A thousand images this day reflect
Once gone in a simple tear,
I ponder what is left.
On what line do you stand?
In what truth do you believe?
On this day I find it to be
One simple moment in solitary.

In time hallways will grow old,
The park bench stretching so long,
The days seem so cold.
That simple tear not so simple,
A thousand life times inside
Four seasons sit within,
To the demons I can only confide.

spinning top peace..

I had a spinning top once
believing it would spin forever

But as hard as I pushed
it always
stopped

so soon it never span again
as a child

I couldn’t understand
now I do

at last, peace

awake the fear
scratching at the door
that thin sliver hall
light
the dusted carpet tired

outside the night is restless
an airport beacon turns
and runs its white tongue
upon the clouds

and the hydro transformer sizzles
in the damp mists falling

I can feel my soul
sitting in the chair
watching me as I toss
and I know the mirror
will play another role

the open mouth of the drain
will taunt me with its darling
sigh

In a world of worth,
all measured and tagged,
all judged and weighed,
all packaged and bagged,

all sorted and valued,
all you taste, touch, feel, see,
it's a wonder that smiles
and hugs are still free!

In a world of war
all battered and sore,
all frightened and bitter,
and asking for more,

crowded and lonely,
all riddled with guilt,
on the bones of our victims
our lives have been built.

used to see in black and white
now i see red
no one remembers
anything i said
and the rain is falling harder on my head
lucky right now i don't mind getting wet

wish i could say
in time it will be better
it's getting to where now
it's now or never
if only i could see her number on the phone
i'd understand if you said come back, come home
(chorus)
tell me i'm not good enough to have you
i'll take my heart and break it in two

What drives my battered auto
down the highway, straight to hell
is an engine fueled with regular hope
that everything goes well

The gas gauge doesn't work
I'm riding with low brakes
Searching for reverse
the steering-wheel... It shakes

This car is possessed by demons
I am almost sure
No mechanic's gonna fix it
for worn out, there is no cure

It reeks of body odors
there's coffee-cups and trash
Seats are ripped, the windows dirty
hood is crumpled from a crash

There are doors in the antechamber.
There is the always-choice to walk through any
one of them.
There are signs above the doors, a
warning to the effectiveness of being
affected.
But if it isn't known now, it will be known
sooner than later--if any door is opened,
even a little, little enough will be enough
because
nothing
will ever be the same.

You're a bitch babe
Sucking me dry
Believe me honey not in good way.
bitter regret and bile seeps from your  pores.

When we first met you were a vibrant
Temptress a dusky beauty,
Now your are miserable old hag
Humourless and aged 
 Has old Booze Hound really been that bad?

Now this pretty little ditty is over
I turn over in bed and you have gone
I miss you and your dulcet tones
You old crone 

There is this rage that dwells inside of me,
clawing me, stabbing me, threatening to
rip me open and make me bleed my red anger out.
I try so hard to fight it and I work so hard to
deny it, but too often it rears its monster
head and makes my tongue lash out.
I strike with poisonous words and cut with
razor lips, spilling tears and breaking trust.
I didn’t realize being nice would be this tough.

The glamour for change
The face of uncertainty
The search for a messiah
Warranted by our sorry state
Tilted will of people in battle
With self-proclaimed patriots
Craving for glory and power
Phantom bubbles of leadership

First African American
Our erstwhile Goodluck
The people began to wonder
Insecurity and job lost
Loosing homes
Leading to occupy cities
Questions are many
Answers are few