  shadow culling
and sense the weight of time

My dreams are plagued with your corpse
A powerless moment when I cried my plea
And the weight of my remorse
I lost myself there, empty

And tho naught my burden
Revealed the love I have for the
An so I am doomed to a cold fire

looking into your eyes I see revelations
and you laugh
and say to me "you have a bird"
"only for you" is my silent response

Love is blond
She stands quietly
She looks at me with star-crossed hazel eyes
Freckles dance on her right cheek
Everyday she gives me nourishment
Cold as the spring my lips frost and thaw
She is water

Lust is tall and handsome
Dark eyes cheeky grin
He stands strong and proud
He talks of his experience, impresses himself,
Lies Bout his nature, keeps us apart
I close my eyes, warm radiance upon my skin
He is fire


I shall sin for lust and pray for love
Even though they say i"ll never have it

Write. Edit out the fiction. For too long I have gilded everything I know.
In attempts to make this life seem better than it is. To live in a world of edit. Forever stopping my pen. Forever checking my lines and prose as if there would be some sort of inspiration that ... inhale.. takes us away... exhale... and through this pause of a muse comes the inevitable death. I can feel the rusted metal of the tracks now crying for attention and about to scream as the train car twists and it is derailed in a complete and utter dead stop.

3,000 miles on the path through America proper
Blood set out to a promise

Like the snows of February that melt into spring
In the dark of winter the heart shutters off the cold

From the the outskirts
Where the golems hammering the relentless agony of their own doubt
drone out the priests singing their eulogies from smokestacks
Through the midlands, a harsh country where you can see for leagues,
Not a soul in sight

Mr. Brown waves as he makes his way to market in his bright yellow hummer
He once held a powerful title and responsibility
although his corn grows taller and thicker than his grandfather he is at a loss to wrap him mind around the virility that once was the soil
His crops slowly turning his Eden into rolling badlands

Shrubs take the place of dry grass as the wind gains pace
Trees spring up in a crescendo of life as the pair climb into the heavens
The journey of three moons in a metallic horse
A feeling setting in from the west where the arctic winds cross to meet the great current, forcing Father Time's cold breath from his mountain top bungalow to whisper the dirges of the solstice

Now the warmth of the lamplight and the smell of salt is but a memory in the Warp speed of stars flying by
almost as if the specks of light would melt as they come hurdling towards the cockpit
only to be wiped away by the persistent squeaks of rubber
Headlights guide the traveler on the path
The view fifteen nautical feet, now unmeasurable in these foreign lands
Like a skiff out to sea in a tempest
the charts have blown away and nothing but the fury of the storm remains

Upon the arrival at mt. Olympus  
Storm clouds break as a pillar of light reveals
Emphatic joy and unbroken creation
Time pauses for a breath as space opens the lungs to fill the mind of man with sweet dreams

The water cold and the wind bitter
As ice accumulates upon his once fiery heart
A slender body can't help but quiver
As with the sun shall rise his art
And upon the new day dawning
He stands and stretches yawning
At his heart he's clawing
Until his boots are on and upon that heavenly hill
He steps in to paint the landscape with hues of white
Soul reaching out past time past space inspiring love
Dancing in the aether
Soaring as promise
Painting  trails of love

Once forgotten
But never lost
Every time I draw I think of you

I went to the museum the other day
I walked around for hours looking for you
Scrutinizing every piece for a sign of your elegant goofery
And when I could not find you I left a rose and a pack of cigarettes on the steps

Down the street I found a pub
I asked everyone about you
But all I got was a pint of regret

If I could see you
Just so you could **** me and bury me in the back yard
I would be happy
Because you deserve nothing less

What are we search for?
Up sleeve cigarettes and better living through chemistry.
Looking at the stars, inaction we fall for the grifter's pitch
Didn't you hear? The search is over
A man in white found the stone
The elixir

Promising perfection the politician pours pompous profanities while princes pause for prudence and the purser pushes prophetic pleas of profit. Pure precedent presented fresh to the world.


And we cry "what say do we have in these matters?"

I will cry no more
No more will I feel helpless
For I have all the power in my world
If the heavens would rain fire
I shall command the seas to rise
I will stretch out my limbs
roots growing deep, deep down into the raw earth
And when the star appears in the heavens
Reach to chant its praise.