Allay me now

Smooth calm arm
and fire of scent,
you balm
allay me
allay me now

persuade these knots to
leave me
treading softly
'round the giants
of near ends and we're fenced
picketed
Old lovers still half warm
breathing
fill our silent circle thick

a half mile more
could split the difference
a half hour more
between
Him
and matters of men

Allay me
Allay me now

2 minutes

I wriggled out from under my 2 minute cigarette
if they were any longer we would not have the
attention span to smoke them.
At the bottom of every cigarette
a new person is born
we're always a little less whole
than we were before.

People make holes in us
for hurt to reside, smoke makes shadows
in these caves
we can hide

Flimsy smoke shadows, faint cigarette,
fill and distill life's fresh breath
and help us swallow

Out the front of Hernandez sipping coffee at sundown

Sunday tree of afternoon tea
patches up the tuesday
sun of eye and teeth
under mid week life
sleep defied
now recline, it's sunday

Four white chairs face
the road
in shade to keep watch of the sun,
and dean who used to commentate the hours
has now since left this quiet chair to me.

the thought of being a
stranger on a church bench,
to under God's watching eye my noon
time spent
all got cancelled by the grey haired scandal
why are we left so little dignity?
death upon mother's mantle


In sunday moments I still watch for a
little
cloud hole
for up to climb
on up we climb
or else

Sad Normal Plums

Who faithful lies still with their wives?
Their wives are gone
their wedding none
can ever find
'mongst
unlabelled boxes

She bends and grows
toward the sunlight of
attention
that burns her face
her thighs, her cheeks

and leaves her chilled
each night of the week


O faithful husband
also lies alone,
he does not know her
does not feel her throat
their wedding done
their needs like plums
grow side by side

til strangers come to pluck them

O, Mercy

And you came back.
I never knew
how to welcome you
since all we'd counted
on was these farewells

O, Mercy

And now you're smoking
real life
in my eyes and stinging
and not the person
I'd thought I'd hold this tight

O, little heart of mine hold on.

And I've always jumped the gun
in matters of loss and little loves
let the curtains
rise and

fall

before you've spoken a word

O, Glory
have mercy

O, Glory
you're here

O, Mercy
have mercy and be gentle now
magician's son forget now
to disappear

want straight lines instead of the rhymes

Sneaking into Eilen

I've been writing very lyrical stuff lately...just because it takes a comforting turn from having to over think pentameter, line structure, blah blah...good stuff but tiring. Lyrical writing is about rhythm. It's about transferring a feeling through sounds and meanings.

When we toss our heads,
tambourines they tink-link linkle,
shaking dreams into our hips
they trip.
Got no boyfriends
just the trends, just the trends
to lend their dances.

Castanets, castanets and folklore
grant us,
borrowed time, for the time,
swing sunshine, on borrowed time,
on borrowed time.

I got snuck into a folk gig tonight where Eilen Jewell was playing and hearing her inspired me to keep picking up that guitar to sing and make music, because music transcends skill, it is so much more. Music is cutting out your mind and heart and soul and pasting it to the air, it is the most humbling, frightening, beautiful act.