Hotel Blues

I woke up 
One morning
To a mouth 
Full of rain

Weighed down 
In a bed 
I knew I wouldn't be asked to make
Never ever again,

& That place felt 
About as foreign as 
A newfound sin that 
Just begs me in for a few--

But I know what is/nt at stake
Like unkissed lips 
on sinking ships

and all those hard roads 
we must eventually take.

& I wish,

I had good news
Instead of bad dreams 
& big blues,

I wish I could trade
This river of sorrow 
For a simple stream 
of song.

I wish I could have stayed
Atleast until we said
All we had to say,

but I never could wait that long. 

All's Not Fair.

If only travels of the heart were mapped out like this



Oh, Indie Anna.

I feel about as flooded 
& plain as you look right about now...
Maybe we should both get out & play in the sun.

Can't you  just hear the warmth calling?

It sounds like this...




Or if you aren't in the mood, we could always order take-out & hide under heavy blankets and play make-believe instead...

Either way, it's high-time we shake out these big bad winter blues.



The Weather, man.

Seems I'm steppin' out 
With nothing left to lose
& I'm not steppin' lightly,

'cause I'm not scared if I bruise. 

(There's a song caught 
in the back of my throat, 

& I'm not worried when it'll rise 
that's the beauty of the Blues.)


Coffee & Hb.

Dear Caffeine, 

I love you,
But your timing is worse than my very own. 

You seem to leave me abruptly, shaking & less steadied than before I ever met you, 
and even with your taste off my tongue you somehow manage to keep me awake at night.

I wish we could make a compromise...

Say for instance, you stick around & keep me company until the evening, and when we part, we both sleep sound, because we know that the morning promises us another day of adventure. 

I know. I know. 
I've always been an idealist,
& I've had trouble fully committing myself to you,

But if you could atleast give it some thought, 

I think we could really make a great pair. 

I'll let you sleep on it, okay?



Please, Punxsutawney.

For the love of God, 

Do not look behind you.

Michigan seems meaner than ever this winter. 
Maybe I've been away too long, maybe my skin isn't as thick as I once thought it to be, but damn, whiskey decided to stay down South & cinnamon tea isn't curing the bitterness that's burrowed itself in deep this time 'round, so please, be kind, Phil & give us another early spring will ya? 

(All I see for miles & miles is this cold, but beautiful bitch blue...
So I bide my time, try not to think,
& when I dream it's all watery-eyed shades of pink...)