Between Dirt And Dust

The clouds were glowing.  Huge and alive.  High up in the atmosphere the white clouds rose.  The dark ones were only on the edges, the sun reflecting wildly.  Floating on my back I could see the whole sky.  Shades allowed my eyes to probe.  A twisted skeleton, like Richard III.  A massive poodle.  Then a jet streaked through the blue sky and disappeared into a wall of white.  Faces were everywhere, like angels looking down.  Rain is always a threat in Texas when summer wants to heat up and the spring is still dense.  The Gulf of Mexico storms usually exhaust themselves on the other side of Ft. Worth.  The Brazos River provides a natural dividing line between northeast and southwest.  Between fast and slow.  Between dirt and dust.  The whole scene played out in the layered sky.  The cool water was clean. The shrimp and grits were savory again last night.  This morning, that has all changed.  The clouds are low and thin, the sun will burn them off by noon.  Could watch the red clay all day long.  Old players still have a chance.  Slow this thing down.  It was right to save the French.  Our complicated brothers and sisters.  They know revolution and evolution. They understand resistance. They know the underground.  They will never give up their language.  It is too beautiful.  All the flags fly proudly.  Broken windows all around.


Space Folk

.never had a fu man chu.
.upper lip too bare.
.a sunken beard.
.itchy and hot.
.once or twice a week is all.
.it is all you need.
.lotions and tonics are a waste.
.the razors cut smooth enough.
.listen to the space folk music.
.crashing guitars and effects.
.electronic and mellow.
.gravity has disappeared.
.the silent parts stand out.
.like a reverse image.
.aloe vera nights was not a song.
.until it was heard in nantucket.
.lap steel echoes going long.
.heavy metal shocks.
.through the graveyard.
.not thinking about the dead.
.genre creation and barks.
.cookie chefs and beers.
.levee breakdowns and two stepping.


The Word Reminder

Moods, undecided.
It is early.
Songs greet the day.
Those birds can whistle.
Communications and flight.
Setting up for the ladies.
Melodic rhythm and hollow lead.
Getting sounds.
Need some float.
Answered prayers and all.
The book seems complete.
The morning is underway now.
Just before daylight has passed.
Clouds moving fast in the brightness.
Low and glorious.
The colors are forming.
The Word reminder.


Shooting Blades

.the help has arrived. .a break from the wars. .a time for dressing and addressing the wounds. .the action was fierce. .the opppnents were wyly. .throwing stones from the high ridge. .shooting blades from the trees. .took one in the neck. .just a nic. .only bled for a few minutes. .counting my lucky stars. .a toast is raised. .to each other. .exhaustion and chaos will follow. .afternoon will turn to night. .we will move silently. .barefooted and slow. .the ambush will be sudden. .not completely unexpected. .but sudden. .they will wimper and wail. .cursing at the sky. .praying for help. .hooray for the victors. .carry the king around. .stand for the queen.



.the unmistakable scent if clarity.
.lingering in the air like floating smoke.
.fearless blackbirds and lazy dogs.
.this season of madness and realignment.
.desperate chases and fill ups.
.tighten those belts slim waisters.
.people are people people.
.pigment is a figment of your ignorance.
.not all minds are big.
.they want to write rules.
.define the standard and declare law.
.liberty is only a decision away.
.all empires rise and fall.
.all nations have a beginning and end.
.the unthinkable should be thought out.
.move the winds around.
.this island is lonely.
.it must be endured.
.the days of the future await.


Chosen By Love

...the disappointment was authentic...the defining trait...high standards are the beginning of the doldrums...our weakness is real...so many ignored, or worse, embraced...how could she...the uppers don't lift no more...the downers are endured...back flips off the diving board seems a long time ago...now we fill the days with whines and song...love, wherever it is found, is what cures...if we know ourselves, we know selfishness...unable to love on our own...obsessed with our time...the unchanged, the truth, the light chose us...we were chosen by love...


Wires In My Tires

.elusive balance and holes in my shoes.
.rambling stammering and wires in my tires.
.flutter to the cool jazz sounds.
.stop and make a remark.
.borrow the finer things of life.
.each night could be your last.


Two Toned Ride


Need a pair of contact lenses.
Need a robot to bring me soup.
Need a computer without a virus.
Want to find some new recruits.

It's always money, money, money but look around
What we really need ain't from this town.
Need a two toned ride to ride.
Need a business calculator.
Need an automatic coffee grinder.
Want a brand new trailer.

Need a buck for the DVD.
Need an automatic teller.
Need a system to track my miles.
Want to try and make it better.

Need a window with a sleepy view.
Need a photograph maker.
Need another honey to call.
Want to arrive a bit later. 

Need a complex password.
Need an all systems clear.
Need a map to the late show.
Want to make my own beer.