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
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.
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.
into clouds of dust
my shuffling shoes
i dont know why you were diverted
stevie winwood is singing. someone says on facebook that i think i am superior to them. no i say. i ‘think’ you are an asshole.
in the origami goose
too many tries at perfection
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
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.
in the public square…
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.
the goodyear blimp
the slow tug of loss