.
.
It's 3 A.M. and the air is
getting thin
and all the patrons have gone on to meet their daily end

Ken the bartender is stocking beer for the weekend now is near

You know it as a rite , you call it Saturday night

Ray comes in and unslings his axe
And goes through his numerous picks

Turns the amps on and
lights a *** with a yellow Bic

Then thumps the microphone
to see if on
before he hits a lick

He's getting ready for Saturday night when everyone gets on thick

There is cocktail Mary
coming in
she sits right down and
yells at Ken ,
"Make it a tonic and gin!"

Ken nods and fills a glass
cursing beneath his breath
"I swear gin will be her death."

He loves and hates Saturday night ,
but all good things
have there bite

Ray hits a hard chord
Makes it wail in pain
Then he turns to the amp and adjusts the gain

Then one more stroke
pops a string
he without a word
changes out the thing

Then he let's lose
Like an Ace on duce
and my how he does his thing

Staying steady ,
Getting ready ,
For the magic
known as Saturday night

These hands...
Cast of clay.

Had basked in the sun.
Deepened lines marked their faces
and enlarged cracks marred their backs.

Rough and matured.
They spoke the language of old
and hid the ancient ruins of the past.

Held together.
Side by side,
they clenched the fantastical ideals of today.

However,
uncertain and pulled apart...
The future just falls away - a ghost.
A mirage that eludes grasp and capture.

maybe theres a way
to save me from these blues
I don't go anywhere I want to
I don't choose
can't keep my head up to the stream of cosmic music that is blissful above my head
I never find the answer there
and its dark everywhere
and even a breath is poison

now I know

this'll be the thing to save me from these blues
these blues
until the color on my walls
is bright and shining
from the window an endless wave
of purples, greens and yellows
I know
when the stereo won't play a somber tune
sounds wide and vibrant cascading through the room
until the heavens chime in and sing along

now I know

It’s like time being pulled

In opposite directions

Racing forward

Super quick

While at that instance

In the direct opposite of it

Slowing in reverse

Widening space

A vector string

Stretching draining your soul

Dreading the empty

Time pulls  away

This is what is being felt

As life leaves you

Time like a rubber band

Stretched until it snaps

Torn asunder then

A flash of brilliant light

& Waking to the Wonders

Of After.

silhouettes
black on grey
struggle
against their dark weight

wings beating
wildly
to avoid
the crash

grey and black
and powerful

its pointed cone
***** in
all shapes and colors

we do not know
how
where
if

they come back

lost in alien space
Italians
posted their home culture
and worked for it

today
America

and the whole western world

would starve to death
without pasta pizza
and Michelangelo