Around the block
In the winter
Through the woods in spring
Around the corner
Of summer
And up the hills of winter snow
The seasons of the soul
Teach us to let go
For what comes ahead
Is only understood
From what is
Left behind us
In the joyous
And the down time
Of life
Over the spring fields
Slow yields
Into the summer
But for now the harvest of silence
Is upon the lips of the
Long grass
And the trees
As the summer vamps
Up from the southern
Breeze
Why
Not here right now
The winters cold
And the summer breeze
The invisible
Sights
Bursting at the seams
From the heights of Chicago
To the depth of Lake Michigan
To start again
So my letter reads
That love will win
In the dire hour
Of what can be
Amidst the evening flurry
Of the stars and moon
Out calls the fox
And the cat
To sing the song for the sleepless
Not to comfort or to ease
But to place a note
In the midnight air
Upon the ears
Of all of those who
Hear
No more needed additions
From the clock
To the crowing chickens
A season of solitude
In the farm
On the hill
Beyond the trees and
Over the lake
A need for repose
Amidst the wild life
Ahead
So to the season
To the day
A refresh is on the way
In the middle of the night
Driving through the evening
With the folding up of another day
The moon rose
So strangely
That the moon
Had become a stranger
To my own eyes
I could not understand the shape
Or form
As the night wore on
I could rub my eyes
Only to see a stranger ahead
Over the water of
Lake Michigan
Floats the sand storm
From the skeletons of summer
Other than the floats
Of May
The heights of life
Lived
In the summer breeze
With ever year
Comes a new season
Of summer
Upon our skin
Red tie
Brings the conservatives from their
Desperation
While the blue tie
Holds the democrats last hope
What is the point of
A red tie, blue tie, same damn lie
Why trust in that that can’t be trusted
Why hope for something that has no hope
Why go over and over
I don’t trust anyone
Who trusts the politician
Rather the one who solves their own problems
And can be a light for others
Please lead us
To a better future
Upon the land
Fertile shows of burning
Sand and rock
Molten to the ground
Desperate and destroyed
How has it come to the time
When all the news we need
Is not what we see
All we feed to each other
Is propaganda of belief
No more
No more
The world needs us more
Than we need politicians
The banter of feedback
From the ones who are one
The whole of the world
Focused on the same words
The same phones
The same lights
Upon the death of Coachella
Comes the highest elite to mourn
In the finest garments
With the highest followers
Draped on every word
This is not where art can live
This is where art dies
A Cup of Songwriting 