My brain is the prettiest crown,
My head will ever adorn.

don't do as I do
but do as I say
my daddy
used to tell me
most every day
the older I get
the more that I see
the don't do as I do
daddy in me
when you've got kids
that watch like a hawk
they'll do as you do
like it or not
you do your best
to have them behave
but still
do as you do
and not as you say

I came across an old graveyard
Using sticks and stones as their final mark
To keep account as to who they were
Buried souls in red clay dirt

Fathers, Mothers, Sisters, Brothers
Full time friends, part time lovers
Without a name they're just a number
Making it hard to tell, one from another

Life might hold a soul that remembers
But when truth be told we're all but embers
That lose their glow in the dead of Winter
Along with the hope that we've been here

Without a name to mark the grave
And a few kind words as a going away
Of course, a tombstone does not a person make
But how do you know, without a name

always hoping that we find
things will always work out right
while the forces in this life
tell us to go fly a kite

eventually you find this out
it's easy peasy to lose count
standing outside of the crowd
filling you with all this doubt

fingers crossed in the process
different outcome, bring it on
still with all of your precautions
again, the short end of the wishbone

both sides of the tracks
green grass is what you lack
come to think of it as a matter of fact
you try your best but just can't

somewhere or another you once read
how to avoid the mess of stress
that lies in waiting up ahead
saying something about death

fingers crossed in the process
different outcome, bring it on
still with all of your precautions
again, the short end of the wishbone

they say you can't
you know you can
lot's you can do
with little left
they throw a no
you catch a yes
give it a go
full steam ahead

they hold you back
every chance they have
they see you smile
they'll have none of that
you're told lose hope
resistance met
give it a go
full steam ahead

for your own good
they know what's best
it's understood
you do what's said
tossed to and fro
with steady hand
give it a go
full steam ahead

wonder where
it all went
the days we had
the time we spent
in living life
the way it's meant
the best of times
I wish we'd kept

but alas
it moves so fast
strides by at first
without a catch
holding to
the simple fact
all you have
never lasts

it comes on hard
this age of old
never warned
seldom told
the course could run
where it would fold
in on itself
these days of old

give me-the bowie knife of repartee,
nothing more satisfying than the
quick stabbing, a good blood letting,
in your genteel face, no hellish
moderated pace, the energetic plunge
of a quick lunge into the woebegone,
long after you count the meter tempo’d
use fingers and toes, but needing to hold
your nose, to include that extra
grace note, that belies denies the harmony
the tules and rules of calling order
to control the roost,  sine-one
is a victim of a
down and virtuous ***** verbal slashing!

count my syllables, never,
let my stanzas run free,
like an African tiger,
with the goat of format
mounted in between his teeth,
bloodied and dripping dead,
the squealing of hyper innocente,
silent after cries of, kind sir,
me thinks thou protest too much!

we can squish and twist our holy words,
into formal tuxedos of cantankerous
arrowed arrogance,
but know this,
roses are read, them
violets, blue, have
turned millions of children to avert their
eyes from anything thereafter that was classified, notarized, canonized, sanctified
as the write rules of poetry

peals of pearls are born with parentage
of a lousy
grain of sand,
the words etched in the
lines upon my hand,
are lifelines of sidewalk cracks,
discarded candy wrappers,
the twisted ends cigarette butts,
used as proof that ash and dust are the
genetic source material of uncommon
great composition, given to those who
love the common touch of leaves of grass,
thstbeneath the heat of the sun that
exposes the nothingness of bitterness

know no one can run from the golden
visibility, of a sun, talent in pursuit of
egoism is a long road to a short history

yeah.
(faster than a speeding bullet)