Agree to Being Eager

For all intent & purpose, call me odd
a warm wind a-blowin’ through my hair
a heart of thunder for my wings
finessing my way in
standing… questioning…
the answer to the problem
whispered so clearly to my ear

We’re 40,000-strong in number
each taking on as much as he can handle
kissing on the lips of understanding
for time passes without needing to explain
accumulating friends & enemies
cultivating the common dream
with ways & means at-hand

Take the Plunge & Fake It

I’m incensed
on the defense
the bulk of actions intense
of wordy intent
product of experience
a vehicle of uncommon sense
on a path of regress
and moral pretense
living life on the edge
wary of a bitter end
hell-bent & Heaven-bound
playing life by the Book of Love
in self-denial
observing from a fence
without a lick of sense
to borrow on


It’s Part of The Story

The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker
all deserve our best foot put forward,
for their burdens resemble our own
and what we seek can be found in laughter
acting within the bounds of good cheer

Memory can be the closest of allies,
though our luggage may be formidable,
forbidding the past to repeat without clarity
eyes turned toward the future
we create with each passing day,
hounded by the best of intentions
to be the best we can become,
our time limited only by our thoughts
as we slip into the comfort zone
betwixt & between life & death
with ample room for growth

Are we presently prepared to accept more data
if we rally behind the Narrator?

In Exile

You must be reading my mind
Are you gonna tighten up the slack?
I feel the loser in a losing game
with a deathbed to tidy up
for the last survivors
So drink-up while the liquor lasts!

Insights into the criminal mind
serve to identify the unholy
stealthily making their moves
denying the truth on their plate
seasoned with their consuming hate
miserly bringing us down
until it’s time to face the music
Won’t you dance the last dance with me?

Tower of the Hour

There was a time I didn’t you
a time I didn’t need anybody
in a world of hurt
Since then, I’ve grown
now accustomed to my inner-self

I request the honor of your presence
in my private domain
But register at the door
to explore more of this insane sanity
before I come ashore & lock the damn door

I came in with confidence
but left through the back door
shamed once more, leaving behind
a cylinder with a whole lotta Heart

What Follows?

The things I take for granted are few
worked hard for all I’ve got

A dying man’s final confessions
solve another puzzle in his struggles
as he ceases to breathe in this existence
and passes on to The Next

One’s legacy speaks for itself
a drop of clarity ensues
following a well-spent life
stripped of further influence
and the truths that guide us all
loosen the noose that threatens me

What follows
could be nothing at all in a bad dream