I am not clean.
I am torn up nail beds.
I am bruised knuckles.
I am smoke curling around bleeding fingers.
I am tired eyes that lost their shine.
I am cracked lips forming disappointed smiles.
I am the loose tobacco at the bottom of the pack.
I am dried up old pens.
I am all the words I’ve left unsaid.
I am shaky knees.
I am the discomfort in your chest.
I am trying my best, I promise.
I am hastily scribbled words you’ll never read.
I am not the stability that I need.
I am not what anyone needs,
And it is not beautiful.

You can find her by the river
if she wants you to know she's there
She'll be whispering to the waters
in a language that they share

Sometimes she flies on a seagulls wings
along the mighty gorge
Then they talk about the things they've seen
when she's barefoot on the shore

If you smile she might let you close
and you'll finally get to see
all that really matters to her
is if you've lived your dreams

Listen to her singing
while she's dancing in the rain
It's because she knows the truth that flows
from the heart of everything

Eventually you'll fall in love with her
and of course she understands
She likes to share what's beautiful
with everyone she can

But she won't think to wait for you
She will love you if you're there
As she gathers things the river brings
for her pockets and her hair

And when today is finally yesterday
and tomorrow's come at last
She will only think about this day
and not what's happened in the past

The daughter of the river knows
beauty is a state
Not the aging changing memory
of what used to be your face

You can find her by the river
loving everything
She'll understand you've fallen for her
'cause in her heart it's always spring

The daughter of the river
She dances for everyone
The raindrops dress her in silver
so she can sparkle in the sun

It's alright if you love her
She'll share the wisdom of her truth
Beauty comes from the inside out
not the fading looks of youth

The daughter of the river knows
beauty is a state
Not the aging changing memory
of what used to be her face

Roosty

She told me the mountains
weren't the peaks they used to be
I chuckled,smiled and understood.
Every year the walnuts seem
farther from the tree

We took a trip down memory lane
with the hazards on
a turtles pace
nothing really seemed the same
people flew by
it's an interstate

We stopped a few times
that was okay with me
I needed my meds
and she had to ***
again and again and again

The lane is now a highway
No shoppin' at Sears
now it's just bi-way
discounts don't really mean that much
when you pay fifty dollars
for what once was a buck

So I sit back in my rockin' chair
I listen to oldies, losin' my hair
She weaves then leaves
('cause she has to ***)
Everything aches where there isn't pain
but we've got each other,
and we both have canes

I love her now more and deeper
Kinda glad those mountians
aren't any steeper
I'm gettin' too old to make that climb
And she still likes my walnuts fine.

So I smiled at her
when she returned
Showin' teeth no longer mine
And I asked with a wrinkly smile
If she'd like to fool around a while
She smiled back and said "Not today...
it's gettin' late anyway."
I looked at the clock
and had to agree
It was nearly bed time
and we needed our Z's

The days make us tired
and now my drive is low gear
So it's off to sleep
(after she pees)
After all, it's after three

on a Sunday afternoon...

Roosty

We stepped between raindrops
to dance in the puddles
beneath a broken umbrella
we pretended to huddle
accepting the rain for what it was
a chance to get closer
all muddled by love...
and gettin' wet!

Roosty

A peaceful song
The bird did sing
While taking off with fiery wings
Praising the sun
The bird did glow
Asking to be strong and young
And from the ash
The bird rose
Now young and free
Risen from ash and stone
The bird sings to the sun alone
Taking off with powerful wings
Rising into the new morning sky without end
The Phoenix died
And was born again

Love, such an abstract thing.
Spread across a canvas.
Made seen by the help of brush bristles.
A vivid depiction of clear bottles made a mess.
I hope your not afraid of painting with ***** hands.
The feel of paint staining clean hands.
Here.
No one is innocent.
Not even the canvas which is neither seen nor heard