her car was painted neon green
had stickers from places she been
and places she dreamed of
the backseat was a bookshelf
and laundry hamper
James Dean has been sighted back there
on nights when she was running the back roads
at a hundred and cup of coffee in her hand
speed talking over the radio playing too loud
you can hear them laughin miles away
shes got a neon green little car
filled with a world of sunshines
filled with a universe of wonders
and a few McDonalds wrappers
few over due books
and a cat named Steve
been up and down the I-95 corridor
living off the beach Hollywood Florida
chilli cheese dogs and coke
and they share the world with the smiles
she has a little neon green car
you don't need much when you already got everything

the dying candle throws itself
in shadows across the silent places of the room
one of the sleeping figures stirs
disturbed by distant daylights sound
but she diminishes once more into the
innocence of shadow and dream like temporary deaths
an escape from this life

sleeps whim carries across the threshold
to walk on the road leading away from this life
and explore the empire that exists between
shadow and light
a carnival encampment draws you in
the painted faces garish delight
all manner of creature welcomed
even the darkest beast may find home in this
game of shadows
this temporary death she lives tonight

we are reborn each time we slumber
coming back to this life renewed
coming back with the strength we found
in the loved ones waiting for us on the other side
with the strength found in the knowledge that
we can be reborn from our ashes

i tread this morning on a far mountain road
while the fiery colours of some worlds dawn
crept up into a foreign sky
and was joined by a lover awaiting my return
and we laughed at the pure simple beauty
and revelled in eachothers joys
i awoke renewed
i awoke with hope

he stirred from the waking dream
the only sound was marching feet
the roll of drums keeping the pace  
in the cold distance
the sky was cloaked in grey
and the air was thick with smoke and the scents of war
there was a reckless air to his demeanour
there was a dangerous glint to the steel in his eye
as he rode slow up the hard dirt lane
past the old stone wall carved with the names of the fallen
the thousand faces to go with thouse poor names
haunt his soul
the caskets were empty cause not a single man returned
not a single soul but him
so he stalks these hills
the grey wood barren trees
the trail wet from a late rain
his  tattered and stained uniform hanging loose
from his gaunt form
his cutlass in its scabbard by his side
he had drawn that sword  
all along the trails of the north
all through the desperate years of war
regretting each life he took
now old he eyes reflect only the passing days
he hitches his dead pony to the garden gate
and he will take some rest there
by the sweet roses
they smell like the grand ball that he attended
as a young man with that girl
back when he had promise and a future
back when before he had drawn his sword in battle
when he was just another handsome young man
in his neatly pressed uniform
now he falls to sleep at last to sweet dreams
of her and her gentle hand
time has come for reckoning
the last face he would behold
would be hers
and she was singing softly
as he slipped away
to join his loyal troops once again
for the final march into the kingdom come
and oblivion
his statue now gathers pigeons on the college quad
his face obscured by the shadows of academias desire to analyze
but you can still trace the track of his tears

the devil in the details
retain the written
cast off the spoken
like the table scraps from
some dark kings feast
his richly clad hands gripping the meat
with stranglehold
the other clutching the spilled wine
his rages echo in stone hall
pronouncements of beheadings
and tax collectors greedy hand

poor king john and the riddles three
poor king john and his bride to be
poor king john and the fate he did not foresee

it was a bright kingdom
long ago
its glory days faded but still it shone brightly
rich in its fair folk and fertile lands
sit down here by the fire
take your ease
let me spin you a tale
let me weave you a storybook kingdoms dark fall
drink up your wine and steel your heart
for its a tale of a king
of love and lust
betrayal and blood
its a cautionary tale
of a young princess and the bright hopes
that blinded her
to the terrible man she loved

poor king john and the riddles three
poor king john and his bride to be
poor king john and the fate he did not foresee

she had come across the channel waters
in fine sailing ships
stood in the deck expectant eye to the distant shore
in her lace and silks and jewels a three
her hair flowing like a river of dark chocolate
her eyes of crisp blue
she was the finest of maidens
a princess caring and true
the kindest heart and the wisest mind
she thought she was destined to be a queen
but fate has terrible twists cruel and careless
cry now for this sweet princess

