I'm sorry to anyone reading my diary who doesn't like poetry, but that is the only thing going on worth writing in here. My life is very eventless, but still I find it enjoyable and soulful! Well, on to the poetry:

Gunshots break up the air of winter/ Black leaves on trees scatter/ And flutter onto white picket fences/ It is the night of the crow/ With cool abandon they band together/ Tomorrow in pairs to scour green fields/ To feed their dark and wicked yearnings/ It is the night of the crow/ Children are pressed against frosty glass/ Looking long and deep for night's shadow/ Roofs straddle the family's rattle/ It is the night of the crow/ The moon is a brilliant clipped toenail/ Black wings swing discontent/ I bend my knees to God, now you know/ It is the night of the crow.

(OK, so that one was a little lame, but I swear they don't all suck!)

The brightest flame I wish had stayed sunk in the Muddy Miss/ I woke to the news of the death of the muse and took straight to the piss.

I ain't good lookin, Mama, and I sure ain't no old dog/ But what you lack is where I'm stacked; right next to your old God/ I ain't no sinner, ain't no saint, I'm outside your laws/ Your kingdom won't come if you accept one from blind paw to paw/ I wish I was an old blues singer, whiskey stained voice/ Brows do get wetter when it's played better, OH MY HOLY NOISE!!

People tell me I'm some sort of free-spirit/ Sometimes I really just don't want to hear it/ I don't think I'm free so much as I'm poor/ Or it might be that I'm ever running out the door/ It might be that I'm comfortable in my own skin/ Or that I find my peace and calm from within/ Maybe I'm just not scared to be unique/ Maybe you just need to box and label me/ I've got issues and fears just like anyone/ I'm easily foolish and as easily stunned/ That people tell me I'm some sort of free-spirit/ Sometimes I really just don't want to hear it.

You stepped out the door like a modern super-hero. You have this look on your face; a mix between knowing, wondering and absent-mindedness. You are easily upset and hardly a hot-head. I think you must be some modern holy man scientist dreamer. You enjoy zen gardens and surfing waters. You enjoy philososphy and real-world relationships. You have passion and reserve; flames that deserve channeling for ultimate efficiency. You run marathons on bad knees and read up on sailboat engineering. You take too long to get out the door and in from the rain. You ask awkward, interesting questions and have stories of being a wild drunk. You find a balance between strangers and friends. You're always rolling on interesting terrain, a solid-centered boulder. You carry a peace amazing to me and I'm glad I got to know ya.

(Back and forth not really poems, but anyways, eat a tooth!)

You're a ghost in the back of minds. I know a lot must be from imagination filling in holes with general images. I know in the real world you must be quite different; new chemicals, new feelings and new dimensions. People are only afraid of ghosts when they show up in the real world.

I'm not for your war/ And I'm no closed door/ Stop trying to knock me down/ I'm not some soft left/ My tongue is not cleft/ Stop trying to treat me with frowns

You bust Enron's ass/ Bribe Turks for hall-pass/ I know noone pro-hypocrite/ Saddam is "evil"/ Let's save his people!/ War is what you make of it

Go out with dissent/ What "Patriot" meant/ You know it's the home of the free?/ Make the conscience swell/ Raise a little hell/ "Time for change" wouldn't you agree?

Freedom song/ Freedom sang/ "Let my people together stand"/ Freedom gone/ Free dumb gang/ "Let my people cut off your hands"/ All for one/ All for war/ One for all/ Just want more!/ Just one more!/ Let freedom cry/ Never more let freedom die/ Freedom sang/ Freedom songs/ "Hand in hand, we are strong/ We./ Are./ Strong."

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