Lawrence of Arabia keeps picking up his tent
gathers all his jewels and wares
and moves on up the road
and the smiling faces trail along
and there under the bright dazzling lights
he sets up shop and they all break into song
the nightwatchman nervously fingers his flashlight
while Lawrence sneaks up from behind and pranks him

the Gretchens and the weary guitar player
gather near the stage
and cast an iron mask into the flames
hoping it'll melt
but its soaked eye stares out weakly
in the ashes of all Lawrence had built
but he's in the corner with Betty Boop and a
bottle of wine getting drunk
and reliving her salad days
she carries a scrapbook of naughty pictures
she keeps all her naughty thoughts in her backpack
no reason to let anyone know what shes really thinking
her fast nasty hand
is only a reflection of her nimble mind
it reaches for the absolution of innocence
full knowing that its real intent is opposite
a fast nasty piece that reeks of rubberbands and scotch tape

his careful face
turned to the sky
pleading the waking of winter
his summer burned eye seeking
the solace of cold
but he only finds
the ribbon of pavement
stretched out before him
from his steel shod foot
to the limits of imagination
like some dazzling promise of tomorrow
every day he snuck quietly
to the hallway of open air
where the sunlight filtered down
thru the broken overhead leaves
and fell on the fertile soil
he turned his head and let the sun soak into his soul
feeling its warmth with his heart
feeling the freedom it implies with every yearning fiber of his being
for that sunshine speaks to him of open road
of no boundaries and no lies
lifts his chained hands in silent supplication
lifts his ensnared heart in silent prayer
release me from this place
free me from this fate
but the sun drifts forward on its silent mission
moves through its daily tale
without pause or ponder
and soon slips to the edge of the great open airs vaulted ceiling
its life giving rays slip to the edge and without a word slip away
he watches them go with a tear
this creature of darkness
he pleads the waking of winter
that will blanket the world in snow
to be renewed come spring
perhaps then he will be renewed also

as daylights shine wears thin
and evening is leaning on you heavy
like the engine of time has
forgotten to grease its wheel
your futility fueled smile has lost ground
in the struggle with the grin
of the man wearing a clown suit
he is a rainbow of laughs
he is the face behind the face that
you look into with approaching dread

the obvious winds of encroaching rain
tread briskly past my quiet ear
a motorcycle engine winds up its gears
in the summer like distance
like an echo in this autumn brink of evening
pretence of the storm
a few scattered cool drops of water
fall casual to the hard red surface of the patio
its faded and tattered paint beset with taint
here once sat a small brick wall
its remains scattered amongst the litter
in the overgrown weeds
as the rain begins in earnest
she leads me inside the house
and to a bedroom not used by shooters
the two of us sit in silence and listen to the passing storm
a woman without a word enters and
gathers herself in a corner

outside the window
sunlight creeps back over the world
reveals the man with the clown suit
sitting waiting for you outside the window
he had waited all his life
and he waits still
in his comfort chair
its worn plastic form strains but holds
his heavy thoughts
as the world passes in two's or threes
all the laughing faces
and the desperate lookers eyeing the safe harbour
he had waited all his life
inspite of the noise and garbage
he sits here and plays with the firebox
its heat keeps him from getting
a frozen heart

the three of us
leave the shooters house
making roads for the soothsayers den
only she can settle our earthly delemia
me, her and the clown
full on night gathers around our swift feet
the lights of the carnival
reflected in the puddles left by the last rain
the already stale the water is disturbed by our passing
the air smelled like cotton candy
and is full of noise
the soothsayer is mute
her lips sealed with beeswax
because she is mourning her camera
cause the camera was once her ticket out of town
it was gonna be a one way nonstop to hollywood
but it ended up being hollyweird and it wasn't in california
the four of us head for the interstate
if you cant solve it
run

the wood floor a sea
of contradictions
wake there with a disassembled
sense of last night
the fragments of a womans kiss
lay there pink lipstick clinging to its vestiges
shards of a rain swept street
and the quiet of a november thunderstorm
pools of darkness uninterrupted by the wind
pieces of a man laughing without humor
this wood floor holds the key
but to discover truth in the
littered expanse of bottles
benith the layers of dust lain down
by the years
the wood floor becomes a trap
a puzzle prison
the mind grapples with

this dim light room
you protest the error
which must be why your here
but not even a flicker of interest
passes the faces
gather in the moment
digest its very essence
with an eye to its taste and texture
can it be such
that while you see the logic
thouse around only see the flaw
you protest the confusion
she laughs dull witted and mutters
that confusion isnt allowed
without proper paperwork
therefore there is no confusion
sit down and shut up
you stand and try to leave
the hired hand
stops you with a gentle hand
no friend we cant have that
sit down go with the flow
the tragedy is in her eyeless watching
she just lingers there in the shadows
with a television at full volume
cartoons of americas empire building days
running marathon back to back
with the guy who teaches how to paint
one a masterpiece of tragedy
the other a tragedy of masterpieces
life is a ironic love affair of
joyfull young pretty college girls
and the bitter old men they hide
dogeared books of poems tucked inside
old leather jackets
misery need not apply

