Leftover hippies are not as trippy
except for when they flashback
Too old to get high, memories in smoke
can’t snort any more crack

They’ve been out there
where everything looks real
Tied-dye moons with pink stars
monsters made out if steel

Remember the pusher man
summer of love, 1967
All the grass and pills you need
Enough drugs to get high up in heaven

Mr. Natural and some Boone’s Farm wine
That’s how they kissed the sun
All the peace and love they felt
We are brothers, everyone

Quiet Moon snowfall

snowflakes whisper snow falling

silence in beauty

Find me in the pages
No one ever read
Read me with heart and soul
Long after I’m dead

My words read like passion out loud
The words I wrote, words I never spoke
May I linger in your dreams
All the dreams you ever dreamed
How our love made me so proud

Think about the hubba-hubba
Dancing on the sheets
Clean sheets lose grip
Quickly find my sock it to her cleats

Digging in, trying to reach the bottom
Only to just scruff up the sides
Even after all that pumping and *******
And the candy-apple moustache rides

My gun is old, it only shoots once
Foreplay is like my favorite thing
When it’s serious business, I like to play
I can do everything without getting in

I like it when we both finish strong
I did it all, like in my wildest dream
Hold on tight for one more minute
Oh, wait, I just creamed

P.S. this piece is still kind of raw
I should have used some slick words
That’s ok, it all turned up good
I got ***** and she chopped some wood

Just trying to roll with the tide
Catching waves to the shore
Sandy beaches made for love
Every grain wanting more

When life is in a hurry
You need to learn to chill
Maybe take a drink or smoke
Get some kind of high-naked thrill

Life is good, you just don’t know it
Study up on what you’ve really got
Practice what your soul will breach
Talk about the righteous, those that have not

Karma and comeuppance, they like to dance
It’s all over when you lose your life
Give up your heartbeat and it’s dreams
Life and death is a sharp razor knife

I’m a working man, I’m licensed
Working with all three of my vices
Ones got a grip, the other a squeeze
That last one gets me down to my knees

At 14 I learned to like the buzz
Trip out wildly, watch out for the fuzz
I never shot up, only smoked and blew my nose
Forget all the highs, felt all the lows

Now I know better, what can I say
All the things I let make me that way
Should’ve known back then it was a mistake
Remember that when you dance at my wake

That last one burned a hole in me
My cynic was running wild and free
Together we ranted about who is smart
We talked at length, what is art
I told him things I’ve seen, what makes me smile
He said he’d get back to me in a while