she has dangerous thoughts
in her hello kitty slippers
she shines when thouse around her can only sparkle
there are dark angels in her stuffed bear collection
shes a gothic stoner emo-warrior princess
she wants to be heard
and its dreamy things shes gonna say
shes sketched in beautiful ways in my heart

the fast car speeds along the avenue
and she relaxes at the wheel
shell tell you she was born to drive
and with a cigarette grey haze
she leans into the telling
a story of her younger days
a summer back in the world
back in the dust of 1958
when the motorcycles rode on main street
she and her baby sister went to see
and stood back of the five and dime
marvelling at at the wild men
and the chrome machines
thouse were the days when
the future was brighter
and the dream seemed like it could be real
this light comes alive in her eye when she speaks
of thouse days
you can see the years fall away
you can almost taste the malted she drank
and almost see her in her blue dress
there at the five and dime
you can see the light in her eyes
when she is remembering thouse days
the sock hop and the drive thu
she is so much a younger soul than i
filled with all these beautiful memories
and as we drive down the hutchinson river parkway
middle of the night
in the pouring rain
robert gordon on the radio
i think to myself that she's right
she was born to drive
and i was born to be with a girl like her
oldsmobile cutlass 440 was her car
i was her man
.and rockabilly was her music

its winter  
its night in the minds eye
you saw me
you did not speak
you didn't reach out to me
as i passed slowly by
carrying my hearts apocalypse
bleeding from the bitter mote
of that one moment memory
of that point which contact was lost
of that tender touch that remains the last i shall ever have
lean on the steady
but the weight sweeps you off
your newborn feet

the all seeing eye
is really blind
nobody seems to care tho
they all carry on as though knowledge is known
and peace is unattainable

his Buick breaks down on a
far distant backroad
benith a billboard
advertising the end of the road
for all thouse foolish enough to believe
that redemption can be purchased
with a few slick words in the right ear
no confessional tickets
to the great beyond are accepted
in this king james version

there may be a gap
in the knowing
but there's no hole in my heart
there's nothing but love here
for thouse iv shared my road or bed with
for thouse who had a better seeing
of who I am and who I am becoming
in my everyday adventure

i was never really here with you
it was just a vision
of my slowly walking by
carrying the apocalypse of my heart
i was never your intended
never your groom of your forbidden desperation
never meant to be betrothed to your wicked game
i am miles and century's distant
and following the folly or fortune
of my own making

drill
i thought i left all this madness behind
thought it was a product of the eighties
but there in my rearview mirror
the narrative of single form insanity is closing the gap
the mystery engine
glides on the silent motion of daily demise
drill

drill
all thouse years ago
it was a simple affair you see
it was all just a song and dance away
a soft shoe shuffle
to get some medication
and a chat with a sympathetic plastic face
back in thouse whacky good ole days
in New York's sunny
nineteen eighties
drill

drill
someone is slipping in behind me
knife in hand'
they are plotting
i should just run while iv got a chance
the gate is open
and there is some ****** thing she is offering
at the end of the road just there round the bend
if i plunder today for tomorrows bankrupt mind  
drill

drill
i am sitting here in a dark room
asking that will you please hold my hand
the walls have closed in and im waiting for voices
waiting for the slow slide into the dark
please take leave of your schedule
and pencil me in for some ****** help please
drill

drill
its raining outside
and there is a wood at the end of the lane
im sure i could slip away unseen
repair the once great engine
that destroyed
rebuild the great machine that once
wreaked havoc
lets just drill thru the protective cover
and get our greasy little fingers on this trigger

morning seeps into the minds eye
like a process of madness
and as this place revealed
as this method is unveiled
the screaming, throwing things, acting out
thats expected seems to be a safe bet
the pout of childish behavior seems inevitable
i pause and wish i could find an easier way
i dont want to try suicide again
that ran out of entertainment value a long time ago
when a good friend succeeded

leaving my hopes and dreams in a small pile
that looks too much like litter
and makes me sad
cause now i know its really over
your really gone
and your never comin home
we are never gonna watch that german sunrise
on a western shore bungalow
gather up my belongings
and my heartstring longings
and step gingerly carefully onto the hardpack
lean out onto the road
put out my thumb
and begin to whistle softly some nineteen eighty eight tune
fastbender

drill into the the mislabeled logic
past the protective layers
and get your greasy fingers round this
you second generation second rate  hippy fu^^face
time is up and your lies are thin
gimmie my due or gimmie my leave
stop with the ******-social babble
and talk to me
or let me out of this monkey house

