artistic license
Posted: June 29th, 2019, 10:49 am
wash me hard and deep
let old blood cells swirl
down the drains of time
red...black and white
like it did in Bates Motel
too extreme ?
a good cleansing can't be bad
can it ?...can a man shed all
his tattooed skin pictographs
those old super 8 movies
from a life that doesn't seem real
I'd like to meet my body double some day
live and let live, seems okay to me
i worked my ass off, too busy most weeks....
I paid my bills, but did I pay attention ?
I packed my lunch at 5 am so loooong
the baloney would stretch around the earth
like a belt with a zillion notches
mama blew like a quiet gale
papa lived at the steel plant
I learned to fend for myself
at 17 rented my own house nicknamed
The House of Weaver and the street
was a vast classroom of leather jacketed misfits
and emerging longhairs we used to call
Birds and Squirrels
my night school lessons were 2x4's 'cross the back
learning to leap four foot chain link fences in back yards
while skillfully avoiding the clotheslines
so now I just want to rest, forgive
my neighbors
myself
kick back in a dirty old recliner
like a big ole monkey sinking into quicksand
whiskey tumbling some nights from the sleeping hand
to my grandmother's Mohawk carpet,
as I spend most of my days
fondling the trees
flirting with clouds,
rolling around in the grass with that special someone
let old blood cells swirl
down the drains of time
red...black and white
like it did in Bates Motel
too extreme ?
a good cleansing can't be bad
can it ?...can a man shed all
his tattooed skin pictographs
those old super 8 movies
from a life that doesn't seem real
I'd like to meet my body double some day
live and let live, seems okay to me
i worked my ass off, too busy most weeks....
I paid my bills, but did I pay attention ?
I packed my lunch at 5 am so loooong
the baloney would stretch around the earth
like a belt with a zillion notches
mama blew like a quiet gale
papa lived at the steel plant
I learned to fend for myself
at 17 rented my own house nicknamed
The House of Weaver and the street
was a vast classroom of leather jacketed misfits
and emerging longhairs we used to call
Birds and Squirrels
my night school lessons were 2x4's 'cross the back
learning to leap four foot chain link fences in back yards
while skillfully avoiding the clotheslines
so now I just want to rest, forgive
my neighbors
myself
kick back in a dirty old recliner
like a big ole monkey sinking into quicksand
whiskey tumbling some nights from the sleeping hand
to my grandmother's Mohawk carpet,
as I spend most of my days
fondling the trees
flirting with clouds,
rolling around in the grass with that special someone