an ode to the things i didn’t do today

oh the time

down the drain

spiraling into a pool

of the simple deep sleep

of a hard working fool

and my body was a

tenderized

medallion of raw meat

from the work of the days

and nights

of bullshit moneymaking

and the five hour show

no break

and no ‘slow’ songs

to dance to

we kicked ass like a band should

and rolled in so late since the

money was good

and in the slim hours of morning

i drank myself down

in my dim living room

with a sweet lack of sound

but the ticking of the clock

while my bones slowly shifted

into a shape where i could lay

in my bed just a little less twisted

this ritual here

of each sunday morning

the religion of a guitar man

as busy as this one

the quieter hour with my ears slowly ringing

in the dark space of a dark morn

just before the sun breaks in

and a few hours later

i woke out of course

because the rest of the week

has trained me of sorts

sat around nursing a sore back

like a boxer

after the prize fight

rocky on oxy

or whatever it looks like

here i am,

a broken superhero

from last night’s insurrection

slinging songs into the hearts of the

sweet single girls

hurt by previous lovers

looking for a pearl

of love

or lovemaking

whatever they can

admit to themselves

and i had them in the palm of my hand

my broken bruised

guitar fingers that were

storming like lightning

last night

so today i have done little to

cut down the list

and the guy inside is now shaking a

bruised and

battered fist

not another day with nothing done

but i saw the sun

and grocery run

and i prepared a feast of flavors

garlic and oil

broccoli and basil

topped with

pan seared salmon

rich color and flavor

which me and the cat

known as

“mr. scratch bojangles”

enjoyed immensely

so i suppose here

late after dark

maybe i’ve accomplished

something

after all

my back aches less

and my senses are full

a happy cat

and the house smells of

basil

oh yeah

and i finally wrote

another fucking poem

number 3

why are there no

capital numbers

i’d like to write a song

and call you number 3

with a capital 3

but i am left with only letters and

T-hree just doesn’t ring so hard

you the girl i fell in love

with

in

this

bar

your eyes

your hair

blah blah bullshit cliche’s

how about

capital eyes

so i could say that one real good too

so fucking blue!

and here i am longing for you

from this dark corner

but

there is no

moment

on the horizon

all i have is this paper and pen

a fetal position

watching the world

to see if it’s safe to

come outside

and you live it so

damned hard

you with your fancy tattoos

and your flowing pants

hanging from those toned hips

and the slithering, sexy shoulders

i wonder

if you will have regrets

when you die

i doubt it is the man

with the pen and the paper

watching as you

dance

on

by.....

transporter

telecaster blaster

that’s right i am the one they’re after

so you,

well you can call me master

a real cold cool disaster

spit on the mic

and tear down the plaster

oh shit man

that’s the man that rocks it faster

trans-post your soul

to the sweeter place

the sweetest little angel with the

sweetest

face

and now she gets replaced

and to get in tune

with the transitory soul

of the

moonlight

race

even if it’s all out of place

downing them bottles

sitting by the lake

and wishing

i was raging though

stars and space

to somewhere

my soul could finally rest

in

it’s

perfectly

safe

warm

place

ghosts 1-4

from a rust colored attic
floorboards creak
the ghosts waltzing again
his arms in her arms
and the ghasted hollow air
full of the echo
of silent
music
a clandestine waltz
'shaking like a leaf on a tree'
in the fall
and i am restless tonight
'a bug on a fuzzy tree'
the discontentment
of my middle years
too young for nostalgia
but to old for halcyon
what do we call this place
the listening years
in between the wild
and the waltzing
something in 5/4 out of balance
and awkwardly leading
down the path
to the fall
at least the snow is not here yet
and sweatshirt weather
made for a great walk
in the great woods
behind the house
walking stick
and blowing warm air
into the cavernous icy hands
stiff from labor
and cracking
at the edges from this
dry cold
it seems
everything ages
if you leave it long enough
so i will retire
to my workshop
to hear the long smooth
drawn out knock
of the handplane
on the edge of cherry
a native wood
hewn from the rough
woodchips all around
the work hands
my corner against
the coldness of the world
and it all shapes up
if you work it long enough
and the soul that soaks in
is greater than what
the modern machines
make
i will leave this behind
as a gravetone epiteth
i was here
i was here
i was here for just a while....

New Songs from the new album....

