The television blinds us from seeing
the real ways of the human being
it only brings falseness to our minds
these are such troubled times

leaders speak of peace, while killing
those words are only filling
convicted of their human crimes
these are such troubled times

preachers preach, but ears won't listen
there's something gone, something's missing
so many caught up in life's binds
these are such troubled times

Bluebirds under the farm bell
Rejoicing in morning rain , relaxing
for a spell , patiently awaiting their
turn to sing a tale , sailing from house
to cover on the minute without fail

Gray squirrels working the oak leaves
Busy , busy bees , up and down
the hardwood , jumping from tree
to tree , filling their tummy's with
acorns in the sun drenched canopy

Mr. Roseberry's smithing a plow
Greasing his tractor , counting his cows
Milling corn to feed his chicks
Thrashing creek cane and filling the
molasses licks* ...

Susan
with her china-white skin
relaxed
down to lace bra and *******—

“Have you ever heard this?” she asks

… sets the album, drops the needle
in the groove
We wait till bass fills in the room
sending time and silence empty-handed
down a hallway

Susan lights a joint
settles on the bed
ample legs begging apart
She ***** in deeply
impounding clouds  
Head thrown back
Thick glossy hair—
loses gravity
Eyes half-closed, shadow-heavy
clear and blue like piano
The walls are muted trumpet
stutter-hush of cymbal and the snare
Crackling over scratches

We are barely there

Susan exhales
a swirl of fog to a frail moon
Only her sultry voice still holds me tethered

“Have you ever heard anything— like this?”

Miles flows 
around me
Smoking
On the floor of Susan’s room
lying clothed and drunk
Soaked
with chords and wonder

I never hear him coming

Miles takes his time

I could continue with the look
not give a flying,
**** me is that the time?
jeez
I'd better get my skates on
head off down the line and
see what's cooking.

still looking with that look
as if
that look had ever got me there,

I'm no closer now than this
if this is where I am
and if so
I'm still flying and
that's the time

Autumn gels come to life with November
Sun , with a bluesy sky , with Sycamore mannequins
Red shapes parachuting into brown , cool weather
grass
I'm wearing my brown hooded coat once again
Reading bubble gum cartoons perched on a granite
retaining wall , Mother calling her kids to lunch
Leaving black Hush Puppies at the front door
Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches , butterscotch
pudding , midday naps
Awakened by the swirling wind of Fall , with cobalt blue canopy and
hardwood giants* ...

Beyond the window
There is plenty
High tide of darkness
And voices
from owls

Beauty is
The buds of Cherry
In the summer