I need to know
if you think of me;

winter is coming
and it often arrives
with unexplainable sorrow.

It's noon in a postcard town
Pedestrians gather on tidy city squares
All I can do is stare
I've nothing to offer save for a song
A tough performance before a bitter throng
Most people need nothing but a beat
Like this monotonous street
Where heartless people haphazardly meet
Walking head down , focused on their feet
They've no time for meaningful lyrics
It's a sad time for music among these urban cynics* ..

I wish all my writing  depicted gaggles
wedging south over mossy lakes.

They more often wander to  legs,
tangerine tongues, the taste

of sweat and smell of cheap hairspray;  
for thoughts like these, I feel no
                                          shame.

You broke my heart
Shattered it into a million words
I'll arrange them into infinite poems
Until I piece it back together

The tolling bell mimicry of October showers produce medicinal power
A good book with sweet rain melodies , a toasted slice of rye , a dab of fig jelly* ..

Walk outside , aim that Marshal
stack in the direction of City Hall
and grind a power chord like nobody's
ever heard before , send the birds flying
for cover , rattle the windows on every
street corner
Hit the high E string at the 22nd fret
and let it feedback like the world is about to
end* ...