on the banks of the
mighty south platte river
he lay prostrate to the twin gods
with his dogeared copy of deadbase open to his first show
and the touch sensitive sky full of magic colour
raise your arms and think that madness is only as
deep as your devotion
dances barefoot on the empty road to the crickets song
ain't it sweet ain't it strong

our friends lived in lean to and
city's of cardboard
at the rivers edge
in the cool of the railroad breezeway
but he lived in the brambles
and on the sandy beach
listened to the vastness of night
dances barefoot on the empty road to the crickets song
ain't it sweet ain't it strong

his voice still echoes in my mind
as he introduced fast fingers to the skin of sky
trace out the silhouette
of her form
near as he can remember
which ain't too near at all
but his words
resembles free form skull and roses
looks like habitat for the shady
but it rolls clean
and has a kind hand for the friendly face

he was  always up for a trek through the city sleeping
dumpster diving and sky laughing
always had little extra warm gear for a cold brother
always had something to chew on for
a hungry sister
always had tunes a flutter
ready to roll on the deck

one day came to the rivers edge
and brother was gone
we searched high and low
but time pass
and river flow
he never did come back
picture him somewhere
dancing barefoot on the empty road to the crickets song
ain't it sweet ain't it strong

the absurd
and the cynical
the elegant
and the beautiful
have all spoken here
voices raised in secretive hope
of being the one heard above all the rest
being the one to rise and soar
unfettered and unleashed
the night is filled with these
thousand fold whispers
these untold tales
clothed in the fine silks
and filthy rags
a ballroom dance of silent partners

the grand opera house
its silent hall so strange to tread
where hours before was filled with
the rushing stream of chatter
now echoes the hard shoes of the nightwatchman
the empty seats mute witnesses to the
loneliness of this passage of hours
the passages backstage
filled with absent bustling labours of
the arts lovers and
children of the arts lurid steamy affairs

the art itself
lingers all around this hallowed ground
it is more than the lines and scenes
of thouse who nobly take the stage
more than the curtains and lights
of the labours of its love
the art itself is a grand and
beautiful creature
a dignified and noble creature
hard taskmaster and passionate lover
for which time itself has no meaning
it is here in the wood of the stage
it is here in the bones of the world

the nightwatchman
treads this quiet place
and sees a face of the art few get to see
her quiet home while she rests
her repose before the curtain of
tomorrow is raised
before once again they all gather
for the art of live performance

vapour locked
her vacant eyes looking
up at the falling stars
at the laughing cowgirl riding a
rocket to the moon
a hero to her generation
a pin up girl flashing a bit of skin
but the intent is betrayed by the feeling
that this endless road has consequences

she wanders the shopping mall of our world
with a loose credit card
as her only symbol of belonging
as her only connection to humanity
guard your purchases against theft
guard your heart against pilfering
but she just looks through you with
a dazzled distraction
that defies definition
she's happier there than most of us
are here

a white picket fence
surrounds the ruins that she picks through
the rubble of her thoughts in a scattered pile
while the tatters of her former life
now decorate the walls of a fools parade
now is the poster child of the loosing war
but she endures the winter rain
and stacks the broken bricks of her former world
neatly into the categories she was shown
as a child
and that's all she wants to return to
the innocence of childhood
no complexity's  
no hangups

vapour locked into the
moment she escaped all the things
she thought
and the things she almost but not quit felt
when her man came round
trying to convince herself that
if she fakes it long enough
she be happy someday
playin the housewife and mother
playin the well adjusted and smiling face
she has plastered on every morning for twenty two years

but in her heart
she's with that cowgirl
riding rocket to the moon
and kissing all the girls
kissing all the girls
then she'd be happy
and in her heart she knows it
so why is she lingering here ill never know
ill never know

i dreamt
i moved into a apartment
with an old brick wall
and its decaying face
the old light hanging from a thread
swings on the open breeze
from the window
time seems to slow down to a crawl
so i can see each and every flaw
so i can feel each and every thing she wanted me to feel
so i can know each and everything she saw
and so i see the the moment captured in ink
on her sketch pad
a drawing of the wind in the trees
a image of the smell of the fresh cut grass
the thoughts of the passer-by
who looked with such stark wonder
at this open display of what we have all taken
for granted we could never achieve

the old brick wall
leaned into the wind
and held
for one more day
kept safe the world she held so dear
safe for one more stormy night
the old brick wall
with its spray painted messages
like how joe loves daisy
and how we should make love not war
the old brick wall
holds back the world
from coming into her quiet soul
into the paper flowers and lace curtains of her life

the old brick wall
was once the west most piece of
the boxers rebellion
he was sad all his life
torn from his violent profession
and forced to retire
and his fists lay idle
with objections written on them like scars
but after years he came to terms
with the reasons great and small
with the rationalizations made up and real
and found peace
he found his fists could be hands
and hands can pet a cat
hands can paint a masterpiece
write a love poem
hands can touch another person without hurting them
and he suddenly he didn't want to hurt anyone ever again
because he loved having hands
and all the beautiful things they could do
he would never have fists again
and that change in him  
was so profound that it became magical and
part of the old brick wall

