Continual postage
Send me on my way
Held back
Deferred another day
What can send me out
Into the world
Hurled out with no precise measure
Regardless of challenges or pleasures
This will be my postage
Paid upon sending
I have paid it due
For once my stamp is applied
I must see myself through
We all sit around a fluorescent fire
Comforted by being side by side
Yet in a complete new world
Each of our minds
Has gone to find
Together we are in physicality
But in reality
We could not be farther apart
So we watch our fires
Burning in our hands
Selfish held plans
A new sense of community is born
From the hand held fires
That burn all night long
Separating us from
Dusk to dawn
Building rows
Of three letter prose
Steady up
And steady grows
Sunday Mornings wane lightly
Just enough momentum
To get flying
Breakfast, lunch, and dinner
In the midst of a mild winter
Growing up
But not growing old
This is how the week
Slowly lulls me back
Ready to begin
Again
I have had this car for years
Made it through many laughs
Hard fought tears
Somehow these metal and plastic walls
Have converted into more of a hollowed hall
Celebration of years worked
Half worked
Double time
But when it starts to go south
Off the linear path
It’s hard to decide
When to let go
To let the old vessel
Stroll alone
Down the final road
No more strategy
No more money
It’s the end of the road
When can I decide
These hollowed halls
Have lived through thin truths
Thick lies
But in the end
Life goes on
It’s the memories not the material
That I will take from this world
Just leased out our place in NYC
The album takes first place
Homelessness ensues
Chaos long overdue
But for the sake of the art we let go
Take control of our creation
Letting go of a constant state of consistency
Not much to envy
High hopes for distinctions unknown
We just let up
And let go
You know I don’t eat that anymore
The smell of processed meats
Leaking through the cracked door
Orange yellow eggs smashed in
Not quite sure if it the slightest smell of plastic
That did me in
Logs of meat hammered out
Full of sodium bicarbonates
The thoughts just frustrates
But on Sunday mornings the family still enjoys
The processed meats
Made from recycled toys
The morning rests soft
Easy speaking and waking slow
The summer breeze rustles
Through the soft flower leaves
Change has its way of breaking me
Lowering my tolerance for what is coming
Arise to life’s challenges yet
One by one
I hope my buffer for new will not come undone
I have heard stories of burn outs
Giving up
I know that the roads we create
Are not easy or clear
But what we do
We do for love
My dear
Sudden change is what we fear most
Life’s swelling waves
In a small fishing boat
Bail out the water
Keeping our heads above the sea
It’s a commitment we made
A long time ago
Over a cup of Darjeeling Tea
Everything I need is right here in front of me
My hands, eyes, hope, desire
Everything I can use to bring myself higher
Hard work is the barrier
Constraining my own ethic
I feel that I have now realized this simple truth
What you focus on grows
What you forget about goes away with old
So I must refocus on what is in front of me
All the tools I need
Are surrounding me
Asking me
I will answer
No one will sing my song
Others create
Borrow or steal
But my voice sings my life story
It must be from my own lips
Sung
Creating context for understanding this mess
Owning these words whether they be of beauty
Or of restlessness
It is my mission to create my story
No other hands have created
This life of simple strands
Woven around complex webs
Of inner circle steps
So no one will push my pen
My life’s commitment to the end
To be committed and honest
So I can be fully created
Life, lived, created lines
Easy or frustrated
