"telluride" poems
I remember standing 'round
with the houses burning down
around us--
--Shrugs. Not even ducking our heads.
"Well, there goes the neighborhood
and I suppose the timing's good,"
is all I can recall of what you had said.
They never wanted compromise.
And we were not too keen on listening in.
We'd always ignore consequence's size.
Now we're running, trying to mail our checks in.
We want a means of egress.
Yeah, just a means of egress.
It's just a means of egress.
That's all we really need right now.
They're coming, cracking knuckles now,
intent on cashing debts on our hides.
They'll lift their dividends out of our loot
unless we chase the setting sun to Telluride.
We never wanted compromise
So we put our neighborhood to the match.
Our detractors sporting cross hairs for eyes
are salivating for the thrill of the catch.
We need a means of egress.
We seek a means of egress.
It's just a means of egress.
That's what we really need right now.
It's all we really need right now.
It's the only thing we need right now.
I remember standing 'round
with the houses burning down
around us--
--Shrugs. Not even ducking our heads.
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 12:31 AM UTC
I herd these sheep in the silence of the lambo
I process trees into paper, smokin' ammo
A solo man on a mission like I'm rambo
Ernst and Young's got my ***** laundry handled.
I can tell you ride high
In Telluride skies
As the crow flies
From a perch with wide eyes
Pour out a fifth of Bacardi
When you're surrounded by lies
Flush them out like John Gotti
Ice picks their demise.
Yea, rest in peace
You heard me twice, I didn't blink
Counting sheep
Your contract's ceased, I signed the ink
Time to sleep
I raise a glass to have a drink
I kissed your cheek
Rats don't have time to think.
I can tell you ride high
In Telluride skies
As a crow flies
From a perch with wide eyes
Pour out a fifth of Bacardi
When you're surrounded by lies
Flush them out like John Gotti
Ice picks their demise.
May 9, 2018
May 9, 2018 at 9:24 PM UTC
The last of the bread bakes silently in the oven,
as feelings stir warmly inside my heart
The smell and the aroma, an invitation to greatness,
as the temperature rises—announcing I’m done
Loaves cook in the silence of a sweeter deliverance,
letters rising as words, their meaning devours
The invitations to the meal have all been sent out,
and responded to
The cook may go home, the feast now leavened,
has begun
(Telluride Colorado: 10:00 p.m. Sheridan Hotel, May, 1996, rewritten August, 2011)
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 10:34 AM UTC
Tell me, Telluride, sleep deprived in your eyes.
Drink a potion, drink your own, consume raw thoughts and keep the bones.
Can you hear me Major Tom? Survive the impact and be strong.
Three on one is still a game with no one judging and no fame.
Allan, Airports, anxiety, Acting, A love admired and aware.
Circles that need an explanation are testaments of your abilities - an algorithm within your triangle.
Call me, Colorado, catch me in your arms
I am at your table, consuming our conversations of candor and consciousness.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 2:29 AM UTC