Revisionist’s History Of Love

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Revisionist’s history of love
A small takedown on the front lawn
Society’s matron’s clucking away
Whispers won’t counteract the dawn
She was an embarrassment of riches
Maintaining a look, polished & dapper
She fell in love with images of marble
Though remaining Fitz’s Lost Little Flapper
Never man enough between her sheets
Circumspect when they found her on the grass
A little more disheveled than she preferred
Especially with that skirt that couldn’t cover her ass

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Cold Coffee & A Stash Of Lost Dreams

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Cold coffee & a stash of lost dreams
A distant memory of those rail yards
But we weren’t ourselves with honesty
Not the renegades or anything that hard
Images of what we might yet become
Grabbing self-regard before it fades
Destroying their notions of modernism
Returning to simpler times & dark shades
We all have our morbid skeletons
The vague semblance of a broken soul
But somewhere are the clues to the truth
Somewhere when lightning meets a weary, old skull

There’s So Much Talk Of Being Wild

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There’s so much talk of being wild
Like there’s a constant harness holding us back
But its just an illusion for others to see
You’re choosing to embrace all that you lack
These false pretenses are keeping you low
Images of a manicured life on your social media feed
Spending your days adjusting other’s perceptions
When these aren’t the actions of a happy life really needs
It’s difficult to perceive any truth as you focus the camera
The projection of crazy as you manipulate your reputation
Here’s a secret, the honest people don’t really care &
The real wild ones don’t bother with perfect punctuation

She’s Got That Weirdness Flowing Through Her Veins

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She’s got that weirdness flowing through her veins
She’s got that funk in her domain
She’s got the brains that I admire
& the beauty that I desire
Everything she does is a tad bit funky
I want to be the fellow with her one key
I want to be the one to love her
& have it returned to me and no other
I can tell she is one of a kind
& I can’t seem to get her out of my mind
But that’s cool with me
She’s an image I love to see
When I look at her, I see there’s a freak inside
You never know what will happen until you’ve tried

*this is an old poem from the 90’s. I’m not claiming it’s any good. I just like it.

Hot Moms & Their Fancy Paychecks

Hot moms & their fancy paychecks

You’re nothing but a bartender’s dream

Playing your most important role

All your fantasies down by the stream

It’s all an image, but no substance

No longer is there anything real

Our value system fallen into disrepair

Anything left that you wish to feel

Piles & Piles Of Images

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Piles & piles of images
Floating in my mind
Give me a second
Let’s see what we can find
Burnt & coffee stained
Looking for something fresh & true
Be patient & we’ll see
If I can still entertain you
Step off & step back
Throw away preconceived notions
Close your eyes & let us travel
Together, we can make poetry in motion

Ill Reputed Minstrel & Her Fancy Dolls

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Ill reputed minstrel & her fancy dolls
Forever punished for my dated sin
A hushed wish for something more
Images of the whiteness of porcelain
Do not lead me through vacant doors
No need to become another mistake
Removed from that dreadful life
Sparing additional pain for her sake
Dancing lightly in the darkness
Admiring her spinning gown
Incapable of resisting delicate charms
Would do anything to replace that frown