Brave Glares in the Midnight Air 

Life takes guts.  

So does taking yourself out.  

I ain’t got that mettle.  

Built for the rut,  

And I got scores to settle. 

~~~

Notes of Harmonica Played on the Spirit 

Chaos is just another term for life.  

The music of our existence.  

The tempo of our madness.  

We play the groove of our souls  

To survive the sadness. 

~~~

Love 

We busted nuts 

At sunrise.  

Shot our guts  

All over the sky.  

~~~

Raison D’etre  

It’s a bizarre rumble, 

Down the lines of the soul,  

We stumble.  

Lots of woofin,’ out there… 

Good can forget what it got… 

Mad days,  

Rivers still run,  

The rot can get hot,  

But at least we got shade.  

My breed of bite don’t bother to bark.  

All action, raffishly laughin,’  

Beer drenched memories,  

Stealin’ smiles from the shine-side of the sun – 

Betcha ass, I been down lanes of misery,   

Hurt, but my style doesn’t match a slump –  

Thick-hip personalities;  

Relief on the hump.  

Lots of woofin,’ out there… 

Good can forget what it got… 

We make it look easy –  

The good-timers and neon miners –   

No sleep, and even more chill;   

Lookin’ down the brutal barrel  

Of another day’s back-breakin’ grind… 

Brightside leftovers like hope wrapped smoke,  

Pocket-change pills, or half-bag lines. 

Stay smooth –  

World’s will always lose control.  

Create easy livin’ reasons; 

Borrowed-time-minds must beat bold. 

~~~

Sac-Town 

It’s cold and crisp  

In the valley of golden dreams.  

Winter moves like a massive crocodile – 

Assured by the ease of the feast.  

Brutal concrete to sleep.  

Something & nothing; 

One of those places  

That exposes the merit in your meat.