On Not Being Good

If I choose not to be good

will they remember what I’ve

done or does

the only memory become

some ripple on the surface of our

unconscious ocean

I no longer care to keep

my long hair held in

a bun and when

the waves whip wide and wild

my blonde strands will dance

in the sun

Long gone are the days,

long done of the ways

that waves move me;

for the shore sure

sounds sweet and

in the sun

I dance on my feet,

I don’t care if this is

any good anymore;

I just want to spit and shit

and sulk on the shore of our

unconscious ocean.

Home again

Just cuz I can grow a beard
It doesn't mean I should
Just cuz I'm a writer
don't  make me any good

I know all the big words
But I still don't have to use 'em
I know how to rhyme too
With two, and I can choose 'em

I could have a mansion if
I only sold my house
And traded all my stock and shares
This time before I'm out

But I don't care about nice things
Nice words or nice rhythms
I don't even care if I get known
Before I am forgiven

You see if less is more
And more is less than
We don't have to try

The wind will work
The way wind works,
To will these words to fly

Each line is like a
Yard of string that's wrapped
Around a can

And when the wind starts working well
The kite pulls from my hand

 The words and world that's left below
Can see the kites pull as they go
And we hold tight and fight, we try
To hold it back, but it must fly

And there
There
There

With the birds

In the clouds

The blue kite

Is home again