Call The Number on Tuesdays

plenty of times we drank until 2
always waiting for the next gag
slowing down to back over the damage
next time that dude'll think twice

carry a crowbar under the driver's seat
pull it out if you need to back 'em up
be ready for a bloody nose and knuckle wounds
be ready to let the adrenaline loose

flung women around and went for gold
realizing the tradgedy that was inevitable
racing over rocks and rivers and pavement
scabs are shed and ligaments jarred

don't get the shakedown over in new mexico
those border bums paid by the speeders
felt like the fix was in in texline
sorry 'bout the cancer, call the number on tuesdays

Lived My Blues

no one has ever walked in my shoes
felt the vast deperation of the void
no one has ever lived my blues
been provoked and annoyed
no one has ever seen the visions i have
paradise awaits the perseverers
no one has ever heard my real laugh
until i convince them to look in the mirror

Losses Not Yet Lost

behind our faces we shutter
so lonely those nights
knowing the road of glass shards awaits
cuts and blood and slices and bone

behind our smiles we groan
for the losses not yet lost
the end will find every one of us
sickness and death and toasts and prayers

behind these bars we think
the mind constantly directing
the senses still alive and craving
tasting and hearing and seeing and smelling and touching and balancing

gemgemgemdd

So Many Souls

at the end of the road a liar awaits,
trembling because he knows the deception.
the ease of the believing generation,
ready to have the road paved.
torches atop lion's heads on both sides,
damp surface and hazy air.
no one to plead to but other pleaders,
desperate they look in rags and bare feet.
chains locked around their necks and blood seeping,
every few feet another reaches out.
no doors to be seen as the vastness overwhelms,
so many souls.

Maniacs And Friends

last night i dreamed i forgave everybody for anything ever done anytime before.
there were fathers, brothers, sisters, and mothers, not to mention extended family.
then the people all around -- toilers, drivers, watchers, lovers, maniacs, and friends.
things they did, said, implied, yelled, things they ignored, they insisted, they resisted.

i was talking with each of them individually, taking my time, and we were committed.
nods and shakes, aknowledgments accepted and replaced with a debt of some sort.
a responsibility to forgive others in the same manner, slate picked clean and put up.
minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, and generations will pass either way.

Combed And Combed

yesterday she asked my how my day was
told her the same thing as the day before
'things are good'
the other morning her silky hair, combed and combed,
seemed to wave at me as she passed
'things are good'
perfectly shaped eyebrows above gushing blue
the oval shaped face full of beaming smiles
'things are good'
she'll stomp by tomorrow, some injustice endured
and every few times she'll lean over and glance
'things are good'
we keep the same time, we let it smolder
smoke, smoke, smoke 'til it catches again
'things are good'

Blizzard

bam! bam!..it was fast
just like that
gone, but not quite forgotten
the stillness of the memories
faces hiding from each other
showing us our own fleeting lives
a blizzard hit last night
everything is white and calm now
like a cover
between what used to be and what will be
the full range of heartbreak
and joy

No More Than A Trinity

communication by words or facial expressions
using inflexion in your presentation

eye contact takes turns, following a reasonable flow
important points accented by hand gestures

a heading, tell them what you are about to tell them, or ask them
delivery is the case for needing or wanting this communication

a summary, tell them what you told them, or asked of them
talking points the same throughout and no more than a trinity

followed by the written expansion, a better audience is curious
let the content be the offer, audience be the judge

if followup is needed, failure is validated
action items restated, with deadlines and expectations.

Various Noisemakers

saw maw at the hootnhanny,
fired up and mean
said twenty of her chickens went missing
and 'someone was gonna git it'.
the room stood still,
except for the curtins near an open window
waving white like a surrender
instruments stopped and dancers unimbraced.
'who d' hell you think you are?', wanting no response
'comin' up in here takin' my chickins,
you need some food, i'll cook you up some livers,
but my babies eat the chickins'.
a rush of ease hit the room,
maw seemed more relaxed, more forgiving than when she entered
suddenly, a man stepped forward and confessed.
'i's sorry miss dessie, i reck'n it was me who took them chickins'
maw came over to the man, the room quieted again,
she stood there, nose to nose with the short and ragged looking man.
rage and empathy filled her eyes with tears,
the man stood weakly and awkwardly
wondering if he was going to eat fried livers tonight.
'you a damned sorry excuse for a man, you fool.
had t' go and steal my chickins.
right now i have mind t' punch you out,
oh, i could do it, you know i could do it,
you little man, you burgla', stealin' man,
too layzyy to go git a job.'
she stood there unblinking as his face contorted
and his eyes twithched uncontrollably.
'i's sorry miss dessie, you forgive me?'
she was considering this and the answer was not evident to her.
'i guess i can say i forgives you honey, but you a sorry man.
take those twenty chickins and fry 'em up good'.
looking at me she ordered potatoes to be boiled and loaves of bread.
canned green beans would have to do and iced tea and beer were already abundant.
the music started up, fast and in tune.
a man with a summer suit and straw hat played bluegrass,
sweat pouring off as he beat the stage with both feet,
playing his guitar box with cyclonic precision,
crying blue stories above the noise of the room
children dancing in the front with various noisemakers,
adults sitting close in the dark back, having adult thoughts and laughing.