A rambling mess, a babbling fool
like the jester to the queen
his heart a suicide jack,
his heart the suicide jack.
A one eyed man to the two eyed world,
crying out that the sun is bright and the skin is fair.
The king he stares blank and unhappy, and that queen?
Tall and regal, learned and wise
with the hidden heart and the razor eyes.
Does she see the reason to his words?
The wonder in the fool poets single orb?
The crazed notion of the hopeing fool and his
peg legged heart?





Motion is motion, in car or in mind
one will take you farther than the other
but the distance
traveled by the mind is of little use
to the passenger of a car,
or a train
as the trees slip by and the bridges fade past in the setting sun.
And night,
glorious night
when the dining car comes alive with soldiers
returning home
and drunken thieves with their notions of love...
that is were the mind is,
the heart is.
Life is
all.
And as the sun slides over the horizon,
bringing with it the gold lit haze
and the bleary traveler, long on the road
has the time to think of more than the bright lit dinning car night that covered a fear filled heart.
Fear covered because of the wreck they hear of on the tube the other night.
All were dead, all of them passed.
From the car, from the mind, right through the sun
Will the car flip? Will the engineer pass through sleep?
Yet none of that matters, it all is a sham
when lightning strikes in the middle of a cloudless day
when cars,
when minds,
strike us down where we live.
thE trutH abouT misteR fingerS
homE nexT