with a words full of soft smiles
she gently slides me into a mistake free zone
she gives me a cup of joe and a comfy chair
in the waiting room
pauses to give a wary glance to my
backpack and filthy jeans
but thats quite allright she seems to say
a rubber stamp will give a glancing blow
knock the dirt from this
plundered one
she sits down at her desk and pushes the keys
setting the engine in motion
the machine in gear
to end this long day

ill find some peace and comfort
soon enough i tell myself
in some quiet corner or room
padded by charity
medicated by soft compassion
soft compassion drilling into exposed bone

since the first poet picked up pen
they have cried out to end war
all it takes it to see a single face
a woman sitting by the winters window
with the light of candle to guide his way home
for naught...he has fallen to the tomb
on some forgotten field where noble ideal clashed
but she still awaits him
looking into the camera with such sorrows as to rend my heart
her delicate eyes looked out
at me from the photograph creased with
time and miles
she was a soldiers wife
she held the the candle by the winters window
light the way home for him

in thouse eyes you can see the echoes of dancin with joys
in hay of barnyard and the ashes of thouse sweet dreams now long past
you can smell the bread fresh baked sunday mornin' with loves hand
now gone cold in the dust of empty homes cupboard
in thouse tender eyes you can see the hope each of us
holds so dear to the heart fading away in darkness

in thouse gentle eyes you can hear the souls shuffling off to
meet one another in fairest fashion on the avenues of glory
if i could reach back through the passing of time
and hold this young woman's hand
comfort even in some small part
but i fear words fail me and my strength wanes
as i ponder the cost

if i could only tenderly take her hand
and give some measure of comfort
ease this burden
but time and miles has left a hundred years to the tale
and nothing yet has been learned
as today on the television a young man stretches
out his will on some foreign field  
to change his small world by force of arms
nothing yet has been learned

the girl in room five fifteen
the royal roach motel
sitting with her box of crackers
in the setting sun
most of the time shes focused on the path
to the next drama free dream
but tonight shes putting on that red dress
and fixing up a confused face to put on
and picking up the keys to the kingdom
she strolls out the door
and up on  the avenue
shes a smile to thouse she endears
shes a shadow to thouse who dont
remember the first lesson of the road
you cant succeed till you have utterly failed
so i play her a soft song cause i know it must hurt
to be on that bitter betrayal with no way home
she toils into the night hunched over the table
to create a boxer to fight her demons for her
she makes him out of cardboard
and pictures pasted from magazines
but she is quick to judge
and kicks him out before he can say a word
so he sits quietly at the greyhound station
and crumbles slowly into his pretend memories
the girl in fife fifteen
royal roach motel
up on colorado boulevard
eating her crackers in the setting sun
waiting for her prince to rescue her
but he caught a train
and now hes in the california mountains
trying to be a better hippy
she knows she has nothing left but
the crackers
and the setting sun
i think thats a terrible way to live
but im not the one looking for perfection
in the baubles from the gutters
of colfax avenue
so glad left all that misery behind
goodnight my spanish bride of the winter
fare thee well
hope you find your kingdom

she rides her mountain bike
in the sun
dreadlocks fluttering behind like streamers
shes all smiles
as we come to our spot by the river
this beautiful place called fiveashes
and unpack the picnic basket
the world itself is beautiful when i'm with her
time itself loves her essence
even the graffiti looks like love letters the world
has written for her alone

theres something darkly romantic
about the nights down by fiveashes
something about thouse long miles
flying by on nightbreeze
with her hand in mine
with her lips on mine
its like a valley safe from the worlds seein
a place where naked and free we can be just we

down by fiveashes
the backseat of our buick is on fire
with her passions
and the lust in my soul
and theres something darkly romantic
about the humid warm air  and how her shirt clings to her **** skin
about the songbirds opening up the mysterious day
like a gift for the dreadlock girls that shine

she lay with me tangled in her afterwards
as we watch the stars and catch our breath
i taste her on my lips
i can taste her on my soul
like shes a sunrise
rapidly banishing my life's shadows
and breathing life itself into my heart

her subtleties and jewels
are billboarded for the drawing of crowds
but the faces sketched by the grease lights are not
the kind that such an exquisite artwork of womanhood
like her should bring out on such a soft spring night
so they fold her up and pack her away
careful not to crease her fine linen soul
and place her neatly away in her cedar chest
knowing i will sneak her out later for wine and ballroom dancing
bring her back to the circus of the obscene
just as dawn creeps into the cool crisp sky

a single tear in her eye for her lost teenage years
when she only wanted to rebel a bit
but spent the time posed neatly like a porcelain doll
she was a lifesize lovesick reproduction in technicolour of herself
all thouse years ago
better to have gone away
better to have been a roadside companion
of the weary walkers
than grown old as one of the window decorations of the world
shes there now in the sun faded backdrop to the shopping season
but ill rescue her someday
well live in somerset and sell glass trinkets

