Sin Of Envy

deadly sin where to begin
envious of the globetrotters' push pins
making a wish list as a way
to walk in the artillery rounds
and die swimming upstream
cant afford that dream so pretend
come on you little ox
this is your marathon
get yer yoke on

Swearing

bible and motorcade
the reins of violence
brass and rubble
the pagentry of insulation
a celebration of myth
perhaps a change of course
an inevitability of course
wait and see
hope is ok with me

Folk Song For Sherwood

Sherwood Schwartz used a crazy font
On Gilligan's Island and on the Brady Bunch
On one hand goofy and also groovy at once
Sherwood Schwartz used a crazy font

Sherwood Schwartz had a laughing track
One strange guffaw keeps coming back
Vietnam was far away and booby trapped
Sherwood Schwartz had a laughing track

Sherwood Schwartz had trouble with Reed
on script and storyline they rarely agreed
a hidden lifestyle and a jones to feed
Sherwood Schwartz had trouble with Reed

Sherwood Schwartz is still alive at 92
he's from Passaic and he is a jew
he wrote the shows and their theme songs too
Sherwood Schwartz is still alive at 92

Calling All The Charlatans

Somewhere in time between nights end
And the new days shoes I wake up in
Turn my face to yours, chase the darkness out the door
I don’t suppose we gave it host
Or meant to, now it’s in too close
The light grows short a few more spins
The days grow wide and bright again

Calling all the charlatans,
we’re falling for the cunning ones
One too many standoffs have begun
Shaking all the statues down, aint it funny how that came around?
Every pilot blinded by the sun.

I didn’t mean to cheer so loud
Where being cheerful’s not allowed
Future is a tightrope wound
The slowest learner hits the ground
I burned the scene with you asleep
The one good mattress soul to keep
Light grows bright a few more spins
Days implode and night begins

Calling all the charlatans,
we’re falling for the cunning ones
One too many standoffs have begun
Shaking all the statues down, aint it funny how that came around?
Every pilot blinded by the sun.

The envelope was written wrong
The numbers shouldn’t take this long
The night time drives the sky and then
The morning sheds its starry skin

Calling all the charlatans,
we’re falling for the cunning ones
One too many standoffs have begun
Shaking all the statues down, aint it funny how that came around?
Every pilot blinded by the sun.

Madison Valley Forge

Got to shake off the early afternoon beer- the deadly January depression hovers like an executioner. There are uninterpreted signals from every direction. There is an unfriendly neighborhood. Must walk around to shake this chemical process. Got to focus on something positive. Its important to be recognized. Its important to be needed. Connection is temporarily suspended. Who do we have? Do we still have each other? Good, I can see you.

Raccoon City

He lay awake nights, afraid of the new neighborhood. Afraid of his new house and its hostile windows. There were far too many houses glowing on the hillside, with an unbearable inky darkness connecting the yards. Separating his hillside of stark raccoon eyed homes from the east hill was a frightening throughway arterial, where the fancy cars as well as beaters raced their way to more vital parts of the city. He missed the old neighborhood nestled between two dense commercial districts. Living in the woods is scary, and it always has been since childhood. There are bars here, and faces to get to know. They are a hike away. There are no familiar TV shows tonight. There are just branches outside the windows and raccoon eyes in the black. There are no comforting neon or internally lit signs from any sightline. He reminds himself about being a grown man. He shuts his eyes and puts the dread to bed.

Solstice light savings

somewhere or time between nights end
and the new day Im awake with thirst
from the prior dissipation
and remember the darkness we danced in
and gave host to a few hours ago
and in reaching for your shoulder
I remember there is light,
just as much or more
sunshine stored through the winter
The days only grow short a few more spins
and before this mad christmas even
the light will grow a little longer
each spin
I'll outgrow the envy for moldy poets
that fucked around
and fictional toughs
and reflect and revise my myth
and honor the one I chose to share it with