Bandwagon

Everybody’s doing it, so, I’m gonna
make the expectation connection and become a
wisp-of-the-will of the willing crowd
become a slice of the easy voice
of the madding market, gonna buy into
the bought-into bubble.

I’ve got a need to feed my head and swallow
a capitulation without realization. How
can I pay for a sense of belonging without
doing the work, investing the best, or being
against the odds what I’ve got to offer?
How? Obviously.

Where is your stand-up spine? Where is
your cast-iron urge to tell the truth, your
cured-steel instinct to cut a hole
in the popular, to pop the blind eye out
of going along, to poke a tragic joke at
normal self-excusing?

When my happy-face is happy my face
grins at fact and snickers at logic.
Who will dare to tell me ‘no’ when no
telling can tell the right from the left-behind
when my mask is yours and yours confuses
all lookers and seekers for the disappearing
distinction?

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On the Way

Under cumulus slowly
searching for and found a spot
to open up to a fresh blank
page on which can be caught
the structure of getaway.

‘That’s the look,’ she said, glad
of what she snapped of me dreamily
looking at the dirty remainders
of snow on the runs and under
the still and silent chair lifts.

It’s between seasons reasonably
sparse in the tourist town in
April not bustling but highlighting
the scattered noises of dog and truck
not very picturesquely.

Two motorcycles roared by
in arrested development with
loud Van Halen to match
creatures all of us of desires
to firm up identity.

Thinking had been running
for several days along a track
concerned with all the ancestors
who made us and we ignore
on the way to the moment.

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Out Loud

Through the clouds around us –
scribbling.
Above the clouds above –
erasure.

A crow caws twice
in the face of choice.
Too much of it and
we are frozen.

A trampling idea
brooks no thought.
A trembling child does
not want a lot.

A fish behind glass
tries to look busy.
A curious photographer
snaps furiously.

A young man all alone
scans the crowd.
An old man all alone
thinks out loud.

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A Man’s Life

A man’s life goes up in magical friction.
A man’s life goes up in magical friction
with matches of wishes and flames of submission.

My car rattles. I shake a leg.
My car rattles. I shake a leg.
My heart hurts and I scratch my head.

The hotel was yellow but the hills were white.
The hotel sported yellow but the hills wore white
up in the Rockies, up in the night.

I won’t say precious, can’t say profound.
I won’t say precious and cannot say profound
but I can still remember the sound of nowhere.

A man’s life comes down to kisses and stories.
A man’s life comes down to kisses and stories.
When the kisses are gone the stories are glorious.

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The Biggest Start So Far

Morning does not decide neither
does the hand on fire arranging
wide and narrow strips seeming
to travel

suspenseful light outside and
bringing it in connection is lost
between seen lines and fried
interpretations

hanging from ceilings songs
almost like lamps full of rice
cooking slowly under pressure
until plump

I woke from a death dream
giving me the date and breath
of personal finality irresistably
sucked out

what is there to do but remain
piloted and slowly burning over
a string of small towns in motion
between cities

all of us alone would like to think
god is our itch and above evolution
is that tickling inkling of quiet
in rampage

but really have any of you ever
laid and hatched your own egg
or sang a note never sung before
breakfast?

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Leader

I sat across the barren table from him
in wide anticipation of the unattainable
salt was spilled and eyes were unfocussed
claims were lofty.

The appearance of sunrise but lacking light
the bubbles on coffee, the patina on rock
just the right bottle and funny label
to contain colored water.

His motto is business as usual
nameless except for his monogram
a karaoke-head, a conjurer of copying
a taker of credit.

I sent him a message in word, deed, face
it got conveyed threough space, skin, history
clarity made wild like a storm in a canyon.
He killed it like a fly.

A man given a mission along with sufficient
power to stand on the ramparts and command
then he decides without sentience to piss
just to watch it fall.

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Lindsey at Seventy

My friend was telling me about his wife
she took the house up in the mountains
he got the house in the city
with the odd-shaped rooms and the lawn
nice place to sit and sit
and wonder what went wrong.

Why did it have to end this way?
Why did it have to end at all?
Surely there was something we
could have done to let it be
almost as good as the real thing.

My friend was a salesman most of his life
paper products and corregated boxes
after studying zoology
in the context of ecology
college was just a stepping stone
to sitting and wondering about being alone.

My friend is looking for the next phase
with a dog and a cat and a couple of hobbies
to help him reformulate
some old formula long gone
so he can socialize and even date
find a routine to fall back on.

Why did it have to end this way?
Why did it have to end at all?
Surely there was something we
could have done to let it be
almost as good as the real thing.

[verse]
Eb6 ///  //  Cm7 ///  F9 / Db9 /
Eb6 ///  //  F7 ///   ////   Db9 ///
G9 ///   Bb6 ///
Gb9 / F9 /  Bbm7 ///
F7 /  EbMa9 /  Gm7 ///  ////

[chorus]
F /  Am7 /   G6 ///
F /  C7  /     F ///
Bb6 /  Am7 /
Bb6 /  Am7 /
C ///  Bb6 /  G13 /  ///

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