so it will endure past its years
to protect her little scavenged world
her delicate life
her frail thoughts
because beauty isn't always
what the world thinks it is
a boxer can tell you that

her face turns to stone
as she comes face to face with her fear
eye to eye with her past
and she wonders as she is running away
you were supposed to be here to save her from
having to acknowledge she's just as
weak and vulnerable as any human being

she would pay big bucks
to have her face erased
to have her name steam cleaned
but you got to have solid ground
to stand on for that kind of silliness
and seems like she has only time
to sit and stare with open lust
for the guy at the carnival
with the funny oversized shoes
and clown outfit on
please call me tonight
she confides in him
that she would marry a real man like him.
given half a chance
he yawns and looks skeptically at her
******* the handle on his pearl revolver
one of these he's gonna shoot off his mouth
then they'll listen
half dancing
half shufflin he moves into the room
hoping that of he looks suave

now the time has gone by
and they have done little with many things
heads full of snow
his clown suit folded up and put away
her makeup neatly put on backwards
both standing hand in hand
in the doorway
of the last train
before the 'pocky-clipse
fore it all got blown to hell and gone

the door handle turned
the stage set and the actors rehearsed
everything primed and just the waiting
that pause before the plunge
that backwards glance
to say you'll never be here again
to think on regrets and fear
the consequences of what we do here
and then you take that step
take the plunge
and up off the floor you gotta come
after its all blown to hell and gone
after the whole ***** little
empire of her lies has collapsed
fore it all got blown to hell
and gone in the 'pocky-clipse

we left london by train
headed north
into a chill english winter day
her grey coat and proper hat
buttoned up neatly
such a beautiful woman
and i marvel that shes mine
reach out and touch her lips with
one finger
trace the line of her chin
lean in and kiss her hard
with the passion i feel
the depth and force of my love for her
so intense its hot inside my chest
its like sudden flame in my heart
and she pushes into me
giving herself to it
giving herself to me
i can smell the scent of her perfume
feel the course texture of her coat
feel the train moving
but thats all distant like a dream
the only thing real to me
is her in my arms
is her filling my senses
my lover
my everything

the traceable lines that
lead me here
pattern the sky
above the remains of a streetlight
its bent frame
shattered glass
cannot detract from its
deep and careful meanings
it speaks in its silent decay
of nights when teenagers stopped
beneath its orange glow
and kissed goodnight
before curfew
forced them home
it used to give a pool of light
that would be safe and warm
it feels like a home

this place where peace of mind
is a material device
where its tangible depth
can be measured in more than words
this fortification of stout heart
and decided mind
i fall back to reside here for
a moments reprise from the clash
of the seeming armed conflict
that must rage about this place
you cannot have dark without light
peace without war
isn't peace of mind measured by the conflict around it
isn't the measure of a mans serenity
in the struggles he must endure to achieve
i fall back to this segue between
dark of ignorant bliss
and the blinding incandescence of misinterpretation
of that so called enlightenment
peace of mind is a state difficult to discover
because it cannot be truly achieved
it is the illusion of sophistry
peace can be found in small amounts
in the laughter and love of friends and family
in the arms of a lover
in the warm sun of summer's day
in the grandeur of summer night

we think of them as lazy
slow and peaceful
places of fishing and summer play
but a river...

(one)
the rivers edge
intoxicated by the night air
drunk with the silken touch of her
he walked slow through the old town streets
down to the rivers edge
thought to sit for a space at the calming sounds of
the rivers quiet song
he shut his eyes and pictured her face
thought about each and every soft thing bout her
and slipped into a sleep

the words were printed with legible care
you could sense the measured time taken
perfect each etched line on the paper
like they themselves were children
to be nurtured
and the phrases were trimmed
and crafted
cant you see that this is
the man you were born to be
wordsmith

he stirred in his sleep
deep in the night
the small boat he had fallen asleep on
now carried him silent and swift
miles down the wide old river
from her rich silent forests of the north
through her flatlands of crops
down to the mud of the delta

he dreams of her
telling him a story
with her voice soft and full of love
a story of a man on a boat drifting
down a long river
and of all the wonders that sleeping
man could not see
her story came to its end
as he slowly woke from his slumbers
on a calm sea
with no shore to the eyes furthest see

(two)
the morning light
is twisted up in the eye
the morning air is thick as thieves
as it tries to rob your strength
stagger down long the rivers edge
hear them coming on the dirt road
try and hide your fearful face
but its daylights dark delight
to leave you exposed for all to see

you wade into the rivers cold waters
feel it trying to pull your feet from under you
feel it tryin to pull you down to a hard place
from whence you shall find no return
fight to swim in the stained waters
tastes of metal
tastes like death
but you must flee this place
flee this open grave with your name carved

on the rivers far bank
perceive the tinge of a fast car
escape from this dark place of daylight
all you must do is make it to the shore
just a few feet more
till salvation
you hear them behind almost upon you
come to drag you back
to that soul killing prison
here in the midday sun things growin dim
vision growing faint
as you slip into the darkness beyond this world
they did not claim you
the river did