Lay with me, darling
Within the New York summer
And hand me softly, a Gershwin kiss
Under celluloid sky.

We will dance, you and I
Beneath the bridges of central park
And we will sense
The Broadway skyline.

Frames pass by unseen
With imagination and ideal
Burnt into their core, as
The music of a thousand orchestras
Start our fandango
As we fall in love
With the freedom of tomorrow.

There are creeks which shade made lesser cracks of
That spread as hands and ants up antique walls.
I brush those holes and think:
What breath have you spent?
What death have you seen?

In the summer
we will walk
the narrow
antique
streets.

The city sound
with midnight jazz
stolen and soft,
like the wind.
Cool and soft
as the wind,
wrapped its arms around us
the way I wrapped mine
around you.

In the summer
down the narrow
antique
streets.

lay beside me on
a golden autumn morn,
your hair entangled
in my hair
your  hands entangled
in my hands.

though we never shared a lovers dance
my cheek was home with yours.
though we never  owned a moments grace
our ship may sail its course.

all tomorrows suffer
from beauty's faltered aim
whence we lay betwixt
things without a name.

sing me dearly
sing me sweet
sing me things
to cause retreat
and I will know
that its concrete
when sunlight hits
the street

but do not light a fire
on the face of winter
and do not burn
the masterpiece
or hide the ashes
in your urn

nor cause your hands a moments
idle
or burn your hair upon this old
candle

upon a golden
autumn morn
i watch you wake
with softened sleep,
upon a golden
autumn morn
with hands entangled
in my hair
an hair entangled
in your hands.

Such a humorous man
A kindhearted soul

His fame it does seem
Had taken it's toll

All his money and fame
Could not bring him peace

Behind laughs and smiles
Lay his demons , his beast

The world a little dimmer
With another bright star gone

We'll definitely miss him
Though the world will move on

His Down's Syndrome makes
His age a tough guess, I'll
Say eight to ten.

Wide eyes on machines,
Ice cream dripping on the
Pavement outside the

Construction site.
I wanna work like this when
I grow up, he says in

Young enthusiasm to a mother
Whose eyes well up with
Gratitude when I approach

And kneel down in front of
Him. So you want a job,
Buddy? I ask him with a

Wink. He suddenly remembers
His ice cream and bites into
It shyly. Nods, glancing at the

Tools in my belt, the scratches
On my arms, the brick wall
I've been attacking with a

Wacker jackhammer. Nods
Again. Well, I'll see you in a
Few years, I say with another

Wink, this time to his mother,
Who'd look her young age if
Her eyes weren't as tired,

But you can start with this
And get some practice. I hand
Him my Stanley Fat Max

Hammer. His ice cream
Hits the ground as he
Recieves it with both hands,

Looking to his mother for
Confirmation that it's ok.
Oh, it is. She mouths a

Thank you SO much...
They walk away, his chatter
High pitched and fading

Around the corner. And I
Head over to the foreman to
Report that I lost my hammer.

Don't ever employ me.
I can work a good game, but
I'm too soft around little heroes.

August started out like all the other months, there had been so many
The highs and lows of many seasons
saw my pockets spent of just a penny
Saw my recollections stacked to amount to rubble,  just prized as memories
And pieces of puzzles, ill fitted together, produced gaps within my psyche
Crossroads bring me to a full stop
I'm haunted by the ghosts that linger
Pointing this way and that way, back the way I came, demanding I stand

right here

But I've been down this road before

It's littered with the pieces of me that died, and became just carrion
But like a Phenix, burning deep inside
I flicked off the ash and moved on

Singing my Swan Song

and     I       cry

Your drugs don't let me sleep at night
Your love just leaves me cold
The road I took, just last lifetime
Left me broken and bitter old

Better luck I find, on an old but familiar road, I may have walked it all before
*But I left the story untold

We knew only your laughter which won you renown.
We never observed the tears of our clown.

You entered our homes as the loveable Mork;
with Your razor sharp wit and lightning fast thought.

Your movies mixed laughter with serious turns;
Good Will earned you an Oscar For which many yearn.

There were personal demons that proved hard to hide.
A divorce, an affair, Drugs and rehab besides.

But, through it all, We heard only the laughter.
Not the tears of our Clown that brought on this disaster.

To us you were Robin, Like Peter Pan, just a kid.
May this sleep bring you peace that your days never did.