People Are Crazy, Times Are Strange

 

As a stranger you slipped into my back pocket.

Filling the inset with tokens of good-byes.

Twenty-four hour chips turned over to years of near misses and heavy sighs!

The gravity to our kinship would never correlate on paper.

Before, the gathering, a rainbow’s pride had been just another friendship…

I had learned to hide.

An elk’s ashtray weighed down by Marlboro Reds and Camels.

A one person parade…

Playing out drunken disorderly in a public display of charades.

That is when this belligerent bond had been made.

Babies having babies for greed and doping needs.

 

The rebel in you, as soiled as, the dirt beneath my feet.

And, every time, I picked myself up off the ground…

Your town line is where my grime could be found.

As a strange friend you are the…Acme Staple Factory on a road that dead ends.

My best guess?

No one ever chooses to begin again.

Unless they have a stranger for a strange friend.

 

Things Have Changed – Bob (need I say more) Dylan

A worried man with a worried mind
No one in front of me and nothing behind
There’s a woman on my lap and she’s drinking champagne
Got white skin, got assassin’s eyes
I’m looking up into the sapphire tinted skies
I’m well dressed, waiting on the last train
Standing on the gallows with my head in a noose
Any minute now I’m expecting all hell to break loose
People are crazy and times are strange
I’m locked in tight, I’m out of range
I used to care, but things have changed
This place ain’t doing me any good
I’m in the wrong town, I should be in Hollywood
Just for a second there I thought I saw something move
Gonna take dancing lessons do the jitterbug rag
Ain’t no shortcuts, gonna dress in drag
Only a fool in here would think he’s got anything to prove
Lot of water under the bridge, Lot of other stuff too
Don’t get up gentlemen, I’m only passing through
I’ve been walking forty miles of bad road
If the bible is right, the world will explode
I’ve been trying to get as far away from myself as I can
Some things are too hot to touch
The human mind can only stand so much
You can’t win with a losing hand
Feel like falling in love with the first woman I meet
Putting her in a wheel barrow and wheeling her down the street
I’ve been walking forty miles of bad road
If the bible is right, the world will explode
I’ve been trying to get as far away from myself as I can
Some things are too hot to touch
The human mind can only stand so much
You can’t win with a losing hand
I hurt easy, I just don’t show it
You can hurt someone and not even know it
The next sixty seconds could be like an eternity
Gonna get low down, gonna fly high
All the truth in the world adds up to one big lie
I’m love with a woman who don’t even appeal to me
Mr. Jinx and Miss Lucy, they jumped in the lake
I’m not that eager to make a mistake
I’ve been walking forty miles of bad road
If the bible is right, the world will explode
I’ve been trying to get as far away from myself as I can
Some things are too hot to touch
The human mind can only stand so much
You can’t win with a losing hand

Walking in Recovery

Flying solo amid the haunted thicket.

A travesty of my imperfections bad luck?

Getting the misguides…wrong.

For even a gimpy, imp, knows.

It takes two to belong.

When I attempted to travel the mist with loneliness in my heart.

My shortcomings were longer than the sum of all their parts.

With gumption…tangled in corruption, stumbling toward inadequacy.

An angry overgrowth in the dented can to recovery.

Distance ahead would mean retaining…

The poisoned ivy to my lonesome itch.

Only need produced a friend to wander down the damaged ditch.

In the landslide of pointing fingers at ‘letting go of holding on?’

Recovery was…

Recovery is…

‘It takes two to find the right side of wrong.’

 

 

Be Still the Lonely Chair

Still, the lonely chair.

Sometimes placed as if, to beckon another.

But below the begrudged earth…

No soul mate arises from the turf.

Ò

When well in mind.

When composed in soul.

I travel by the place that claimed to make my youth whole.

Ò

Though the canvas seat is aware of my grace.

Not a body to claim my face.

Profound is the dirt that gathers the whole.

Anguish the chrome contemplation of an  adrift soul.

 

Bundled from Hell

I can understand how depression seeps in.

Not knowing where you are going.

Not cherishing where you have been.

Hobbling along to the sounds of remorse with diluted spirits in hand.

Traveling off course… I often misplace where I stand.

The seeds of riches are never planted.

And, makeshift religions ringing…a dinner bell.

With certainty…

Along the roadways…are infringed upon bundles to kindled hell.

Handling myself tight…

My body…

A commodity for wounds afflicted…

Thrashing about are all the souls lost…

to the sky…now lifted.

With one brave step forward.

I linger around a blind corner.

But to concede midway…

Would present pity with honor.