her introspection is the short film version
but her poems are the epic novels
of such sweet romance
it sways the most hardened to the tender embrace
to the love of soul to soul kisses

she weaves such a tender tale
but her nights are spent alone
watching a winter moon
cross the summer sky
her hand aching for the hand that once held it
aching for the love that abandon her to this fate
i hope someday to fill that void in her world
wedged between the cardboard cowboy's forever smile
and the caped crusader sleeping off his drinking binge

in the dim light
her smile is implied
but its warmth is genuine and clear
a talented soul is never marred by the worlds lack of vision
i think if i could sum it all up
all the hopes all the dreams
all the things iv fought so hard to build
  thouse wonderful things as a child i dreamt of
all the magical things that i felt were waiting for me as a young man
i would not be bending the phrase
to say she is perfection
in dreadlocks and patchouli
for thouse who have never had the privilege
real hippie chicks are
all the beauties of summers day
and all joys loving warmth of summers eve
she is wonderful
i love you woman

irksome thoughts spin round the moment
and they flee to where iv fled to
and they tap out strange messages on my head
and they gather dust into piles
and the piles grow to hills with the
passing hours and changing landscapes of the heartstring
strings are for kittens to play with
chase round and round

she lay in the shade of an oak tree
by the roadside
in the dust hills
sipping her long island
and watching the road with languid eyes
leaf floats down and
unattached from the dream
she wanders
the dust hills wailing for lost loves not her own
and berating thouse resposible for every
slight ever felt

headlights bath the dust hills
as eighteen wheelers truck
the empire of america ever southward
into the cheaply painted tropical sun
she is bikini clad
and is forever clutching an ice cold drink
that eternaly leaves a smile on
her forever blemish free smile
in the ***** dark dust hills

i feel so alone here by her side
i want to run away
and sleep in a feild
with the ****** and the drunkard
with the apostles of night

hot sun creepin long
be hours for cool evening comes
so we got to hang on for just a little longer
we just gotta *** down this mountain side
just gotta forge the steel
just gotta make it one more day
little further is all i can say
blind to all but the road its hard to tell
little further is all i can say

that night we rested in the lea of a shade tree
cookfire making shadows leap and play
while his soft song breached the stars and river too
so strong a soul hard to believe anything could lay him low
that night saw the truth of the man
had so much to give
but had no love in his life
had no destinations
pity thouse who live without love
thouse who live without hope
that night i saw the truth of the man
a good man who life had cheated

when dawn stirred me
found him cold in his blankets
he had passed away in the lonely night
so i buried him there by the beautiful river
there by the lovely gardens
found no beauty in life but i hope
he finds it in the everafter
saw the truth of the man
a good man who should have had
but had been denied
so i buried him like a king
in the beautiful gardens
by the peaceful river

his infamouse words still echo
dangerously in my head
'quack quack'
his rubbery skin chaffing my mind
as he trundles through my waking dreams
his beady little painted eyes
dont fool me
behind thouse innocent baby blues
this rabble rouser plots
world *******
through mans dependance on bathrooms
a rubber duckie in every household
a rubber duckie to rule them all
the all seeing duckie
'quack quack'
i see him there in the bottom
of the tub next to my girlfriends hairbrush
grin painted on his
ugly little duckie face

her languid face stirs slowly
from its lines
and within it harbours an echo of alarm
as the thoughts like distant thunderstorm that rises on the sky
awaken within her

fleeting moments chase each other across her eye
each one bearing the weight of meaning a little further
than the last until the final one gasping
and sweating it lay its burden to a fitful rest
on the doorpost of her denials
like a blood stained accusation
like a scarlet letter

she greases her hands to the task
and works muscle and bone against the tide
but it is a idea birthed in folly
it is a concept of true lies

harrowing tales regaled around table
of men who strove and men who wept
thouse who slipped benith the waves
with desperate plea sent forth having failed
and thouse who triumph plays over and over in old age's eye
but none were ever told
that did not bear her tainted signature
ink and sweat in fine carved lines
on her dusty limbs

she now sees that she too must one day face
fates indifferent game
must one day choose
and risk all at the hand of chance

her hands greased to the task
her true lies shatter resistance
break stone
tales to regale tonight of the maidens
ink and sweat delicate lines
on her ***** dusty limbs

grains of time slip thru fingers unabated
like the slipstream of her words
all thouse meanings slipped by
unawares
until madness thought to dance on the pinhead
of a logical choice
and you suddenly found yourself with
nothing to your name but your name

