The hills
Way above the city
Where the dense fog lay
Is a town
Sleepy and slow
With shadows over the town
Trees and roads
Wind carelessly
Through hills and valleys
We rest upon these hills
And regain
Strength
Hills
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Monthly Archives: January 2018
Countdown to Feeling
The feeling of departure
Leaving a situation
A city
Streets of the commonplace
A place
Where the hole human race
Walks the same streets
I will be sad to depart a city
But for great opportunity
I must let go
In order to grow
The city has taught me
Many lessons
Now I must go
Spilled Milk on the Red Line
Spilled milk on the Red Line
Veins of white
Rush down the floor
“That ain’t mine”
The lady with two hats on yells
The man
Visibly exhausted with his head back
Is not one inch close to conscious
As the white pours through the isle
Pictures being snapped
A moment catches
The woman with the bike laughs
Late night Red Line
Public transportation
Strange spilled iterations
As the winds wind through
The tunnels
Below the streets
Of L.A.
New Brew
Fill
Pull
Roast
Start the clock
Green beans fill the roaster
With another batch
Of sweet fresh coffee
On 6th Avenue
To be sent all over the city
Fresh cups to fill
Warm sport to enjoy
On a cold winters night
Desperation of Desolation
The desperate times
Desperate measures
Come up with something good
A productive measure
In times worn thin
As the veil of light
Through the morning curtains
We have to continue to
Rely on food decisions
To set us right
Old Time News
Street views
Of old time news
What comes in the wind
In the morning or at night
Old time news
Learning from the past
Our own goal
Window pane strolls
On Sunday afternoons
Empire Time
Empire time
From the streets of Brooklyn
From dynasty of old
Yesteryears
Untold stories
Empire time is coming
For us all
Enticed by what the future holds
Make nice
With Empire Time
These Days of Wonder
Somehow the future
So quickly slips to the past
Unnoticed
Yet as smooth as a escalator
Carrying forth with no
Indifference
The days of wonder go by
From a cafe in Williamsburg Brooklyn
I will remember these days soon
As they pass from current to
Past
These moments go quickly
And pass
Air to Breathe
Air to breathe
Needed on some days
When overwhelming thoughts
Occur
And reoccur
Just a bit of wind
In the lungs
Can be the song needed
To be sung
Ode to Control
Letting go
In a time like this
Wood burning mess
When the times are hard
An ode to control
Is called
Norms of ideals
Exist no longer
When the ice melts
And turns into water
From my tiny apartment in NYC
Packing up my life
City to city
A republic in confusing times
And settings
Ode to control
If I were a risky man
I would be betting
A Cup of Songwriting 