Can’t Find Any Peace (Song Draft, #2)

I like songs about loves that need ending
Too broken and battered to bother with mending
They remind me of us, no point in pretending
And I can’t find any peace in this town.

A bird cannot fly on only one wing
But it can still lie, and it can still sing
These trills and these notes don’t mean a damn thing,
But they bring all the jackals around.

We both feel the sickness, We both know the cause
This rot is complete and we won’t beat the odds
We just lay in our bed and look truth in the jaws
And I can’t find any peace in this town.

The hate glints from your eyes like a scope in the light
Your finger a Kalashnikov hot from the fight,
Laying in ambush in blue jungle night
I hope you don’t flinch while you’re gunning me down.
And I can’t find any peace in this town
Can’t find any peace in this town.


You’ll See Me Smiling (Song Draft, #1)

They say this kind of love’s off-limits
They wonder why I can’t pretend
Be meek and mild and want for nothing
And if my heart gets torn
Make do and mend.

Well if I loved you any more it’d be illegal
But this day’s just ending, and I swore
That each new dawn set feelings growing
And I think I’m just gonna have to
love you a little more.

You’ll see me smiling in the mugshots,
You’ll see my name and read my crime,
See my face in sticky ink,
And you’ll be grinning at every line.

Oh, you’ll see me smiling in the mugshots,
See me smiling in the rain,
You’ll see me smiling through the good times,
See me smiling through the pain.

You’ll see me smiling in the mugshots,
You’ll see me smiling in the mugshots,
And I’ll see you smiling too

Certainty of Idle Fingers

The slate is clear, the words unspoken,
the brush lay calm, the clay unbroken.
No great work to sate ambition
forms free of labor or volition.

Naught is here but paper’s promise,
wrought in absence, base and lawless.
The brush lifts briefly, stops and lingers,
then drifts away on idle fingers.

What critique can now take purchase –
where no words dwell – and quell no purpose?
What thin crack can thwart protections,
of vaporous art, of void perfections?

The stage sits dark, the choir scattered,
the pianos silent, the curtains tattered.
Yet we remain, unawed, unblamed,
in squalid silence, none acclaimed.

(observance) National Poetry Month Day 30

The maggots must remember
her smile for its warmth
or the unreal stillness of hands
accustomed to trembling;
perhaps they noticed
the tan pantsuit she wore to rest
(a choice only she
could have made), or the
fine coiffing of her hair,
somehow regal despite
the thinness of the strands;
or the parchment-white of her
eyelids, the lips flattened
to a serious line, the blush of
faint finality across her cheeks.
the maggots must remember.

Killing Time (National Poetry Month Day 29)

Tear down the hour from the wall
drag It through the streets and cudgel
It unmercifully. Splay Its hands across
the cobbles and smash the minutes
from the fingers. Bind It to the post and
lash It ’til the seconds bleed and stain
the street like crimson pointillism.
Douse Its face in ruddy oil and
strike a spark to burn through
midnight. The dawn will witness
your ashen fingers. Do whatever horror must
be done, but strike this Hour
from my life.

old routines (National Poetry Month Day 28)

I woke up from a dream of you
To see you as you really seem
Two big eyes and little else-
Tolerance grown from routine
And now it’s over

Now my head is empty
And my heart is full
And in my hands squirms
A birth-slick
Hate for us.

There’s blood on my mouth
And foam in my brain
The words caught between my teeth
Spilling down the drain
And now it’s over.

National Poetry Month Day 27

The viper has pride in his venom
The lioness admires her claws
The hawk shrieks delight as she’s diving;
In silence we dwell on our flaws.

The bee knows his lot is to gather
The fox sees the world as a game
The vulture is cruel but needed;
In darkness we’ve all lost our aim.

The flower brightens the furrows
The goldfinch sweetens the air
The spiders are spinning quite softly;
In stillness we dream
if we dare.