rebuild and reinvent who you are and meant to be
and in the sweeping away of your former years you discover that
each precious person who's love you
you received the gift of
meant just as much as all the rest
that the real value and meaning of our lives
is in the love and joys
we find in thouse around us
that share caring and positive things

its the laughter and love
the compassion and hope
we find in friends
family
strangers
that makes this worth living for

her jewels melted away in the saltwater
her crown broken by jealous girls
but she sat on my wood floor
the prettiest in blue lace dream
a beautiful song breathing on the still air
and her eyes full of doubts washed away with tears
held her hand till she found her strength once again
she knew how to dance
so i cleared the clutter and
let her dazzle
let her shine

she smiled once more
put aside her silver screen dreamy voice
and talked all night bout the adventures and
the balloons chased with laughter's joys
and you could feel the sunshine in the room
from the beauty of her voice
from the beauty of her soul
she smiled once more
and whispered a song just for me
questioning but gently
seeking but giving

when i saw her last
she had returned to the carnival of californian hills
once again the rare talent with a gift of light in her eyes
for thouse who have the strength to dream
fly free and true beautiful one
be who you are without fear
you are loved
so dance...shine

she had a dignified sadness
in her dark eyes
a dignity to her stately walk as she
walked on down to the beggars lot
a vision of class in her step as she was pulled
down onto the worlds darkest places
by the circumstance of betrayal

he drank his coffee from the paper cup
in the motel room
by the main road
the summer night shadows playing out on
the stained walls of the cheap room
someplace not far a TV played far too loud
but you can never determine a word it says
she thought as she lay there
mute with him on top of her
  meant not a thing to her
but his closing the door as he walked away
meant everything
seemed so final
seemed so fitting in this ***** dark place
a single tear escaped down
the perfectly carved features of her perfect face

a quiet dignity like a shawl wrapped round
her thin frail shoulder
clinging wet and hopeless
in this dark place
a inconsolable sorrow in her eye
as she looked on without seeing
down the beggars lot
at the darkest places in the world
how did she fall so swift
so far so fast
from all the dreams of girlhood at hand
to this horrible place where they feed on your very soul

in the morning
its ugly light reveals the beggars lot
littered with the used up and cast aside souls
littered with the worlds price for false freedoms
and false saviors
careful of thouse come sellin you pretty words
of dreams of what will be
she goes to the well and with tender care
washes the night from the delicate lace of her dress
and with a single tear
escaping down the perfect features of her perfect face
she remembers him
not for what he truly was but for what
her girlish heart saw him as

he sipped his coffee
from a paper cup
in the royal palace motel
up in denver's dark heart
watched her undress
took her in every sense
and then abandon her in every sense
closing the door softly
as he went
i would save her if i knew how
i would save her if i knew where she was

i lay down to rest
after the long toils of the day
and as i slipped into slumber
a ray of sunlight did touch me
and within it i did perceive
a great host of marching souls
a vast column of men in ordered lines
and the cost i knew would be wrought upon them
the price of the free
the young and the old
the brave and thouse who's stout heart
the battlefield robbed them of life
looked into their eyes
saw there my brother father friend
saw the strong and the good brave men
marching off to defend hearth and home
and as this great host passed by
with a thundering din
of marching feet
i did stand with my head bowed
and tears streaming for the young who will
be entombed in the ranks of graves of the fallen
and for thouse who came back with their lives but
never to be whole in limb or mind again
for all of us
that such a terrible price must be lain
at the alter of freedom
lest we fall to the hand of tyrants
lest we fall to the hands of the
lesser men who create greater evils
we can only hope and pray that our path
has not lead us astray
that this precious blood was not spilled for naught
that freedom has been defended
from a terrible fate

her mind was as open as the crystal blue sky
but she was lost in the cage of her heart
the one she carries with her
covered with a fine silken golden cloth
the one one  that she has attached jewels to
attached tales of Madrid and the
travels she made as a young girl
it was on one of thouse dusty roads that she found this tale
written on a placard that reads so well
like something Hemingway would have said
that reads like a key to all the closed doors in
any city of the ancient world
forever sealed
by times jewel encrusted hand
by the golden trim left the passing of
thousand pilgrims on the road to divinity
the rain had swept away the tastes of yesterday
and leaving behind a scent to the air like rebirth
like a second chance for this one run filly
all the heads hang low in the humid sun
all the thoughts come to the coming carefree night
but as she steps carefully through the picked fields
carrying her basket of treasures
her soft cotton dress revealing more than it hides
she sings sweetly to me
in a voice only i can hear
of a dusty road near Madrid
of a sweet young girl that she was once
and in her heart still is
i pull aside the golden cloth
and unlock the cage
for some beauty's were never meant to be
captivated by any less than
real love