poor king john and the riddles three
poor king john and his bride to be
poor king john and the fate he did not foresee

all these years later it is a tale had to speak
so sit yourself down here by the warmth of the fire
gather the courage of your heart
for this is a tale to test the strongest not to break to tears
this is the tale
of king john and the kingdom of the forest

poor king john and the riddles three
poor king john and his bride to be
poor king john and the fate he did not foresee

december 10th 1982
1am
sleepless in the the neurotic wastelands
she has fifty two cards
each has a face none of them are mine
but the jack of hearts is there and with her childbearing hips
they could pump out a couple of rug rats
start their own little civilization
here on the backwaters
she gives me a ride to the edge of the glades
and drops me off at a truckstop in the rain

december 10th 1982 4:22am
the salt of the earth diner on route 1
with the waitress chewing gum at the counter
staring off into the distant light of highrise miami
a sheen of sweat glistens on her deep tan
but its not as sticky or deep as her mind
thats wandering out in the Catskill mountains
looking for Johnny Appleseed

december 15th 1988 10:00am
doves take flight in the
soft white afterglow of day
with a stir of wings
and her tender lips let slip
of her longing for innermost peace
her eyes seeing nothing but
the golden glow of some distant day
some half remembered day
the time i wait for
summers sweet song
has been far too long
this is a winter world

december 15th  1993 1:00pm
leaning over the balcony rail
she shouts her smiles down
to the regular faces on the rows road
petticoats of fine linen
and her hair up
shes a sea of smiles
as they all shuffle in to see the show
Broken Bernie and his girl Christa
who snowbunnys down to the neon Florida sun
round this time of year

december 13th  1996 6:00pm
desperado's gather in the setting sun
hunger in their eyes
between the rock and hard place
and with a hard eyed thought they
move into the town
she pours him a cup of coffee
and lays a hand softly upon his shoulder
urging him to stay and leave such things
to lesser men
but he knows he must rise to the call
to do less would be treason to his nature
to do less would betray everything he has stood for

today, now*
the words waiting on lips as i stumble out of sleep
make little sense at least to the waking mind
but the world makes little sense when fully awake
so this dream fragment hardy seems out of place
wearing a stove pipe hat chewing on a whales tail
and chatting with Abe Lincoln
my guess would be he wanted his hat back

glean from the grey light
of storm infested day
knowledge and rumour of
portent and potions which are
the ingredients of her heretic mind
and its tricksy path through the thorns

her face defends against such conversation
deflects the angrier intents and sends them off
like petulant schoolchildren to
stand in a meadow of butterfly's and balloons
their angry little faces red with envy
at the good kids who get ice cream
think bland thoughts children
live bland lives and you can have cookies and cake
all day long

quiet now here on the back porch
'cept Cecil who is mumbling his disgruntled
mind to the saints above
while he sips his bottle of red wine
the soft rain and winter birds
are the symphony to his lone act stage production
of another mans life
which is well lived and hardy
a life without such rain
a life without winter birds

winter birds
huddle next to eachother on tree-limb
waiting for a chance to join the swift sky
dance in its rivers of air
dream in its wondrous star laden halls
breath its wide open sea
winter birds want to fly away
just like me
just like me

her moist candy lips decorate my eyes
with thick intentions **** sweet
she moves across the room like a liquid smooth and wet
her hot skin sends chills up my spine
as she unwraps herself and melts fluently into my arms
like my body is a second language to her
moist candy lips taste so good
her dreadlocks scented with roses
entwined with beads
she swallows me down to my heart and soul
hours later in the kitchen
visions of better pancakes
make her inspect the lumpy batter
with narrowed eyed suspicions
cluck the tongue and
natter natter natter the bakers pie
neener neener neener shes got my weener
you spoon out the day
like it was ice creams
flavours of the mind a rainbow of reasons to love
she hovers over your stove puts a pipe in your hat
and talks over your carefully chosen words
with her own reasons for her lumpy mind
poor girl never really got her batter really stirred by somebody
we laugh the day away
this is how life should be

