The Silken(revised version)

tentacles of stringy rains opens up the stage antics for this

common February day to the

fidgety audience at hand but

it appears that they just won't be able to grab on, not this time. The 

familiar grumpy wind with its

constantly runny nose and filthy

handshake, sagging from the inside out, hanging

by a few torn threads, pocket-kicked them on

up the scratchy street just a little while ago like a

couple of giant half inflated

beach balloons, wobbling all the way;

the naked sun even stopped by for

a brief moment to relieve himself

before getting back into his posh

carriage,disappearing around

a forest of  thick cloud stuffs as quickly

as any arrow digs its pointy way

through a still bleating heart. I can't help

it if that's the beginning of this mouthy

thing still wiggling to beat the band in the bottom of the boat slid  

between us. You get what you get from

what you've got. Personally I like

to acknowledge that certain things do arrive here and there 

on my own path. It comforts me to

welcome them, although I can't think why

it ever should. And there's more. Today I noticed

I haven't seen a single bird

in weeks.You don't care. I find that disturbing.

Because the heralding of

all things right with the world begins with

one birdsong. When they're gone for too long the

simple silences get to be much too much and big boned

for their own britches and become a

loud shoe-sized bullying gang all on their

own fatty tissue time. This of course

will never do. You like the way I am

able to write off and across all the

true things that really matter to us by just

pretending that the mundane world requires

much more attention than our own

wanting pulses? Yeah well that's fodder

for another songster to try and

make some sense of because I'm tired of my

quick to bite sad nosed guitar strings for today tying

me up like a ticking time bomb under a mattress and leaving me rolled over on the buggy floor

to die of a dry spiritual thirst tired of my aching to swallow anything cool to the touch 

throat tired of my sore to see some compassion in the world weary eyes tired of the

con game of history of any

kind of King and country tired of being afraid to continue

to grow as a human being

tired of the expectations of certain

mad male adults who run the world like

a bank that sails right up to your front

door demanding all booty or else and certainly

tired of knowing so much about so

little that matters to anyone tired of writing to fill the void

and hoping for an answer that makes

up for an ancient unfulfilled need tired of rock

and rollers who went for the cash only

and left the changing of the guard to

others more accustomed to dying for the rest of us.

That about does it. Looks like the porch light could

go on already. I need a snack.