the sky is crying

there was a blues joint in detroit years ago. might still be there. cant remember the name and the location is lost to me now. i find myself there some days though. memories rain down my street and disappear into a rusty drain.

the old days
were not that good
scratchy vinyl

ideas as my mask

liberty equality and fraternity. yeah sure. revolutions more often than not were never intended to change anything. name one leader who did not have a truly dark side. yep. they dont exist.

elusive butterflies…
youth and
the wisdom of old age

swimming in a sea of anarchy

hitching a ride. no cars stop. and then… whatever you do some things just were not meant to work out.

throwing stones
into clouds of dust
my shuffling shoes

a fog in the mist at midnight of a new moon

when we are sleeping all the interesting things in our life happen. but then we wake up.

the breeze and i
still
in the garden

anyone who had a heart wouldnt turn around and break it

lou reed is playing sweet jane. i am getting ready to trip. if something seems wrong about this picture then you have a demented mind. a very demented mind. by the end of the song i am a pacifist socialist house painter from detroit.

confusion
in the public square…
spring breezes

tribute band

i was a banker after i went insane. what was i not thinking. i should have formed a rock and roll symphony and played mozart the way the great man really intended.

in the slipstream
of david bowie
an old man writes poems

saved by rock and roll

album oriented rock they called it. i drove an ice cream truck in a detroit suburb. i was high on more than life. i had become a horticultural devotee. i wore the sweet smell of success. as the vietnam war was winding down. nothing but the glitter of ice crystals on red white and blue bombpops. another friend slips from view.

saluting
the goodyear blimp
the slow tug of loss