We strapped up
and headed out like Hell on wheels
and tore the whole damn city down
but never found
a reason Why we did it

but if we get another chance
We’ll strap up again and
break the whole damn thing one more time
Just to prove we can.

A fluke’s not a fluke until I say it is.

Honey let the record play
the’ve got a lot of shit to say
I hear it in their voices but
can’t hear it in their phrase

I swear there’s meaning there, profound
though none of it has yet been found
we shouldn’t let that stop us
Listen on through the malaise

or second thought, let’s turn it off
We’ve better ways
to waste our days

than listening to another folk guitarist-hack

I suppose that I’m not crazy
But If I am I hope that you
will take time from your busy day
and try to help me make it through

to a point where I’ll recuperate
or at least one where I’ll understand
the truth of my malignant fate:
my life was written in the sand

My only hope, to wonder now
to cling to my failing cognizance
I’ll take the time to take a bow
and settle for indifference
But as your needle stabs me through
I wonder how this all makes sense

Fight the power
fight them fight the
power and just maybe
you can win but first
you have to fight
the power or you
can choose not to
fight the power but
either way the
power will fight you.

Even the luckiest
Friday the Thirteenth
ends with a broken
Windshield.

Winding down with a
cold glass of milk and a
hand full of chips that have
fallen on the floor and a
cookie for desert
and the Tonight show on the
Television.

Shut The Fuck Up Leno.

*click*

(This marks the 1,000th post on The Sieve and The Sand.)

Don’t eat the peanuts
unless you’ve got an iron gullet
or don’t fear death
or at least Salmonella.

You know,
Turtles have Salmonella on their
shells,
but they do just fine as turtles.

And anyway, Salmonella is just a
Virus.

Do you know how small a
Virus is?

The man with the trumpet
said it best:

“Welcome to Beale Street folks. If you
don’t get it here,
You’re better off
Without it”

Walking Softly in the
House the King built.

Not that king, the other king,
and not that house, the other house.
Nope, not the hill,
on the corner,
just down the road from
The Daisy.

Strapping up,
plugging in,
click click click BANG

And then, there was Music

in the House that the King built.

The other king

Beat feet across
hard cement walks
and painted-on
crosswalks and
‘it’s only a half-mile
in to town’ becomes
‘we can almost see
the sign on the
Horizon’

But the cops have
nothing against
Three White Boys
on the east side
of Downtown
memphis

It’s colder than it should be but
not colder than I’m used to so
I wander through the city streets
and people point and laugh

And the smells and sounds are beautiful
But the wind cuts deep and scarcely I
have enough time to disappear
behind the safe enclosure of
yet another
Rib Joint

And I can hardly even
see straight and I can
hardly even tell that I’m
wobbling and I can hardly
fathom that my legs gave
out and I can hardly even
feel that I’m falling and I
can

Steely Dan humming on a stereo
somewhere, while we
lean back in our comfy chairs and
ponder, ever-cautiously

Three minds a-wander, way down field
without a place to run to while we
make a day less dreary while we
lean back, ever-ponderously

They said tonight was pouring rain
They said tomorrow, sunshine
I hear Wet on the windowpane
We hope the news was right this time

Stick ’em twixt a baffle
and a really loud P.A.

let their brains and banter foul out
the’ve never anything nice to say.

I’m just about
this close
to fighting another
fight, but other
issues have arisen,
causing me to
stay at home
and lock the doors.

Spent countless hours
of countless nights
polishing the words he’s
written down in
a battered pair of notebooks

Stepped sheepishly
to the stage and
took up, with great
caution, a
microphone

Then carefully,
whispered the words he’d
coveted so long
so that anyone in the room
could hear him

Too bad no one was listening

We’ve got a lot of work to do
so grab yourself a shovel
and we’ll dig
dig
dig
dig
and when we hit rock bottom

we’ll start carving out a staircase
and we’ll climb and climb and climb
until we’re right back where we Started

I hope we make it out in time

She speaks truth with every breath
and cuts through each discrepency
He fears he may be talked to death
but takes in stride each plead and plea

She whispers of their glory past
and says she’ll see them rise again
He whispers good things never last
he turns away to hide a grin

The fire’s burning lower now
the hearthstone cooling more and more
She stokes the last log, wondeirng how
She hadn’t noticed this before

simplicity tastes like
vanilla cake and
white frosting
and sprinkles.

And green icing
with words written:
The Cake.

Simplicity is.
Delicious.

I cannot yet forget my fate
the one I’ve forced upon myself:
to stay alive despite my health
to fight from being over-rate

But if I am to die too soon
promises broken, boons unkept
I’ll do my best to make amends
from the other side of the Moon