“WIT’S END”

County Line

On my way to you, old county
Hoping nothing’s changed
That your pain is never-ending
That is, it’s still the same
County Line
County Line
I left so far behind

You never even tried to love me
What did I have to do to make you want me?
I feel so blind, I can’t make out the passing road signs
All that you would have me do is cross that County Line

Now you know I’m coming, old county
To see construction sites
And your new homes never-ending
I think I can see the lights
County Line
County Line
I can smell the columbine

You never even tried to love me
What did I have to do to make you want me?
I feel so blind, I can’t make out the passing road signs
All that you would have me do is cross that County Line

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The Lonely Doll

In tribute to all things petite,
pretty and sweet,
this verse I offer and greet
in desire to replete

A portrait painted from truth
but imagined to soothe
for Beauty, eternal in youth
loves pity, compassion, and ruth

I stumbled out of the saloon
an evening last June
and heard a distant, mournful tune
under the dyad moon

My Soul, though with wine I did douse
the song did arouse
I followed, a drunken louse
unto a cardboard house

And through the window to see
a doll before me
singing to the mirror was she-
Was it a plea?

Her room was all dresses and bows
for a doll needs her clothes
She leaned in to breathe from a rose
and stood on her tippy-toes

With a brush made of jade and pearl
she straightened her blonde curl
I saw the sad eyes of a girl
under teardrops, aswirl

She went to her canopied bed
and laid down her head
She picked up her sheep-doll and said
something with dread

Though I was too drunk to make sense
I felt her Essence
and turned to leave this pretense
for night, black and immense

I remember that singing doll
and her grievous call
as a little reminder to us all
whose sadness wasn’t so small

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Buried Alive

Waking up to the breath of the ore, in the sea of Black
If you cut a worm in two the other half will grow back
If I’m alive or dead I don’t really care as long as my Soul’s intact
Buried alive

Stinking corpse, I smell but cannot see, you hateful neighbor!
Pride, monomania, everything from Earth, topaz vapor
Hi-chloridize polyethylene resin lacquered newspaper
Buried alive

Maybe I’m wrong
Maybe I’m waking for the day

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Saturday Song

Saturday, Saturday
While away
Staring off into the red
Moments outnumbering hairs on her head
She’s everything today
You’re everything today
Saturday

While away, Saturday
Lead me astray
Nothing in the bank
Nothing on my mind but a blank
She’s everything today
You’re everything today
Saturday

Saturday, Saturday
She’s far away
Empty houses and family plots
So why is my stomach all in knots?
She’s everything today
You’re everything today
Saturday

Far away, Saturday
I’ve been betrayed
Gentle breeze from the window
Through which this guitar I could throw
She’s everything today
You’re everything today
She’s everything
You’re everything
Saturday

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Memory’s Stain

Memory’s stain appeared to you in the bath
Memory’s stain, body laundered, Soul it hath
I have a confession
in the form of a question:
How could you entertain
trading know-how for a stain?
Look now, I’m no better
Look now, our thrift sweater
pulled over you
Look now, how wide are the holes!
Look now, the power it holds
over you
Well, I’ll be damned!
A calf is easy to brand

Memory’s stain; you’re not content with my answer
Memory’s stain; on the cusp of Gemini and Cancer
You’re not bored, just sleep deprived
drunk on jealousy and pride
Boozing is the highest aim
when spittle won’t get out Memory’s stain
Look now, I’m no better
Look now, our thrift sweater
pulled over you
Look now, how wide are the holes!
Look now, the power it holds
over you
Well, I’ll be damned!
A calf is easy to brand

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Hermit’s Cave

In my twenty-seventh year
I set out to confront my fears
And found the role of a lifetime
You see, two plus seven is nine
And the ninth card in the Tarot
Is that Hermit I came to know
In London I did deprave
As if beyond the grave
From my Hermit’s Cave

Over my shoulder to…
Source of Life
Come as prisoner of love
Hermit’s Cave
Hermit’s Cave
Source of Life
Come as prisoner of love

I rarely ever went outside
Excepting the daily stride
I made me a weekly pot
And read Bible quite a lot
There, true loneliness I did learn
Then I got a sick from Admiral Byrd
My catharsis was crushed in a wave
And my family I did crave
Oh, wretched Hermit’s Cave!

Over my shoulder to…
Source of Life
Come as prisoner of love
Hermit’s Cave
Hermit’s Cave
Source of Life
Come as prisoner of love

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Pleasant Shadow Song

I heard of a place
That Time can’t erase
Of beauty and grace

Beulah!

You scoff at my card
Guess I’m no Abelard
“I don’t know…” just how far
is Beulah

Would only to song
weren’t indulgent and wrong
and shadow a long twilight
Always to play
and sleep through the day
for music and night

Enough with these books
Carrion and hooks
Ill will and looks
But to Beulah

To pull the forefront
Health for starvation
I’ve grown impatient
For Beulah

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A Knock Upon The Door

“Hell!” sang the young minstrel, “hang tightly to your purses!
Bitter winter on this blonde city and utter curses!”
The song ended and the onlookers did roar
Were I sincere, you bet I’d hear
A knock upon the door

“Hell!” went the Muse, intent, “you take me for granted!
You’ve made me a harlot, if I may be candid!”
The label dropped her, not before they shopped her in a bidding war
Were I sincere, you bet I’d hear
A knock upon the door

The tired minstrel, leaving town, heard the Muse’s weeping
He turned up the Elvis tape in his grey car, creeping
“Sex and Death! Was I not the breadth among the two?” she poured
“Were you sincere, I bet you’d hear
my knock upon your door!”

He said, “Dear Muse, Come here! Need a lift somewhere?
You’ve got the wrong man, I was only kidding back there.
I worship you! Forgive me for behaving like such a boor.
I am sincere: I hope to hear
Your knock upon my door!”

“The Causeless Cause of Flawless Flaws has video on you.” She scorned.
“Evidence, in none defense, should I have you burned, deformed.
Hey! Hell is real and so will be your sores!
Heck with sincere, hark, I hear
A knock upon the door.”

The derisive Muse said, “your therapy isn’t working, is it?”
Memphis huckster-Hitler-hustler! Aren’t you a Clear yet?
Always brooding the meaning of sex, pretending to be poor.
Klock is here! Hark, I hear
A knock upon the door.”

His head throbbed under her voice, ubiquitous and soft
Beads streamed from his hair, soaking his black t-shirt’s cloth
gut feeling was to leave her words on the cutting-room floor
He thought, “If I stay here, I’ll never hear
That knock upon the door”

Muse, exhausted, peered the accosted, her hand on her abdomen
A human voice to her songs, she could not condemn
Because of a communion they had had of yore
The blessed day is near, soon they’ll hear
A knock upon the door

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