The man on the phone
told him that rent was due
by five o'clock
rent which was not there
but five was seven hours away
and he had this feeling
that seven hours was a good distance
to put between him and Richmond
so he packed up his clothes
his old jeans and plaid button downs
and his typewriter
that old clunky *******
which made such sweet music
he stuffed it all into a backpack
and left his keys in the apartment
as the door closed for him
for the last time

He left Virginia behind
and headed west
he spent a night or two in Memphis
drinking cheap bourbon from a plastic bottle
and dancing with some pretty little thing
as Johnny Cash played over the radio
He took his car
and passed through
Fort Smith Arkansas
but he didn't stay too long
He made a few bucks
cleaning glasses in a ****** old bar
in Oklahoma City
sleeping in the small room
upstairs
He made it to Amarillo Texas
and thought that he might just stay
under the dead pan
Texas sun
but he was restlessly being chased
by his memories and fears
His car broke down
in Albuquerque
so he hopped on a train
heading to Phoenix
but Phoenix was tough
and alien
and he got footloose
real quick
He hitched out of there
with a ****** cardboard sign
which read simply
"West"
and he met some strangers
and made some new friends
before he found himself
in fallen angel country
Hollywood heart breaks
and smog covered starlight
with no more road left to travel
he'd been coast to coast
he settled down
like the pioneers who came before him
and burned his maps
just a *****,
road weary,
traveler
with a typewriter
and dusty worn jeans
a traveler who made his way home

the world is wrapped in plastic
and our feelings can be found
through a binary language
in the internet web of deceit
and the only thing we feel strongly about
is our own apathy
and maybe our phones
the culture's obsession with Zombies
makes sense if art mirrors life
we walk around looking through empty glass eyes
and make fake relationships
with people
who barely even exist
we grow up
and fill the shoes
which were left for us
at different points
on our journeys
generations of Russian nesting dolls
the few of us who want to live
are drowned in debt and ***** looks
and Jesus Christ
one day we'll be in charge
of the entire ******* planet
just think about that

Don't grow so fast, little one
You've so much to see and do
But take your time....your time and enjoy
And love the little moments in-between.

Run and play and s-i-ing with joy
Don't join the queue of  Life too soon
But take your time....your time and enjoy
And love the little moments in-between.


CHORUS
Bedtime songs will end on a day
When you no longer feel the need
But hugs and tugs will always be there
These are the precious moments in-between.

So sail your ships and build your dreams
Paint your pirate face and ri-i-ide your horse
But take your time....your time and enjoy
And love the little moments in-between.


Refrain
Your steps will take where you wanna be
And then, you'll be grown
And all your pictures drawn on the walls are the best treasures
And all your words so very funny
Are safely tucked away......in my heart.




Star Toucher, 14 March 2013

She dreamt
That an artist would get his blue
From the deep Northern seas
Of her eyes

She dreamt
That his brush would catch fire
From the blazing flames
In her hair

She dreamt
That the poet lost his breath
From trying to find his words
Between her silent lips

I prefer maybes
over the real thing
every single time
so give me a maybe
instead of reality
because sometimes
reality can ****
but a maybe is nothing
just a maybe
so don't give me your troubles
and taboos
and issues
no,
just don't
because my favorite place to see you
is in my imagination
when I wake up alone in the morning light
with a smile on my face
thinking maybe I'll go see you today,
maybe...

There was a wolf once
majestic and noble
lone but for his disciples
and he owned his territory
from the edge of the forest
all the way to the outskirts
of humanity
But he wasn't content
the people in the village
shunned and shooed him
he could taste their fear
and didn't know why
"cant they see it?
I am no different from them
yet they call me a liar
I couldn't be one of them
just a primordial beast"
So the wolf went on being a wolf
knowing it wasn't right
but every time
the moon grew full
the villagers could hear
the howls of the wolf
as he cried boy
over and over again
into the empty darkness

Recited like truths
meticulously
with attention to detail
perfect intonation
like hymn verses
or poems
but unlike poems
everyone tells them
remembers them
those little designer lies

their creators are worshipped
with gatherings
massive donations
and prayer
No one questions
words so beautiful
so masterfully penned
they must be true
they have to be
we wish...