Outside my window
lives a painted man of stone
hat, binocs in hand
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Tuesday morning, October 6th
His head is spinning with the theory
Between each gig; all is lost.
A gaping hole of anxious self-pity
A drain where once a reservoir stood
His life is measured in monthly cycles
Of moon and Mr. J.P. Morgan
Where once he toiled to change the oceans
Now he moves to follow the flood
It rains with fury this dark Tuesday morning
He works alone in his cosmic man cave
Francis Francis stays red, hot and brewing
Friday, October 2, 2009
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