I always forget my friends
When I need them most
Yet remember them always
When life’s too busy to speak
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leaving only the snakeskin they’re worth.
Look at whoever
made you feel inferior
misplaced or intolerable
and ask yourself:
Whose burden do they carry?
Then remind yourself:
That weight is not meant for you.
Now tell whoever
made you feel inferior
misplaced or intolerable
you love them
And watch:
Their puzzled concern, still only for themselves.
Then walk away
leaving only the snakeskin they’re worth.
What have we done?
I am not quite sure exactly what
Some parent’s expect of their children
In terms of success and failure
Because of course each individual is unique
In their own belief system developed through life
Though I do know exactly what
Some middle aged men and women
Expect of their parent’s, which is
Love and Understanding that
Love and Understanding means more to them
Than any award or prize, delusions of wealth
And superfluous measures of success
Handed down from Great-Grandfather to Grandfather
Then Father to Son who’s soul purpose it often seems
Is to belittle the latter, like some draconian wheel
Turning itself in circles, only to cause
An endless cycle of fear and inferiority
Leading nowhere fast, leading nowhere good
On an endless road of resentment and ill worth.
And we don’t ask for this. We are born to this.
We are flesh and bone
Fueled by the imperfections of our father’s
Father’s, father’s son
Who one day will understand he did nothing wrong
Oh Mother, dear mother
What have we done?
In the Delaware of my mind.
I stand here blind
With tears in my eyes
Surrounded by the life
I’ve always dreamed
Thinking of you there
Alone and in fear
Knowing no one’s called in weeks
Except myself and another
Who I hope like I
Told you you’re loved
And have done no wrong
Like I’ve too
So often thought
Living year to year like a vagabond
Drifting through the mud of life
It’s hard but man it’ll be alright
Look West I’m here in the dead of night
Standing by this olive tree
In California I no longer dream
Living mine the best I can
Drinking with you
Hand in hand, walking I can see
The two of us, then cracking crabs
Pig Beaches on parade
Just two lost souls, now growing old
What’s left is yours to keep
For nothing lost is truly gone
Now Lady Garth I see her too
In the Delaware of my mind.
Norwegian wood aglow
Actually I am, as
Real as they come
I see us in Alaska
Enchanted we are one, so
Love me lovely star seed
My hand is yours to hold
Among the valleys
Northern lights
Norwegian wood aglow
Be the light
Be the light
you longed for
in the darkness
of childhood.
Seated in the summer sun
Seated in the summer sun
drenched in heat
reading a novel, alone
how sweet.
With memories of you
drenched in heat,
feet stretched out
along the beach.
Where in the summer sun
you’d sit and read
a novel too, my mother
sweet.
While you’d watch us kids
the swimming sea,
and how you read
effortlessly,
I never wondered then
like I do now,
how a quiet lesson
could teach me how.
I turn each page
my mind at rest,
my mother’s sun
warm on my chest.
Through the air vents of my room
I’ve known a many artist in my day, say
Today old friend you come to mind
And how for a short time, your voice divine
Scratchy and old, though, you and I know
Age is just a number and it’s you who’d show
Me this: Dear, Gavin Heron Vante
Who needed a place to rest his weary head
For the night I offered you some bread
Where that night you had said, Ah man!
I haven’t seen this show in years, mind if I watch
Married with Children, Amen! Amen!
Then later I’d record you playing all the chords
I always had wish I could, watching your fingers
Slide and swoop through Sloop John B
I tried to sing harmonies but who was I kidding
Aloof in my eagerness to know everything and all
You had to offer and more, more, more I cried
Singing, drinking in the night like two old friends
Because we were in fact just two ageless nobodies
In the effortless night of somebodies
Giving me your time, cradling my wine
Looking through old photo’s now
I can still feel your spirit sing softly through
The air vents of my room
The next morning of course, saying farewell
Dropping you at Austin’s Coffee
Collecting your bicycle and taking the trash out for a buck
Needing my fix of early morning talkie
That I’m sure no one ever really gave a hoot about —
Now I hear you’re out of the Coma
That took you too soon like a phantom in the night
You were right when you told me
To take it easy man, oh man, Gavin Heron Van
Where there is no plan there in lies the plan
I now know the meaning of that age old saying
Those were the days, good sir, I give my praise
Sincerely,
Dave
P.S. There’s a place for you here, always
Call me crystal and I’ll make this clear
Call me crystal and I’ll make this clear
The world’s your oyster, won’t you be a dear?
Remember us, when you’re famous
Such a dangerous manifestation
Bite the bullet trigger happy kid
They said break a leg behind closed eyelids
Opportunity, don’t blow it
You’re a shooting star, now show it
Call me Ishmael cause I am drowning quick
Wailing never got you through the thick
What more could we ask for?
Through closed doors
Another kid’s born in the grave
By the third day he’ll be saved
Another wick is burnt too late
Just one more spirit and you’ll feel great
Wipe the Chalice, next in line to drink
Every word has meaning, child
who’s never’d time to blink
Manhattan’s in the Village
You know what they say, don’t yuh?
Can’t live with em, can’t live without em
But don’t get me twisted, I’m not talking about women
though the skin beneath my tongue’s still sore
my heart’s still heavy and well
there’s nothing quite like seeing her smile come morning
but anyway like I was saying to this jug of doom
in the evening gloom where I choose not one but two
and then two more to boot because, well, hell
who am I kidding? Nobody but the moon this evening
cause it’s this bitter sweet feeling
the kind you feel deep down in the rumbling, stumbling night
where it all gets so far gone, where nothing meaningful is born
where it all makes some sort of convoluted sense
and alas, once again I am but the floorboards dull creak
where I am like the riverbed flowing calmly and discrete
where life is but a dream and I am dreaming once again
of you dear friend, rustling like the leaves at my front door.
Oh dear friend, how I long to walk the beach again.
How I long to hear your sick, silly, sweet voice again
like those long ago up all Friday nights of old
all those Brooklyn winter blue’s and yellow streetlights
guiding us home, or at least to Crown Fried Chicken where
like two youthful bums we’d scavenge our pockets for change
enough to buy a couple chicken wings, coke, and pint
enough to settle the bone, cold, sidewalk snow till home
where we’d fall arm and arm up stairs
to that old wood, smoke filled, railroad apartment you’d call Grove.
And though I don’t often pray, in my own little way
I do for you now as I did then, driving back to my Long Island apartment.
I pray this little song of self, this little song of you, this small token of my appreciation
for your boundless soul and effortless style and class.
I ate too much cheese, I’d shout while holding a kitchen knife to my throat!
Where in a Polaroid our youth is kept,
where so many nights while you slept I wept,
where you’d give me your bed for a smile,
where I’d talk with Forest about everything and nothing for a while,
long enough not to feel alone in that maddening, crazy New York glow.
So I write this little poem, not enough but enough to show you
I’m still listening through the terror behind the walls.
Dear friend,
How are you?
I can’t live with you, but hell, I can’t live without you.
Manhattan’s in the Village
God knows we never had the scratch, aligned
I feel inclined to take this time and offer you my best
impression not impressed?
CALL ME SPIDER! CALL ME SPIDER!
I just had to get these salami’s off my back.
I just had to sing this short praise of you Mac.
Words Of An Average White Male 