Sista Diva

Will the wind ever remember the names it has blown in the past And with this crutch its old age and its wisdom It whispers no this will be the last
Will the wind ever remember the names it has blown in the past
And with this crutch its old age and its wisdom
It whispers no this will be the last

The last leaf in the fall. Still holding on, though, in this the newest of years. Don’t want to get to abstract; but that crown of thorns does not compliment your fair weather hat.

Over years yonder, the needle made love to the vinyl. Hendrix spoke of ‘a¬†broom is drearily sweeping up the broken pieces of yesterdays life’ Black satin and paradise by the dashboard of your super charged powder blue love bug, lights. If only the princess of darkness hadn’t been a friend of the devil. For that devil is no friend of mine. If only an ounce…just one toke over the line, were mere dares to the truth we’d been hoping to find.

Now, though, Sista Diva, with your clenched fist banner high…Over medicated and under wed…where are those dreams you regret.

Now, Sista Diva, callous hands and the promise of procuring a bite from the forbidden fruit…paying the poet pauper her dues. I suspect 1982 looked good on you. Princess with crown of thorns…with all your ‘fuck you’ and roses of bruise and blue.

Twas once upon a time, we had shared a nursery rhym. You played, as always, the diva missing the forever glass slipper. I, of course, portrayed the ugly last sister. Once bitten twice shy, pretty much sums up the rest of my life.

Today, I stumbled into a glorious spring thought, certainly nothing absolute. More akin to resolute compromise and added with a pinch of ME TOO!

One lone broken down last autumn leaf, withered by too much season, yet harboring a strength of beauty and reason…I smiled my smirk. I thought I’d just let you know that past or present…you are still a never satisfied JERK.

Patchouli Fran

Patchouli Fran

I want my women dirty looking, as though I'd found her in some alley -Bob Dylanh
I want my women dirty looking, as though I’d found her in some alley
-Bob Dylanh

Attachments such as, freedom

And

nothing ‘left to loose’.

Burning incense

driving down dodge drafted screws.

My music isn't supposed to make you riot, it's supposed to make you fuck -Janis Joplin
My music isn’t supposed to make you riot, it’s supposed to make you fuck
-Janis Joplin

Patchouli smoke

herb to wine

Giving a toke

feeling fine.

Burning incense during

Disney fables,

little green apples

and

talking dog music labels.

I'd rather be dead than singing 'Satisfaction' when I'm 45 -Mick Jagger
I’d rather be dead than singing ‘Satisfaction’ when I’m 45
-Mick Jagger

Smoke stained eyes

G.I. Jerry G in

a cross dress

via dead design.

I'm the only that's got to die when it's time for me to die.  So let me live my life the way I want to -Jimi Hendrix
I’m the only that’s got to die when it’s time for me to die. So let me live my life the way I want to
-Jimi Hendrix

Oh, a musky, sweet pungent soul

The beat goes on

to a beatnik rummage sale.

Whiskey with laces

Resin limits

Scraping the bowl amongst blurred faces