ReverbNation HTML5 Audio Player Widget

alarm clock manifesto – a modest call to arms

better wake up

because hells on the way

the silent killer snuffing

the truth while you play

better wake up

they're stealing your rights

they’ll be busting down doors

taking freedom at night

and the blood in the streets

and where the poor could once meet

to demand something more

will be burned in defeat

you have a choice here,

this is the spot

where we all grab a weapon

and we keep what we’ve got

the right to gather

and march in the streets

there is no greater power than

the power to meet

there is no greater force than the

masses on feet

marching and yelling

to call for our needs

but it’s not long from now

they will have us all bound

and locked behind doors

with a label in our mouth

we all wear the tee-shirts

like brainwashed robots

lining up for our bread

lining up for our thoughts

they’re coming for your children

what happens to them

they use the fear for their safety

so you hand it to them

the things we once had

the right to enjoy life

the right to bear arms

to protect all these rights

the right just to gather

the right to drive cars

the right to get laid

or be nude ‘neath the stars

you can’t make love in public

but now that means your back yard

the right to bear arms

might sound violent and seedy

but what if we have none

and the big guys get (more) greedy

they are taking our choice

to even choose medication

they will automate the cures

based on a small list of symptoms

that will be a dead line

and a pill will pop out

and the robot will scream,

‘put this shit in your mouth’

and if you refuse

they will throw you in jail

and your friends will have no money

to come post your bail

and your money is paying

for them to make your choice for you

they are beating you with your own stick

‘til you’re subdued

better wake up

cause they lull you to sleep

they’ve made all of these electronic

lullabyes cheap

‘we can’t have revolution,

they might take my phone dear,

they might take the blinking lights

I’ve come to love so here’

or your xbox or blu-ray

or your microwave food

if they took those away,

 what the fuck would you do?

maybe read about real shit

or how to build something better

or will you shackle down

and scrub the floor by the bolts on your fetter

wake up America

right down to the letter

the letter of law

‘cause we still have a few

we can still use what’s left

there are still things left to do

because the stonework of your rights

they are chipping away

from behind ever slowly

and approaching the day

the facade is so small

so pathetically thin

that they burst through, ‘tadaa!!!

now we own EVERYTHING!’

and the richest motherfuckers

don’t allow you to vote

‘casue they stole all the money

and they stole the whole boat

and you’re left there to drown

in the river of dreams

cause the dream part was murdered

it’s body washed up downstream

the regime of the wicked

will take the skin off your bones

how many jobs do you have?

just to get by alone?

they will raise the green whip

and flay the skin from your back

until they use you as an ottoman

after your heart attack

it’s time that we take it all back!

before it’s too late

the ships sinking fast

there is no time to wait!

this is the moment

there’s a pulse in the streets

there’s a heartbeat a thumping

there’s a stomping of feet

that’s our great battleground

the meeting of minds

peaceful or bloody,

whatever!

it’s time!

we still own the car

we can take back the wheel

we can open the door

and hand them the ‘new deal’

‘you work for us

you dumb motherfucker

now you’re kissing the curbside

you fucked up so, pucker!’

we own this car

and it belongs in the ditch

if we can’t get control

of the wheel from the rich!

Better wake up

‘cause hell’s on the way

we’re marching on Washington

by millions today

we burned all the bad seeds they give us to grow

the bickering arguments that muddy the show

the smoke and mirror tactic

to keep us all blind

like, ‘welfare, and healthcare, and unemployment lines’

we’re not slaves to the grind

we are the righteous and free

and rise up

we rise up

we rise up to loudly decree

this is Our Country!

Our Land!

Our Military!

Our free to live homeland

from sea to shining sea!

A true Patriot

questions his government

‘cause it’s the Country He Loves!

We’ll take it all back

if we have to with blood!

We will take back our jobs

from way overseas

we will take back our progress

we will make ourselves free!

we will tear down the banks

we will tear down the oil

we will tear down the wall street

we will tear up the soil

underneath the blacktop

underneath all the steel

underneath the very tires

on the big business wheels

we will plant a new garden

we will grow our own food

they gets moved hand to hand

Does That Not Make Sense To You?

instead of trucking that pre packaged shit

from one central location

lets plant acres and acres

across the whole nation!

we will clean up the soil

and the water as well

so that our childrens childrens children

can eat real food too

It’s time to wake up now

there is so much to do

we will take back these rights

cause its our last right to

by millions who stand for freedom or bust

by hook or by crook or by blood if we must

or maybe you’ll just hit snooze a little bit more

and fade off into the dream that they shove down your core

and cut off your future, while they fuck you, you snore

you can have the sweet dreams

but i’ll take the war

it’s time to wake up now

it’s time to come to

so tell me fellow countryman

what will you do?

a brief but important warning

uncle sam,
remember,
it's our car.
you're just the
asshole we
are allowing
to drive it