Broken Bones

When I was younger, I saw my brother, I used to wonder
Would I grow right, in his eyes, would I falter?
So fast, it goes, before I know it.
I’m old, he’s gone, I’ve blown it.
I can only hope he’s smiling on the inside.
Through the stone, he’s yielding, stirring ice
In a tumbler of bourbon, heat on the horizon.
His worry lines and serious eyes are illusions.
Back to the driveway, a blood-stained pavement.
Running for mother to show her what happened.
I never told her it was my fault, my plans.
Let it go child, its over, it happened.
My poor brother, took that one on the inside.
His gut is torn up. I see it in his eyes.
These illusions.

The Tables are Turning

Deep down, buried in the dirt, dwells a tangled mess.

Of a past long forgotten, covered up and rotting with the rest.
We kicked it under the welcome mat, but the more we drill and dig
The more our past comes raging back, the more our backs they break.
Do you know what your world’s about?  The tables are turning now.
Well why not? Pass me a shovel.  Everybody, hey, come out and help.
Start the digging, there’s no trouble, until our brow start to glisten and melt.
Do you know what your life’s about. The tables are turning around.
And soon young women and men, they will grow old.
They skin will be leathered, and their sight will start to go.
The things they buried will work their way on up. 
Exposed and rotting our lives it will begin to haunt.
Do you know what your world’s about? The tables are turning now.
Now in our empty homes, we’ll hang our dusty coats.
The day’s work is done.  This disaster we’ve postponed. 
But soon the future, it will come, that old tax collector.
Demanding us to pay on up; the day in the sun is over.
Do you know what your world’s about? The tables are turning around.
Do you know what your world’s about? The tables are turning now.
The tables are turning around.

The Sleeping Zebra

Well, not so much now.

I’m afraid my typing has brought you up from the depths.
Napping in the crook of my elbow,
You’ve rested 
And, no doubt, you’ll have the energy
To blaze through this apartment’s serengeti.
So you want to play now, do you?
Well grab your mouse on a string and lets go.
I’ve never been a cat owner until now,
And you seem like the feline for me.

1984

consciousness equals existence so long as you control the thought process
freedom eludes those who follow the currents of their Big Brother
denial leads one headfirst into oncoming traffic
to abandon your lover in the cross hairs of your greatest fears
and finally realize, 2 + 2 = 5
or 3, or cotton ball
or whatever I tell you it =