we  left the old home just
before first light broke to the east
she looked weary and her head hung low
knew she didnt want to leave
but our song had run its course
and it was time to be movin on
and we knew it would never be the same
the summer sun on the rusted wrecks in the field
the cool cool deep waters that we would swim in
at the lake with the pine trees
the old house had one last night
and we had spent it talking on the roof
watching the stars doing their dance
and as the light creeps on in
we gathered ourselfs for one last kiss
at the door where so long ago had carried
her as a blushing bride across the step
starting our time
starting our lives
never thought we'd have to start all over again
nothing you can say
bank man came and posted his sing
and now we got to roll on
fore they roll over us
time is long in the tooth
but we will be ok im sure
as i look out into the breaking bright sun
and the wider world waiting for me

his heavy face drags his head down her shirt
pleads innocence but the grin on his
face calls him a liar liar pants on fire
she just nods knowingly and unbuttons the next one down
cause she has been through the catalogue of this fools parade
and knows a good catch when she has her hooks in him
he starts flapping his arms like a fish outa water
we all just laugh we all been there
we all been a bird in the air

i make coffee but they are intent on the the sideshow
taking place on the couch
i turn to find the girls choir locked in dire straights
with the ****** circus clowns
they will be singing the blues soon enough
cause we all got a price to pay
when the penny comes to a pound
when the carpet bagger comes to call
and the price you pay equal
to the tears you lay

i sit back and light up the room with my handy dandy
nightwatchman flashlight
but soon realize that there are things here id rather not see
as the girls choir gets down and ***** with the clowns
they would rather have a warm bed now
than the cold promise of better kitchens two car garage tomorrow
and im not one to say they are wrong
iv swallowed enough swords
iv seen enough of the bitter bread
so make some room sweetheart
cause you look like you could use some company down there
in your dark corner of the strange parade...
is that a horse head you have on?

this room gets real wild at a quarter to three
the old man has come down
and is talking up the future to some young honey
who knows better but has an eye on his wallet
we all got a price to pay
he gonna give up his riches
shes gonna give up her dreams
all got a price to pay
when  the carpet bagger comes to call

i shake off the dawn
and stumble out to the street
look back to find the whole circus waving goodbye
they all look so happy and content
even the ones with the bloodstains
but that's the price i gotta pay
looks so pretty from this far down the road
looks so warm and inviting with their smiles and lollipops
the circus clowns and the pregnant girls choir
even she seems friendly
in the heat haze of the long hours away
but something reminds me of all her warts
all her filthy fingers grabbing at the shirt-tail
he eyes pleading a different case before the high court
of her own self doubts

when the carpet bagger comes to call
he opens his bag of tricks
and shows you a world of wonder
all glitter and lights
but it isnt till the bill is due
that you remember we all got a price to pay
we all are fish out of water

the sun setting on the high mountain passes
brilliant colours in the sharp cold air
he rode slowly along the path
holding the reigns in one hand
the other resting on his colt revolver
his dark coat pulled up
covers his face
from the biting cold
some hours from now
further down the trail he will rest a bit
before pushing on
make the rio grande before the week is out
make the border and freedom before
the hangman can claim him
he shifts his weight on the saddle and
his horse flicks a worried ear
his appaloosa was his friend
too many miles shared and they had come to understand
and know eachother too well
from the desert towns dry and bitter
to the rain swept mountaintops of colorado
from saloons and dancing girls
to the long hard chase of the lawman following
had seen more miles than care to think
such a sweet tale
such adventure as he had dreamed of
when he was a boy
robbing trains and gunfights with bad man
but mostly he thinks of his country rose
and her little house near topeka
and how she said that there was always be
room for him in her bed and heart
with the hard won smile she gave him
rough round the edges but she was soft in every way
that a road weary man like him could hope for
thought of her now
all these miles away
as the sun sets on the high mountain passes
so deep with winter snows
so silent under crisp moonlight
her face there in his heart
as he drifts through the darkness
drifts through the years and miles
forever more
one hand on the reigns
the other on his colt revolver
some men were born never to rest
born never to know a home

there was a small bag hanging
on a gold chain round her sweet neck
woven with a pattern of roses
with a single jewel like an eye
it hung there on the musky damp of her of her hot skin
just showing neath the folded
collar of her deep blue shirt
with one painted hand and its bracelet sparkling
she fingered the small leather bag
reminding herself within lay
and the line that was crossed and her desperate hour
and how i was there with solution in hand

