The Fox Hole

Trippy dude
Crazy like mad cap
Swank little betty
Jabbin' them jaws
Smokin' musty dank dark room
Big Bertha's wailin'
The brass burned blue
It wasn't chance
Or rhythm of life
No, it was more like cheap perfume
Above ground, and miles away
Amongst my brethren
It was a deeper swell
drawn from tide and moon
And I drowned
Swallowed whole by night
Lost in instinct with no need to run.
By this, I mean I had already begun.

Through an empty bottle

Through an empty bottle
There is no indifference to your demeanor
I am still the goddess you once thought me to be...

And simple words keep me restless...

Distorted too, are my feelings for you
Or so I hope in my bold ambitions.

Do I really care for your affections
or the yearnings that cannot live?

Keeps my tongue from speaking foolish
a language I've mastered in such little time.

And yet I wait...
wait and wait for that bottle to break.

These tensions have got my best grip.

Nothing 


It's all the same day
light or night
a long empty subway

And you can try with speed
to get very far
but there's no destination
in your fancy car

I'm not here to darken the mood
a simple mind can't handle truth

Every man is needed though
simple, foul, or grey.
Progression has to hold back time
for destruction to remain at bay.

"Ah, the good ole days" 


Collective thoughts and memories are nothing more than what centuries
have been described by lovesick fools.
And I no different than each and every one
who reflect on selective merriment

And in our tinderbox are all the second thoughts
of cold and useless days.
Though not that it's hidden, but more a blind sight,
that keeps us from using those hinges.

Our days are much brighter as we grow older and wiser
with epic's for kindred to ponder.
And when they are through with life in full bloom,
they will soon too

Begin pages of life's fairytale.
With chapters cut, trimmed, and refined
they begin to rewind, and see the fine line
between that silly ole Love and War.