Life is a jet plane, it moves too fast. 

Marijuana

Mental incapacity over a period of time.

Paint.

 I write about a river,

                         
                     or a tree by the water


                                           the view of the sky    


                                  or a day gone by


 I write about a bridge


                                         or a concrete valley


           
                                                             a rich cultured land        

   
                                  or a wide empty field


 I write about a canyon

   

                            or a storm on the rise

 
                       
                                                               a border line crossing



                                                    or a tale of true loss


I write about the wind


                              or how it blows

                   
                                                       a gust off the ocean


                      or a whisper in your ear



             
 I write about your song

             

                                                 or the ache in my memory


                                                     

                                  I write about the paint in the scenery

Pastabilities

Io sono scrive canzone per te,
dove sei?

Ala Italia? I no?

1.

In the middle of a room;
   bright natural light glowing
white curtains hang over a worn oak floor
sparse furniture in shades of brown
wood and leather nothing modern.

He sits straight up on his couch
cross legged and silent
this ache of nothing
is sitting within
his body like a stone
He prays with all his muscles
his hands are abused
his head has always to be cleared.
when his breath has opened
water flows through his bones
light bursts out of his eyes
his dance is like fire works

In the middle of a room;
 in a house on a corner
some man is living alone
with a dog.

Wanna know what the devil has been doing to the thoughts of mankind all this time?

 He tricks the ones who love themselves to think that they're going to heaven, and

he tricks the ones who love God to think that they're going to hell.

the pine.



  

   












Eighty-three year old eyes 

haunted eyes 

by sight of old things 

tired fingers, worn hands, foggy mirrors and her garden gloves. 

the door creaks on one hinge, it whines   

it opens slow and he sees again 

the pine 

his frail teeth clamp together and his lips tremble 

the pine 

trembles of a reminding wind 

the way the tabacco fields only grew with her 

her by her farmers side 

helping at harvest time 

but time haunts his eyes 

and time chills his spine 

and he can't turn away 

his eyes from the pine.

"The truth ends every conversation."


   - Jerry Seinfeld 

be here now

I'm sitting on a couch in my living room listening to a song that i was listening to last year at this very moment. i remember it. the day the time the hour the minute where i was where i went where i am, i was here.

The Stepkids change my mind about new music.

The Stepkids! Finally I found a new band that is changing my mind again!!

They got that soul my brother Luke has been looking for.

Funny video too!