On the Run (day 2256)

I am an outlaw on the run
Hear my voice see my gun
Find new horses at every ranch
River is my daily refresh.

Each night campfire is not lit
Though I lament not having warmth
A bedroll isn’t much sense
One eye open all night long.

I am an outlaw on the run
I hear coyotes calling every night
Starlight is my campfire light
Moon is my memory of home.

Mountain paths take me forever on
Guided by the sun
Constant watch for food that moves
I am an outlaw on the run.

Burning Star (day 2102)

Lucifer has finally come to me:
Rocketships still burning fuel so fast
Emptiness everywhere is filling up
All around I feel the burning sun
In my mind it is just like a star
To which I feel consumption in my bones
it is wild and threatening here
Dancing madmen with twice bigger guns
Adam’s father and his henchmen all around
My feet can never leave a solid rock.
Lucifer has finally come to me.

Setting Sun (day 1730)

I am sorry for the overdraft on expenses
For the withdrawal of complete funds
And exercising my options.

But I’m not.

I’m lying and it’s not a puddle of sadness.
I’m drowning and it’s not because of the waterline,
It’s a challenge and that’s just alright.

Cause Momma’s pullin in six figures
And Daddy’s got a gun
And I ain’t coming back from paradise
‘Til long after setting sun.

Yellow (day 1570)

Shake your hands little man
Rumble rumble rumble.
Shock proof and submerged
I’ve become a yellow alien
Lost in a foreign land.

Shake it in a glass pint of feel good yellow
Until it hurts so hard nutshell
There begins quite a rumble.
Put your guns outside now,
The blood is run down.

Bitter is the agent of change;
A sour heart upon edges of my spine.
My yellow in the midst of your confusion.
An iron, coyly, in a state of disconnect
And my flattening ceases, rumble rumble.

I hope you found the keys –
Open sitting etched wooden door.
Explanations come out
Flight from a thousand monarch butterflies
In a thousand shades of yellow.

Hell is My Political Agenda (day 1356)

Our political agendas are nauseating.
They’re stuffed so full of capital letters
That the underlying messages of our society –
Hell, even our cultures,
Are suffocated with exhaust stacks and bottom dollars.

If I could have dreamed up a Heathenistic Hell,
I’d put city roads and destruction for progress
Right at the top of that scorched list.
I’d decree land had suddenly become a commodity
We could sell simply because we had a gun that said we could.
Just like young adults unable to find their righteous paths,
Explicit lyrics contaminating the innocent minds,
My Hell would be a prescribed better way, mothers.

Did you feel my heart as it’s ripped out every single day
When land mines help fight swollen populations,
Planted in a war to help save lives?
War to not war! Fight fire with fire!

And in my Hell, in my political agenda I call my country,
I would give us hope, every.single.day.
We would wake up to the smell of progress
And desire to capture it in any way possible
So that it could be shared with anybody we knew.
We would mutually feel good about the loss of our trees,
Because our heads were buried so deep in our electricity
Where we were collectively dreaming about
Ways to continue our progress.

For my simple pleasure I’d have dandelions everywhere
As symbols of true health and prosperity.
I’d pull up my old lawn chair, warm beer in hand,
And watch as all the sinners pulled out their organic chemicals
To spray the evil yellow root to death.
On the cold days when there were no death machines
I’d read my botanical books and let the rain
Wash tears into my Hell.

For me this is the saddest thought of all,
Because in spite all my attempts to rectify ignorance,
I would be a black seed living in my own true Hell.
I would be a puppet, inspired to raise my voice
And told that I do mean something to this Hell.
There I’d be, red faced eating my poisoned earth,
Handed another blank Party card
And told why I should be excited.

San Francisco - 201202 (144 of 809)

Machine Gun Sunrise (day 1315)

Born with a soldier on my back,
A militarically kind of fight.
I marched for justice.
I marched with a heavy heart.
And you step on your way?
You take leave without wisdom,
And miss all these unspoken thoughts.
And if mother In Control
Makes an exit from a foolish heart,
Leave diamonds on the floor;
Take our mirrors down at night.
Truth is not in an insult!
Let’s be born again,
An ocean in the sky!
And nighttime falls
To machine gun sunrise.

The Number Two (day 1197)

Laughter is the animal,
Spirit of mother goose.
Summer around little rock
And monkey isn’t right.

Delight a fancy chimney sweep,
Pitter-patter on the roof.
Love in a tin bucket twice
Spitoon for primal juice.

Guns and other ghastly ammunition
Scare a whisper like a ghost,
Take a little sharp arrow
Pierce appointed hour aloof.