he eyes his prize with simple lies
the heat, the sweet deceit
his body aches with anticipation of the take
its golden color his beholder
chips to seals his lips
white, silver, gold
all he want is a sliver to sooth his soul
a glass, ice and a fresh slice
trago, don julio and cabo wabo
worth the whoa
don't know but here we go

One last tequila shot.
Naked on the couch,
Wrestling on the tv.
Nearly thirty.
Nearly February.
Not one resolution  lasted a day.
Dry January?
When it rains it pours.
We could blame global warming,
Or take responsibility for our wrong doings.
Content until there's no penny's left.
Cash rich,
No flinch.
Is there emotion for this?
The nothingness.
The TV won't guide me now,
Adverts in the background,
The glass sounds like a siren as it hits my gold ring,
The tequila brings a taste to my mouth that makes me feel sick..

Standard ****.

i see you
formulate in the sky,
until a permanent cloud remains,
for all to see.

You settle in a montaged dream sequence,
a sweeping sentiment of sweet innocence;
in the equilibrium of your natural habitat.

Just a rain clouds tears away.

A utopian notion,
broken reluctance inspired by emotions.
A colloquial calmness
confronts the surface,
we burrow
down,
deeper,
for the winter in preparation of the hibernate soul;

The harsh cold paradise takes toil into the parable.
In the midst of Nirvana with a frozen heart.
A lake remains.
The tears turn to rain and solidify likes scars.
The reign is over,

You melt into my arms.

The musician

Nothing more
&
nothing less than
a travelling instrument,
with
the voice of a thousand ashtrays
&
the past of a thousand mistakes.

Living life out  a suitcase,
and abused stained sheet music,
a sweet movement,
some say.

Some said he was to cute to change;
he would make it someday,
but for now,
just feeling those home town blues,
in a city so far away.

Take a walk in those shoes,
one size too small.
Let the soles talk in rhythms
played,
the beat of the drum conundrum.

Done
London,
LA,
New York
&
Lisbon;

Still searching
for something;

The band missed a beat,
and now he misses the the band.

He’s got the crowd in the palms of his hands,
but they’ll never understand;
the music
man.