Once we ran with freedom
Our hearts floating in the sky.
Love fell abundantly.
Drenching you and I.

Boom!
A selfish thunderburst...
Lightning on the scape.
Our love once bedewed...
Gone without a trace.

Sunshine can't conceal...
My swollen cirrius pain.
Nor the slicing breezes...
Slivering the rain.

Life devoid of nature.
Sunbeams lack the reach.
Indoors.
Life in a tiny cell.
Reinforced with steel.
Heavy dungeon door.
Bars made out of tears.

Melodramatic dreams.
Stir an exotic drink.
Making love on my cot.
Beside the stainless sink.

Life without parole.
Without your tender touch.
Love in the first degree.
Now I never see you much.
Will you visit me?

You are my lonely prison...
My emotional cocoon.
Your love a distant thunderburst...
Far beyond the moon.

You are the pin-up girl...
Pasted on my wall.
You are my prison warden...
Life's not fair at all.

I can question the unknown.
Do you remember me?

I can't remember the memories of my own destiny.
But I remember you.

9 to 5
I can't quit...
Cause I'm not dead yet.
Take my corpse...and
Pour gravy over it.

Who poured grey paint over the dingy walls?
Its dead, drab grey covered the lifeless faces...
Of each and every waitress.

Burning the eggs...
I wonder...
Is this where mediocrity comes to work itself to death?
As I stare into the fire.

The same fire tamed by man a million years before fast food....
The same fire that fueled our modern world....
The same fire that burned in our hearts when we fall in love....
The same fire that shines in your eyes.

The same fire that burned two cities in Japan...
The same fire that burned the books in **** Germany...
The same fire that burned the eggs...
The same fire in my heart you extingushed when you quit the restaurant and said goodbye to my love devoted to you.

Dead end jobs, love and lives...
God giveth and he taketh away.
Can I be smothered in gravy today?

Brisk winds fly...
Slice the sunshine rise.
Mild the morning.

An old man...
Opens his eyes and jumps out of bed...
Thinking...."Has it been a week?"

His hands calloused and sore...
Still, he thanks the Lord...
For his Sunday toil.

Energized...
He dresses quickly...
And he opens the door.

Steps outside...
Scans the countryside...
Dips his tobacco.

Begins with a stride...
A journey far and wide...
Into the city.

Birds sing their morning song...
He whistles along...
With a skip in his step.

Approaching the city...
He sees the bustling people...
Comes to a church and goes to the steeple.

Spits his tobacco...
He enters the the tower
Before the 900 o'clock hour.

As dark as the pitch...
Without a hitch...
He ascends the stairs.

At the silent bells...
He grabs the heavy rope and watches the time...
At 9:00, he arches his back, and tugs on the line.


He feeds a rapid reel...
Steel on steel...
Sets the rythym.

His muscles create...
Beautiful songs...
Every hour all day long.

Watching the time..
He straightens his back and releases the line...
At 600 o'clock sharp.

The slowing reel...
Softens the rythym...
Until the bells go silent.

At the end of the day...
The "Old Man Coil"
Thanks the Lord for his Sunday toil

He descends the stairs...
Without a hitch...
Outside its dark as the pitch...

He exits the tower...
Scans the city scape....
Dips his tobacco.

Leaving the steeple...
He sees fewer people...
As he approaches the country.

No birds are out whistling songs...
Aching back but he trudges along...
No pep in his step.

On last stride...
Ends his journey far and wide...
Back to the country.

Spits his tobacco...
Scans the countryside...
Opens his door.

He steps inside...
Slowly undresses...
In total exhaustion.

His hands bleeding and blistered...
But in a kindly whisper...
He thanks the Lord for his Sunday toil.

The old man...
Jumps into bed...
And closes his eyes to sleep...
Until the following week.

Brisk winds slice...
The starshine rise...
Mild the evening.

Today she recieved ~
A shiny ring ~
From her special man.

Instead of showing off her ring ~
She bowed her head and cried.

Though her tears shed heavy ~
And trickled the long day through~
One never fell in happiness ~
Nor joy.
Nor thankfulness.

She cried because ~
She couldn't show the shiny ring ~
To her mom and dad.
Or her family ~
Or her siblings ~
Nor all the friends she had.

She didnt want the shiny ring at all ~
But couldn't give it back.
And if she could ~
It would only make him mad.

How could a shiny ring of gold ~
Placed around her finger ~
Make her want to cry?

You see, he never set ~
A shiny ring of gold ~
Around her finger.

He gave her a shiny  ~
Purple ring ~
And he put it around her eye.

Motoring.
Listlessly.
Evening crawl.
Halogen blue-blur.
Spit-shines clear.
The asphalt highway.
That goes no where.

Solemn moon.
Pale and dull.
Leans against the rock people.
Walking the desert.
In disguise.

Quiet winds.
Deaf and aphasic.
Feed the alluvial ribbons.
That perch the stoic.
Introverted.
Black Apache elevations.

Cliffs of blened sandstone.
Surrender without a fight.
To the oily, alien sky.
Slumbering in the night.

Silent partner.
Nameless horse.
Sandscape still.
Geological corpse.

Lifeless.
Barren.
Thirsty too.
My Valentine's Day.
Without you.