In 4 minutes I will attempt
To write words
Strung together with
Some meaning
My eyes are stuck to the screen
Gleaming
Written in an attempt to say
What I have postponed along the way
Returning to ritual
Feels good
Yet not unusual
11:57 The clock reads
Momentary and sedentary
I return to the road
We travel so often
Yet so unfamiliar
Unusual
The hope of unity
A collection of ideas
Almost perfect
But perfect in its imperfections
It has beauty despite moments
Of Lack of direction
Proceed on our journey
To find people
To share moments and peace
This is my idea to bring
Muddle and confusion
Marry the mellow quiet
With ruptured sounds of a digital empress
Defiant of the status quo
Holding on to the last of what was
What we used to know
The cell phone rings
Elbows locked in admiration
Swing around the border
Of the new order
Tech first feeling second
Defiant I remane
But I wonder what the world would be
With no technology
Would we be more advanced
If we were connected by glance
Instead of digital connection
A tacit code of life
Implied by technical lines
We are breakable and weak
In the eye of technology
Return to the pages
Settled in and getting away
Too long
Can get contagious
I don’t write
Due to lack of inspiration
Rather I am not writing
Because it has become
A lack of motivation
Unfamiliar sensation
But it is a coal covered jewel
Untouched as the days continue
First the idea sprouts
From mind to fingers
Scatters across the keys and onto the page
I resurrect the beast laying dormant
Back to writing and enjoyment
With rest comes ideas
Ideas with time
And now it is time to return
To the pages
To the writing burn
In hopes of a mad resurrection
My pen falls flat in dejection
More like a renewed redirection
Of my final intention
Words lassoed
And written
Bringing back the words I had not given
I write with the hopes of a new discovery
To go forth and be free
From subtleties
My life long recovery
To write eternally
Articulate assembling
Summer salad created
Hands willfully picking the pieces
Assembling the creation at hand
Southern Indiana type of man
Years spent on the eastern seaboard
Now looking a bit more windward
Back against the jet stream
And to the midwest
Now creating companies with goals set
A man and his discovery
Looking for hopeful engagements
And full recovery
We sit for dinner
My wife and I
Engaged from side to side
Discussing his next adventure
From the countryside
A home set off in the distance
Off the country roads in existence
We discuss possibilities of new futures
I wish I could have seen this sooner
Poetic justice
Late night karaoke slams
Altered punctuation
Drinks embezzled for us
From the incoherent
Blasting with interference
Keeping the lines straight
With a brother more found than lost
Amazing engages
Light engages
Hoping a new life revealed
Oh how the power of music
Can heal
The little forgotten things
Moments passing
Fleeting and free
Tied down now to the eternity
Of passing
Time flickering quietly
Not kicking and thrashing
It’s the unknown riddle
I attempt to make the most of the moments
Fleeting moments
I should have known this
That in the tiny cracks of uncertainty
Can take down the curtain
Of flow of currency
I attempt at words construed and written
For the hopes of my own improvement
So in exchange of time
Not perfection of pursuit
But the pursuit of something new
Everyday
For you
Back on the road
Dead straight
But a little lesser known
Taken time to rest my hands
Made strides in growth
As a man
Understand that time away makes the heart grow
Reflect what you intake
And undergo
So I go
Mile for mile
I wanted to say hello
Since it has been a while
Bradley is a happy man
He falls asleep on the island
To the sound of a bellowing fog horn
Cutting through the air as rich as worn leather
He awakes to coffee that envelops him
With a hug
Rather than a mere raspy handshake
He is content on the coast
Billowing up steam from a morning roast
Falling asleep as the fog crosshatches the eve sky
Across the bay
Happy till the day he may day
Rent control his eternal protection
Umbrella’s held in rather polite distinction
Humanity’s bustle he has no strict participation
Watching the sunrise
Heightened by windy anticipation
However the wind blows
On the edge of the sleepy little beach town
Bradley has it right
Bradley is a happy man
Just on the outskirts of San Fran
A Cup of Songwriting 