circular pathways
but some grinning thief
has made off with every aspect
of direction he could pry
off the roadsings
so the soft hand normal Joe's
all just pile up in a corner looking worriedly
at the passing crowds
hoping to catch some mental relief
for their moral delemias
and tickets to ride the soft ride
they are the nine to five crowd
and its hard for them to digest all
this street kid lingo
all this dark of night dumpster dive

she squats in the road to pass gas
and pick her own pocket for its
semblance of change
the hover kings stand round and
keep a wary eye on her proceedings
after all its only natural
they are depending on her for cash flow
but all she has managed so far is to
get tears flowing
she thouse one of thouse break
your hearts over and over kind of faces
she rescues the normal Joe's sends em on their way

the sunbelt in winter
and after all the barnburners
have packed up their stainless steel plastic wear
and formed a caravan of semi's headed ever south
into the industrial lights of miami night
it comes down to people like her
and her very human open hearted approach
to make this day worth living through
its her rough but realistic hopes
that make this day worth believing

the road may have been long'
but you were allways comfortable
with the top down in florida sunshine
breeze blowin away all thouse dark thoughts
man of your word
you sat in a moral court of small minds
and put up with her advances
and the ever present escapism
that haunts her every step
your words fire like rifles in the crisp dawn
but only the wooden soldiers fall
benith the bullets of your breadlines
she lay there with you'
and caressing the poor as she looks at you
with such tears
and such assembled broken heart stories
motherless and lost
the beggar passes his pan
your way
coins and a few loose buttons
times are tough under the I-95 bridge

the setting moon
slips close to its watery grave
and she finally appears
walking slow carrying her broken shoes
she says that the night jumped her
and she had gotten lost in the
vast differences between what she hoped
and what the world always left her longing with
tears spread from her still young innocent eyes
i held her to reassure
but as i wait for our fears to subside

i see the lights approach
of thouse who would claim lordship over her wallet
and over her soul
bankers of the material world
doubling as demons from hells coldest corner
no fleeing the version where you need to change batteries
they are dead as the souls who manufacture them
she slips a pair of double a's from her
pocket rocket personal massage device
and plugs her mind back into the need to get on with her day

the moon has reached its last gasp
and she has romanced her way out of her dress
and you out of your noble intents
we all reach this impasse
with our pen and page
having sold off our forward momentum
for a desperado gamble at claiming that elusive perfect written word
we flounder at waters edge
unable to pull ourselfs back
unable to manufacture method to crawl further
we make mad dashes round and round the
proverbial gallows pole
hanging on a single idea or ideal
trying to express it clearly
it need not more clear than it is
in mind's eye
but her face lingers in your soul
urging you you recapitulate your dire love
to craft a better master plan for tearing yourself down

the moon has reached its invisible zenith
on the worlds opposite side
and you have yet to reconcile
your good natured laugh
to her dark predictions
she slips away again to seek
her rightful place in her world view
and you are the captain of your sinking rowboat
once more
sexton in hand
plot your thoughts
and row king james home
the moon will rise soon
and you need to be home
when she comes in need of a hugs
and a shoulder to weep on

dark lung coughs
up all the reasons he should cease
going on with the charade of normality
its mental noodling fools few
and only confirms for everyone
that his nervous smile
contains more than just dark thoughts

he waits the morning out and with a
greasy eye watches clean woman smile
her full figure form fit lie
suits her fly by night nature
but to him she is the perfection
of absolute imperfections
she is practiced in thouse airs
shes follows  Hollywood's nightmare's
and how they have become so accessible and acceptable
the movie starlet high on coke shoplifts
so the faithful flock in tears to the courthouse gate
and weep for their martyr princess

dark lung and his near perfect
knockoff Gucci bag girlfriend
are shopping tonight online
with backwards glances they will go on
survive this day
and look back on this summer with rose color glasses
giving casual nods to to
the ease in which they survived
the struggle
the are expecting a baby
dark lung and near perfect
are expecting a baby
gonna name him Elijah

this King Richard III fate
so unlooked for
disconcerting
i too should have perished in battle
...there are times
overwhelmed
i cannot see anything
but the darkness surrounding me
cannot see anything
but the desperate loneliness
of my tenuous perch
i seek out the eyes of thouse around me
only to see
ridicule or disdain
i turn within where from
time to time iv simply
been able to find strength and resolve enough
but its not always there
sometimes its simply not enough
this is one of thouse dark hours
in a hospital bed
facing death
alone