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I approach most desires
like a competition; can I
**** better than him;
can I be famous at twenty-
-three since he was famous at
twenty-four -- I must be able
to sink better than him.

God, it is exhausting. I
feel like I'm dancing with
a machine; a phantom that
I can never catch, for it runs
on my blood; my insecurities;
my passion -- and, boy, oh boy,
can I attest to having plenty of
  that stuff, ladies and germs.

I think, truly, that I am
encompassing the American Dream
I think is utterly flawed; that I think
is futile in nature; that I am sure of
is the closest thing to Hell, in this
Godless, spiritually motherless
dark shoebox of sudden collisions;
this space of useful and useless
results, splayed onto and into
our hearts, asking for reverence.

There is nothing  I want more
than to be sure that my importance
is not illusory. I am not sure if
I am real.
Travelin Man,
They call me Nomad.
Rolled into Kansas
and found there really is an OZ.

Didn't see Dorothy or Toto,
But both witches found me.
Found a painting,
Mona Lisa for real.

Then time jumped
The TinMan ******
And from the Belly of the Beast,
Grace prevailed.

27 days right off Main Street,
The address of the Yellow Brick Road
27 days sharing and caring.
Me and Mona Lisa rolling.

And she rose from the ashes,
Her red shoes tap tap tapping,
Mona Lisa came back to the world,
I heard the miracle
Her Spirit reborn.

Not even a chapter in a hero sage,
But a good first page
The Knight of a soaring heart,
More will be revealed.....
force field
each opening filled
titanic excellence
blurred all vision
abrupt tidal change
intimacy deranged
ring of truth
Just shadow words, barely poetic.
Temporary Shelter

It is such a comfy bed
that little nest on the floor
More than I have had
It includes a lock and door

Temporary Shelter

Feet cracked and soiled
Shoes old and worn
been walking this same pathway
since the day I was born

Temporary Shelter

They always smile
before we say goodbye
toting good intentions
making me gunshy

Temporary Shelter

From underneath the trees
my skylight was the moon
yet I kept on praying
we would get home soon

Temporary Shelter
Out of the bitter nest of emotions, comes the enigma of broken words.
He had a blue heart, that was pure gold.
As musicians, there's a lot we can learn from
The King;
In that one note,
Can sound like the world in you.

Rest In Paradise,
BB King
(September 16, 1925 – May 14, 2015)
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