when are you coming down?

I see your eyes when 

I close my eyes

clouded like summer could rain

I see your eyes when 

I close my eyes

sunlight will not come again

when are you coming down, darling?

summer is fading away

autumn is whirling in dark clouds of starling  

loving is only today

when are you coming down, darling, my darling?

summer is fading away

singing at the end of the world

now it's never
dark at night

long midsummer
in my mind

morning dose of
fool euphoria

then alone till
late at night

light still burning
in my head

---

birds are singing
even here

even at the
end of the world

birds are singing
birds are singing

let's go out to
where the birds are

singing at the
end of the world

Lincoln Highway Blues

[[ It started with a quote in an article about the Beatles: "At the time I happened to be driving across the country on Interstate 80; in each city where I stopped for gas or food—Laramie, Ogallala, Moline, South Bend—the melodies wafted in from some far-off transistor radio or portable hi-fi. It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard." And there are fires now. And Ulysses and Leda peek in. And I took a Google maps trip down that part of the Lincoln Highway (30, not 80). And other stuff. But it's not about the Beatles or any of that other stuff. It is summer + radio + car + open spaces + America in the vaguest sense ]]


we heard you

coming through the radio

we heard you

humming down the wire

we heard your voice.

between the mountains 

when the mountains 

were on fire

we heard you

rolling through the barrio

we heard you

moaning through the wall 

we caught you 

going down ... 

the river 

where the river 

starts to fall

your voice was everywhere all summer 

they had to tie me to the mast  

and when the fever had passed 

I slept into autumn

I slipped into nothing 

I dreamt I was gotten

by something with wings

we heard you all the way 

from Laramie to Cheyenne

we heard you all the way

from Cheyenne to Ogallala 

I believe I fell asleep in Ogallala

and had an awakening in Davenport

we heard  you 

going down ... 

the river 

where the river 

starts to fall

we heard you all the way 

we heard you all the way 

you know the sound

you know the sound

a box of nostalgia 

dropped to the ground

at your feet

play a high hat
light shuffle
put an echo
on that seagull
give the guitar
a little tremolo

like your 

fat lower lip

but don't 

give up the ship 

is that lipstick?

is it yours?

don't tell me

you have let him

out of doors?

don't let him

out of your sight

into something 

the size of 

this summer night

turn all the 

lights down low

someone play on

a lonely piano

now if you cry

it will echo (echo)

like your

thoughts tonight

this won't 

ever be right 

is that lipstick?

is it yours?

don't tell me

you have let him

out of doors?

don't let him

out of your sight

into something 

the size of 

this summer night

you know the sound

a box of nostalgia 

dropped to the ground

at your feet

[[ I started it this evening as a sort of a joke exercise -- I heard some Eagles song, so I decided to write one of those 1980s Don Henley songs about suddenly being old and nostalgic and stuff -- but then it turned into its own song. You could do it with a straight face or not. ]]

what could a pale man do?

what could a pale man 

do but pack up?

pack up his oil and his towel?

off to a bright beach 

where I will bare my

chest to the wind and the sun

rub down my body

rub myself down

rub myself down on a towel

do you admire my polarized spectacles?

how do you like how my spectacles shine?

say how you like my dark gleaming spectacles.

this is the loveliest 

state of Connecticut 

If I had a pipe 

I would take out my pipe

I would take out my pipe and smoke it

Lunar Blues

[slow, relaxed, romantic]
All we have in common
is that moon pasted yellow on the sky
All we have in common
is that moon pasted yellow on the sky
Better get to what we came for
'Fore we tell that yellow moon goodbye.

Close the window to the night air
The birds will all be singing soon
Close the window to the night air
The birds will all be singing soon
And don't forget to pull the curtains
on that sneaky old man in the moon.

[a bit faster...]
Baby, watch the clock
Time runs faster than you fear
Baby, watch the clock
Time runs faster than you fear
Better check your almanac
The shortest evening of the year

[vinegar strokes instrumental]

[resolution]
I will slip out your window
and head down the road with the moon
I will slip out your window
and head down the road with the moon
but I won't forget you, honey,
or this moon in June soon...

[[ then back to the top and fade ]]

A Christmas Carol

[[ I suppose this is easier to look at as a poem than as a song, but it's a Christmas carol of sorts. In summer a water strider prefigures the birth of Christ. Maybe this is the birth of bug-eating John the Baptist. Then, a half year after, when water turns to stone, Mary the bursting girl says his name. ]]

In liquid summer,

surface tension:

a strider

bending light.  

A silver circle 

under sky:

fish dart at

beating wings.

Round the sun,

water to stone

transfigures

in the change.

At the cleaving

of the year, 

song is sung and

bell is rung

for universe

on either side:

for animal,

for spirit cloud.

Set to burst,

a girl sobs,

then says a name

in rising steam.