A Cheap Bed and Home

Getting in at 3

Snow packed streets

Of a cheap


Parking in industrial lots

Making a bed a home

When we are on the road


But not alone

Monday makes a good intro

To the new week ahead

Many miles on the road we left

Written songs all along

Sing out in hopes of the one

One more show

One more road to go

One more turn

We deal with the yearning

Of mind

But we stay committed 

To our professional line


A Man Nondescript

He was a polite General 

In a dirty fight

Won’t ask too many questions

Making sure his men were alright

He would stop into the local shop

But keep all conversations brief

Man of few words

Nothing left to waste

Keeping his work straight in time

He would handle even a bumpy road

Or the occasional attack

With no weight but his country 

On his back

He would nod his head and thank

His fellow men

For the life they lead

With an extention of his hand

He was a man nondiscript

Defined by action

Rather than inaction

Vigilant Time Apparatus

Hands held in jail

A simple wreck of proportions 

Cell phone

Holding on 

Through every bend

Like a contortionist

Careful time delegation

In a room of lavish embellishments 


Through the gliding feel of the phone

Like a fresh shave in the morning

With force it reckons you back 

To embark on internets past

Although you may reject its request for 

Time and energy

You can not disagree

With the phones ability

To consistently

Win you back

It is a vigilant time apparatus

Strapped around your head

Walking through the muck

Of the walking dead

It’s valuable sensation

Is an impeccable sum

In the moments surrounding

The wild humdrum 

25 Hours

25 hour car ride

The earth to my right side

Passing trucks to the left

I won’t attest with my old ride

Making our way to the Florida coast 

Racing trains 

Down the eastern seaboard

Catching cheap hotels 

So we can

Sleep more

Passing through Raleigh

And Jacksonville

Some good moments

Some are just a force of will

Highways full 

Unable to sit still

From the borders of NYC

To easy coastal city’s

Southern bound 

Through America the Pretty

Oy Vey Sign

A flat in Brooklyn

With walls thin

Above a Patisserie

Is where you will find

Her and Me

Where the Williamsburg Bridge


Take a bend

Up north

On the Queens line

But just before the

“Oy, vey” sign

We have found in this confine

We can shine

Breaking out of our old lines

For these poems

Will always remind


Of our time

In Brooklyn


Dine but not Confined

Thai food and conversation

How we can make a living

Across the nation

Assemble the team

Pour the wine

Make plans over

The meal we dine

Not confined to walls

And labels

Working hard to live in the




Committed and clear

We set our sights

To the heights

Of what we can reach

And hear