The old fears
Dried up tears
Move up
Move out
All the changes happen
In specific time
And moments
We remove ourselves
To see the grand scheme
By it doesn’t mean a thing
When your heart is torn
Mean a Thing
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A Tiny Heart
The size of an almond
With a personality the size
Of the room
Our small dog
Named Wilco
May have a small heart
But fills the room with love
When anyone walks in
Sweet little Wilco
One Fine Day
A fine day
Is coming
When we believe
Not in celebrity
But in each other
That day
Is coming
One fine day
Trolls
Trolls have nowhere else to go
Lurking for flat moments
Growing thick like mold
Trolls roll up their sleeves
To sow discord
In a world that needs to be healed
Refilled with love
So the trolls can roll away
March 24th
A great day to get out
My birthday is a day
To celebrate a new schools
Of voices rising up
In a dark time
So that in due time
We will have hope again
Such a coincidence
But on March 24th people rise
Up
To believe again
That we can all accomplish something
With the help is our fellow
Countrymen
A Hope for Past Future
Can the future be brighter
If the past is not reckoned
How to know where to go
If we do not understand
What we have done
My role in this nowness
Is key to the future
I have played my own role
Ambivalently
But with more passion we approach
The future
Don’t Look Down
Don’t look down
Let go
Be bold
Favor the future
And face the truth
Today
Bombay Cafe
In the heart of London
Where the isles are winding
To the heart of the city
We dine
One Monet moment
At a time
Wooden counters
With airy old jazz numbers
Fumbling along
With a reserved evening
In the heart of London
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.
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
A Cup of Songwriting 