Tangled sheets and coffee stains,
Foggy minds and opening blinds,
Sunshine devours your very being,
And you are overwhelmed by the innate warmth you feel.
Stretch out your limbs,
Open your eyes,
And prepare to face the day.
11 am.

Feet up on the dashboard
Bass vibrating through the air
Are you ready to go
To fill the hole in your soul

It will never tell its secrets
Old boards, an audible moan
Holding up the sagging roof
A crumbling foundation of stone

The years have done their damage
The summers of scorching sun
All the wet and icy winters
A battle with nothing won

An old harness in the corner
Wearing its coat of dust
A plow no longer plowing
Growing a harvest of rust

If we would only listen
Oh, the stories it would tell
Of barefoot kids in the barnyard
Mama ringing the dinner bell

Tonight will be the last night
That it shadows in the sun
Tomorrow it’s gone forever
The old barns race is done

Once again the mainstream media manipulati
pulls the wool over the eyes of the mind-muddled masses
Too busy getting drunk on fear and distractions
to hear the distant laughter and see the smirk of satisfaction

Little Martha and her
yellow apples.
She drinks warm Mezcal
in the Poppy fields.

Copper canyon runners
wear thin leather
thongs on their
callused ash white feet.

Elevated Chicken coops
keep the Hens cool
in the summer and
safe from the
Copperheads on the
desert floor below.

Men soar like
Eagles and glide
around Polaris.
Trust in the
Hemp ropes
and trust in their
Creator.

Her father went South
to fight for his People.
That's the story she
still tells when asked
about him today.

How much would you pay
If my heart was put out for display
Ready to be sold
What would you give
How much would you bid
How high would you go
Would you give all you owned
What's my heart worth
If you got out bid
Would losing to another hurt