Ice-pick-eyes
tell no lies,
I'm feelin' sick,
this throbbing of the head!

I ain't cryin' or even dead,
but caffeine's
a ***** to kick.

They flew screeching,
eagle's into the fray,
undaunted.

I am haunted by their memories,
young bloods fighting for the cause
of the power brokers.

No truth in greed,
clutching death-instruments,
forging new paths,
creating new stars,
crying in the rain
against the parapets
of their enemies.

And who remembers their flight,
tell me, who?

I hear them crying
just under the surface,
crying outside the flock.
It's agonizing to hear
such innocent ones suffer,
so agonizing,
I want to cover my ears.

And though
I pray to
silence them,
I fear the loneliness more.

So I listen,
alone in the darkness,
desperate to
hear them sing,
to hear them cry,
"Baaaaaa, baaaaaa"
to me crying here,
just to feel alive.

Anejo shots started
a tempest swirling,
locomotive-steps winding
under the spinning-lights,
faces poked in and out
of the crowd of crazed-pagans,
undulating in sweat,
nicotine-breath & tequila,
dreams of freedom.

Lupita hollered her name
like all the rest with
the same name,
phantom-dancers
squeezing each other
for romance,
before the stars settled,
the sun rose on the zona
of broken-roses.

For let us once
uncloak ourselves,
take this seriousness off.
As if the world would end
on such a missing note.
Just one less frantic tune
to complete the symphony.
Surely one might miss the piccolo
or an oboe, but in the greater scheme,
the concert will go on,
without or without
one missing serious-instrument.

So, strum on
in a vibrant key,
let yourself go
from all your troubles.
Play an uninhibited harmony,
blow a sweeter tune,
one of gaiety,
one of lightheartedness,
one of gentle tenderness!

For fellow word-musicians,
this composition
is much too short,
to play out of tune
most of the time,
as well.