No luck of clovers here

If a man’s to charge me now

I don’t think that I could move

Blinded by the sun

The insects stand aloof

Counting blades of grass

No luck of clovers here

Each day’s a hangman’s pity

Each night’s a cross to bear

In Our Time.

Remember— oh brothers and sisters

that we are the philosophers of our time.

Us haggard poets of principle and measure,

no matter the plight must rise.

Through tears of understanding

with honest eyes do I

accept thy pleasure’s burden—

to see within our time.

I’m Your Huckleberry

If you told me then

We’d now be coughing blood

You know Doc, I wouldn’t change a thing.

Lawnmower children

A gentle wind

Lawnmower children

Suburbia moans like a dying hound

His Revelation, Her Over-Time

With a white satin napkin

He wiped away his pride

That’s it my Lord, my Savior

What more have I to hide?

The pills induced his coma

His blood ran thin with wine

His revelation managed

By the nurse’s over-time

Palo Santo

Plumes de Palo Santo

Today carry my worries

Up, up, y away

The Patient’s Mind

The doctor lost his patience

One too many times

They would wander like school children

Through the cornfield of his mind

In their single filed silence

Was no ordinary line

Because the doctor and his patients

Walked for miles in simpler times

Stories and Mythos

It’s not exactly the man

that makes for an interesting talk.

But the stories of the man.

And the mythos of the man,

which more often times than not,

are much wiser than the man—

Leaving out his failure

to remind him what he lost.

The Tides of Mankind

There is a certain understanding

In the misunderstanding of mankind.

And it’s this misunderstanding

that propels us forward, like a ship

of titanic proportions does not idle

but cuts through waves, and flows

with The Tides of Mankind.

Untitled for Ariel & Jack

Oh, how the light

Always manages

To see through

The dark.