Never that way again

Woman: So why don’t you make music for a living?

Man: There’s no money in it.

Woman: You have talent

.

Man: Lots of people have talent. Did I pass the audition?

Woman: Yes, you passed.

Man: So where are we going?

Woman: You made it to the next level, but the game’s not over. 

Man: So what do I have to do now – set myself on fire and sing the Star Spangled Banner?

Woman: Was there a time you dreamed of being a professional musician?

Man: Of course, but as a song writer. There are two types of people in music – musicians and song writers. I’ve always considered myself more of a song writer.

Woman: Did you write that song for her?

Man: I did, and it was one of the purest things I ever wrote. It might be the purest, and I had no idea what I was doing. It just came. I was all of sixteen. Maybe that’s what kept me writing – I kept hoping something like that would come again. 

Woman: Did it?

Man: Technically, I wrote better ones, but never with the same ease and under the same circumstances. I captured lightning in a bottle, and I doubt if I ever will again.

Kurt

He got
what
he wanted,
loser -
fame,
fortune,
fuck.
It's easy,
but he dies
in the light of dawn
with that hound
on his trail.
Light bites
like devil fangs -
help him, somebody,
lock him up,
tie him down,
free him from fate,
a life looping
over and over
until he slips
through dusk
into night.
He remembers
he didn't buy bullets
for that gun.

The Sea is Here....

The way by which
she weaves
and bobs
and writhes
along the side of
satin waves
where sun shines
like monkey shines
about her breasts
and beasts speak
babble,
dance in furry feet
like leviathans
on a beach blanket
dance floor.
Where did I leave
my toothbrush?

The Nature of Things

Lost in thought,
hemmed in by
not knowing,
trapped
in the work-a-day world
do or die,
I took a walk,
found a Toad
in the leaves
by the woods,
slowed down
to a stands-still
by the cold.
Will you be my
good luck charm?
I'm not superstitious
but I needed something - a sign
of good things
to come.
So I carried it inside,
but it felt out of place
in that sterile place
where the natural
is not.
I thought,
I'd better bring it
out,
let it go back
to the place it knows.
To the place
I wish
to go.

Talisman

Feather
you keep
in your
pocket.
You believe
in
the god of things
found
on the ground
in
the morning
present
in the glide
of a Red Tail
crossing
your path
just like
that.
Is it all random
you ask
or
do those Highways
you drive
lead to
Nirvana?

Who's that knocking at my door?

The gentle bull of childhood
lies beneath the cork tree,
dreams of endless sun stoked fields, hills
that roll and stretch to eternity.
In time, you must wake,
prepared or not,
to feel
the morning
seeping
into your life
like an
oozing wound.
Fight,
you might, or
turn back
into sleep,
but the house around you
shall crumble into dust,
and reality will join you

in bed.

Walking the Grounds of the Abandoned Bible Community

Burdened by nothing but
diablo shadows,
I walked
the white stucco side
of the empty dorm,
remembered back
before nature
took over,
the tenants,
like me,
thought it would
never end.
I ran away
from that Catholic prison
down the street,
a visitor
to their Jesus world,
seeking connection,
salvation.
Truthfully,
a girl,
who'd help me forget
teen angst.