(when John Prine met Tom Wait) The Drawdown Day

sun starts this day like a good one, hallelujah,
a June bug, sweet summer honey, praise-pinging
the lord for speckling the grass with sunlight breaches,
thru the standing tall oak trees branches banner waving.

go outside to grab me some rays, burn off some privilege,
two towels, one white solid as an orchid, fresh cleaned,
one joseph coat of many colors, striped, saying ‘looke here.’
Sun saw me coming, immediately call it quits. high tailing, gone.

the partly cloudy curse of weird light, making you squint,
that ***** the desire out of ya to do anything, only thing left
is to waste the day thinking all day about doing nothing, which
is the most tiring thing I’d ever done, cause there ain’t solution.

the devices crackle, hoot and holler, saying severity is a-coming,
thunderstorms from the city sent, 100-miles  traveling, straight to you,
should be there around about three o ‘clock, give/take, mostly taking
whatever solace hanging about, hope, loving and good expectations.

sure’nuf rain drops, big as overfed suckling pigs, ****** on windows,
silent tho, making sure you’d be looking why, thru glassine windows,
signal intentions to make something all-hell-to-pay, raising cain,
goodly cain which bytheby ain’t accidental, doubt? sub in pain.

ole lousy whether, does any of of this really matter?
ole lousy whether, does any of of this really matter?
I hope so, I hope not, that’s the trouble with watching
the wether or not, it just freaking hopeless, like asking,
where did the time go?


forget to mention the wind, which makes the wind even more pissy,
rattling my eyeglasses, not just the whole house, makes my beard a-twitching, the trees **** unhappy losing children from this war, all their drowned bodies, now field litter, casualties of a drawdown day.

the light weirder still, more aglow midst of darkening, you say gawd!
he ain’t nowhere to be found ‘cept I guess everywhere’s, which is the sameness as saying nowhere’s which is god’s **** good hidey-hole,
just like every animal that skedaddled hours before, also gone, gone.

how does a stormy day bring such misery and pain, and in my head,
saxophones wailing ‘hell no,’ but the heavens, shut up tight, no noise
getting in, only getting out, at my soul, saying you, you justshutup
and write about ***** for *****, women & men love-hurting and the

ole lousy whether, does any of of this really matter?
ole lousy whether, does any of of this really matter?
I hope so, I hope not, that’s the trouble with watching
the wether or not, it just freaking hopeless, like asking,

where did the time, the drawdown day go?

In the game of profit and loss
It is very painful to take the latter
Especially once im consistently profitable
Much harder, is to swallow the bitter pill
And much much harder, is to let the money go into someones else pocket
Such is the game I play
Of bitter and sweet
Of risk and reward
Painful is the game I play
Of profit and loss
Of up and down

Lessons are learnt,
2 in this loss
1) never entirely trust self, for my cap is not enough to tank like the banks
2) cut it at BE, when chance arises ! I had 2 !

Now, the bloodshed continues, where will it go, i dont know
I am in pain,
I am in the red
I am in a drawdown,
That I let myself in

ONLY I CAN LET MYSELF FAIL;
LEARN LEARN LEARN
Today bitterness tomorrow sweetness.

It starts with a single, tiny stone scratch-sliding down the *****. Brushes bare ankle on its way. Hardly noticed. Just as the thought occurs, probably should have worn boots, another stone mobilises.

Strange how the surface seems frictionless
Riding a waterslide

Curious how the naked path is so deeply cracked
Eczema patches, too much scratching

Odd that I never noticed how few the trees, and how they lean
Closing time, bar patrons, a shandy too far

Noise
Faintly
A rumble
Weak, indistinct
Presence stretching out
Slow, creeping expansion

Too late to mourn the forest, to miss the bushes
Delinquent regret for excavation, loading, and drawdown
Belated response to subterranean erosion, to shrink and swell weathering

Disgusted, the mountain growls, cries, and vomits. Reluctant, mutually assured destruction. Extended lead-up. Consequences still seem sudden and shocking. We are left to evacuate the path. We wait out the flow with dull-witted clocks marking painful hours. Our forced-stolid vigil.

But we keep growing. Becoming wise, vigilant, enlightened.
Until we can rebuild and reclaim.

When earth down-travels vertical and quick
The warning signs obscured in cheap disguise
Debris and mud flow hourglass in sheets
With soil and rock foundation lost in creep
And gravity is winning every prize

Fast-follow hasty flee to safe retreat
Reflecting deeply causes us to learn
With careful pause and kindly shared support
The hurt recedes, now making room for thought
Until clear-sighted, wiser, we return