Sunday, November 21, 2010

The Bear and The Bull

Don't tell me about no glass ceiling

Because as far as I can see

You were all just staring at stars

In a different time and place

Cause now we got glass walls

Where we stand outside with

Simple lives printed on fancy paper

Selling ourselves penny pauper

They say it's a cycle,

The ups and the downs

The gold and the rust

Gilded wrought iron-

Manacles, I see.

Well this ball and chain

It's my poverty

Just give me a shot sir

I can always work harder

Just wait and you'll see.

The bear and the bull

Drinking cognac in crystal

Looking through their floor

At a nation of fools

Pulling at their bootstraps.

Come Home (Winter is waiting)

Pictures of pretty girls in peacoats,

thinking of all the snow

I won't see.

Expensive cameras hanging around

Loosely scarfed necks.

Plumes of winter smoker's breath.

Skipping the season,

The slush and salt

Clinging to my boots,

Sand and sun

Stinging my skin.

And I wonder,

Will I be ok?

Or thrown

Into disaray-

Sweating in the

December sun.

Wreaths and candy cane poles,

All the Christmas lights I

Never appreciated.

My son building snowmen,

Looking for any hill

Steep enough to sled.

Skipping the season,

The circadian rhythm

Of a man from the north,

Deserted in the desert

Languages away.

And I wonder,

Will I stay?

Or be broken-

When you say,

Come home dear,

Winter is waiting.


Think Of Me (If you must cry)

Think of me,

When you're sitting beneath that old elm tree-

While my body rests in the roots

I promise son, I'm here with you.

My one last request,

That you don't let that song rest,

That you play me a tune

Better than I ever could do.

I'm sorry you got that guitar,

So young while I was so far,

But I promise child

I'm listening here in the roots.

If you must cry,

Then let that ground grow wet and then dry-

The earth will take your fallen tears

And carry that song to my resting ear.

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Well (And)

Well I still read your poems sometimes,

All curled and cursive

Feeling thin in my ragged hands.

And I still breathe

And I breathe the same,

Except when I exhale

It's your name that escapes.

Well I still remember

And you just forget.

Well you had all the love

And I only sentiments.

Well I still write you poems,

And you just leave epitaphs.

Well, I still remember

Well the curve of your neck,

And pale freckled skin crinking

In the corners of your laugh.

And I'm still cut from hard lines,

All steel and jade

A man of means and demands.

Artsy Artsy (A song)

Never was much of a man

Like what you wanted,

Or said you did to all your

Friends when we first met.

I couldn't play guitar, didn't

Own a nice coat or scarf.

Didn't have much an eye for art

And couldn't tell you who

The Black Keys are.

Well artsy artsy you

Made me a scarf.

Artsy artsy you

Bought me records.

Artsy artsy you

Picked out that pea coat.

Never was much of a man

Like you said you need,

When you hung up the phone

And I knew you were leaving me.

Now I play the guitar until

All my fingers bleed. Look

Sharp in that new coat and

Soft gray scarf. Look at you,

Gave me everything I need

And cut me free.

Well artsy artsy me

Watching French films

Artsy artsy me

And all my wine

Artsy artsy me

Alone at the gallery.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Bella Vino (Rose in a wine bottle)

Our passion is a green glass maze,

All wine and whiskey,

Spent, drained and laying in the sweat

That runs down navel and neck.

Oh forgive me,

Forgive me,

Give me just one more drink.

Oh forgive me,

Forgive me,

If I'm a little clumsy.

Because I drink just so I can feel,

If I feel anything,

I've been lost for so long

In cheap bottles and beds.

Because I'm better at being bad,

Throw everyone away,

Being gone in the morning

Long before anyone's awake.

Oh just see,

Just see,

I don't mean to be.

Oh just see,

Just see,

Thoughts fight feelings.

You are delicate, silent and soft

Dolce' Bella Vino,

Glass I fear too fragile for my thick fingers,

So easily cracked in my alcoholic haste.

Life and it's demands call me away,

My grandmother's grave,

But I leave patient roses in wine bottles,

For you to find when you wake.