Spicy sweet
peppermint
honey and lemon
hot tea

Melted butter
froth forms
stirring until
a whirlpool

2 fingers bourbon
added now
to calm the head
and soul

Bring peace to the night
or at least for a while
of the tortured one
afflicted with the cough

And let me down easy but do break my heart
Otherwise I'll never know if I should chase after y'all. And the longing comes nightly, the bourbon rings twice, every time I'm out living, y'all stop me from dying. But a man is worth pennies when his work is the dirt, and I've never known forgiveness I've only ever known hurt.

With my skin on the desert, my hands cut from the piste. If a man's responsible for fire, then it must be woman who's made the stream. Everything is an eyesore when plague cuts at your flock, and the shepherd is aching to be rid of his cloth, the end of evil corrupts it, the sheriff he breaks his own laws. They take all that they want, leave you to look up to the dust, you can't sustain the pains of heartache, you words shorter while you talk. So please take it away, the flat and the plains. And only fires concern them, water drowns for them and cries. I don't need no one to listen, no one to soften my eyes. I've been bit by the river, it's taken my breaths. Filled my chest full of water, brought my time to new depths. I saw the valley, and I saw the moors. I saw the valley, just tell me, will she be here tomorrow? I've seen the valley, and I've seen the moors, just please won't you tell me, will she be here tomorrow?

In the mountains of winter, hats hung to the west, on the North Star we've ridden into tomorrow instead. The natives can smell the fear that's starving your dog, that keeps the anger inside you bottled up in you alone.

And the acres subside, the girls lay in their shorts, but I hate disappointment. I hate being let down. I say you have the prettiest blue eyes that I've ever found.

In the valley, if they come, we'll read ourselves into history. Rocks for the eyes, and sticks for the knees. Against all that's wicked, inside something strong. We've all had our guts pulled out to a Keith Richards song. And the drums break, the strummer hums back, the words mix and there's a cacophony of wrong.

Even the hero will be our villain before we've come too far along.

I want to write long rambling letters
Like Ginsberg, Kerouac Burroughs
Stream of consciousness
The sea of unconsciousness

But I have no correspondents
No one writes letters
None of my friends ever have
No one puts pen to paper

Texts are ethereal wisps of smoke
Letters are concrete things
That belong in old shoeboxes
Until the words fade into obscurity

I should deliver my letters to the void
With no mailing address, no stamps, no nothing
Just drop them in mailboxes
Like a single raindrop falling into the sea

The words won’t be trapped
In my head or in in old notebooks
Or in undiscovered corners of the web
But floating out there in the kosmos forever

Roses, Roses, Roses
Yellow, pink and red
Dreaming in a flower bed

Ducks afloat
upon the pond
Gliding graceful
To and fro
Searching for a piece of bread
Thrown from the pier
on which two children perch.

While I may search

for peace, of which I don't deserve
for struggling through this unforgiving world
for making many errors on the way

But, now it's done
I see so clearly
There's only peace
a price so dearly
paid for me by One