Aristotle would've played a mean guitar , he'd pack 'em
inside Madison Square Garden for sure
Dropped down on one knee wailing a solo
Lyrics filled with forethought an innuendo , on a world tour with his
bass player Plato , the Beatles and Pink Floyd would've been
the opening act for this rock and roll dynamo*...

The smiling moon bobs in an out
of the crackling moonlit trees
Crickets chirping reveille
Farm boys awake to work the crops while
city boys roll over from too many porch shots
Moms kitchen filled with the scent of bacon
and eggs , sawmill gravy , grits and biscuits
Roosters announcing the dawn , howling hounds , idling tractors ,
The clang of hand tools , inquisitive geese chatter on the run , braying mules ,
Whoever said it was quiet on the farm was a **** fool

Hoping to be understood is
weakness revealed
To be revealed is to be understood
The understander has knowledge , the revealer is helplessly known
Knowledge is power
Great power over those that foolishly wish to be understood

First time love and homemade ice cream
will surely melt before your very eyes
A true friend is tantamount to a
falling star in daylight
Fair weather confidants are like Summer whitetails , returning
to the field till your last pea is gone
A real comrade will carry your indiscretions for
the price of a song* ...

Hearts in camouflage , her lover in disguise as a birch at the lakeside , as a piedmont blue morning vision picturing two monogamous songbirds of a loving feather , holding on forever , in warm Springtide weather
At sunnyside , crossing fields of April lavender and May green* ...

Millie's pondering Georgia's
next earthquake , a tsunami
over Sapelo Island , volcanic
activity around Stone Mountain
Her mind is quite medicated yet
the clockwork control freak is firing on all
cylinders , she's got blue , pink and beige pills
to control "the jitters"
A week full of rage to spill in a two hour period ,
anxiety drunk , her two o'clock tea , her momma's
favorite scissors , cutting photographs for a
collage late at night , hanging her wet resume on a tree branch
to dry
Poor , poor Millicent , not a friend in sight* ...

The ground is blushing with pink
wildflowers , the canopy is filling
with new songbirds by the hour
Spring air tickles my baited ear
Days of pure sunlight are drawing near* ...