she looked out at me from behind thouse majestic eyes
from within the temple of her softly beating heart
from the very center of my known universe
and spoke to me with a small gentle sound
her words caressed the worried brow of my perceptions
the things id been dreamin on in such dark ways
the rumors of worry that haunt my steps
and with my hand held in hers
she walked me on down to the end of the day
scattering dreams at my feet like a path to mystery's
deep satin night sky's with the heat of blazing stars
summer evening with its long gentle hours
comforting lamplight of home golden and safe
all within the majesty of her simple pure eyes
and the soft pink of her lips
as we make love once again neath the spinning stars
surrounded by the landscapes of summer
and the endlessness of time when hand in hand with
your lover
and the small bag now folded
gathering dust in the shadows
fading from memory

the image layered on the minds eye
a shifting of shadows held in still life
a fragment of world seen
through the reflections of the photographers mind
through the images living story
it breaths it emotions into your heart
without a word or sound
tells you the tale of child and the dog
they protect eachother
the house its empty halls waiting to be filled
with noise and family
the yards threadbare carpet of grass
clinging to a wildness that it longs for
this photograph
speaks
listen with your heart

she leans into my words
and with a deft motion
scatters the playful children of her amused thought
that are trying to distract her
she liberates the pen and paper constructions
that i built with yesterdays words
and places them with a lovers care
on the table before us
as if to bring to attention their needy faces
but not to conversation their actual words
like photographs of passing of couples whispering
the intent but not content
she leans into my words and pulls them apart
showering my souls breach with new light
disrobing the layers of spanish thread
deeper intents to mislead and withdraw
before the mute face can speak
she tosses her hair to one side
i evaporated on her smile
it was just too **** sweet hot
it just set my city afire
so she stood up and walked to the streets edge
to show the ***** dawn a true light
to show the sleeping a new way to dream
to show the new goddess to her waiting world
while she makes sunday morning breakfast
of dollar cakes and crayon drawings
landscapes in polluted purples
coffee strong and the child cries in the crib
she lingers by the table playing
with a lock of my hair
while we spoke soft of the day
to the rainswept beach to hunt for shells
paste them in the scrapbook of my soul
long as shes here with me
sunday afternoon rain
laying in the bungalows shady porch watching
the rain roll in singing softly
long as shes here with me

the hard pavement brittle and broken to one side
the other only a place for the breezes of swift metal
keeping eye to the small pebbles a pace ahead
i venture up the river of dirt and rusted cans
the trapped paper bearing sad tidings of yesterday
and the cast off cloth of some
middle of the night maiden seeking fresh appearance

i glance up to gauge the travels remaining me
but catch only the watching eye
of a shadow neighbour and his questionable dog
its head to one side as it figures the angles
and debates the meanings
i return to the gutters skeletons
rusted cans and bottles
the cast off of passers by
and the sorrowful deposits of a mournful winter wind
a shattered lightbulb
out in the field
what could it have lit in such a foreign place
who could have forsaken its warm glow
in such a strange place

i tread on
but find no signature
of this nameless faceless soul
who once stood
on the edge of this tarmac
and lit the world with a hot and urgent shout
now only trampled dust remains
with the crushed cans
and trapped papers
only a minor sketch
in a world of masterpieces in motion
but while it lasted it was her hand in mine
walking home to that room
just one night in a lifetime of nights
but what a night
what a woman

sunset faces
seem filled with thoughtful reflection
eyes drawn to their own page of living
 and their own written in stone paths
the golden light of the westbound sun
gives its kindness to her weathered face
hides the lines of worry
that have shadowed her days
and in the dark hour
it will be the afterimage of her golden moment
that will sketch this day in ink for me
that will define this place for me
the profile of her face in  golden sunset
her proud strong frailty
that her standing spoke so loudly
as to confound the darkness
and in thouse dying embers of daylight
behind and by her side all these silent spectators
to this strange day shall mark it within their own hearts
what they beheld on this side road of humanity's circus
one old woman stood and defeated the darkness