To Have and Hold and Feel Insecure

Sometimes you're hot
Other times you're cold
Sometimes I have what
I'll never ever hold

Sometimes I see you
Other times I'm just blind
Sometimes together
Others I'm three steps behind

But to have and to hold
Oh to feel, unafraid to show
It gets tough to feel so alone
Somewhere inside I'd rather not go

Sometimes you're lost
Other times you're home
Sometimes close by
Other times unknown

Sometimes you pay hard
Others you're just flat broke
Trying to run wide open
Pulling back on the choke

But to have and to hold
Oh to feel, unafraid to show
It gets tough to feel so alone
Somewhere inside I'd rather not go

Somewhere inside
In the places I hide
Somewhere inside
I'd rather not go...

From My Cardboard Box Archive III: 1995, age 20

"Death is a Salesman"

Disease is not a pretty thing
But a close and easy friend
All my passion and feeling
Are burned to a crisp.

And death is a salesman
A quick and easy fix
Disease there to guide me
Through life's little tricks.

Yes, death is a salesman
All must deal with him
Life is like a gameshow
Pain all you can win.

The Economic Consequences of Low Expectations

Poverty
in the dirty faces of unfed children on Appalachian roads
Poverty
in mindless consumerism practiced like a faithless religion in suburban strip malls
Poverty
in the thoughtless jumble of misinformation splayed pornographically across the TV news
Poverty
in the generations of haphazardly educated children who find themselves grown without a compass
Poverty
in the metastasized pandering of the nightly spewed TV political advertisement vomit
Poverty
in the hollow slogans of politicians and corporations as they slither quietly together to criminal banks
Poverty
in the loss of hope in those who were to be the Guardians of Liberty and the defenders of the American Dream
Poverty
and for those who worked, fought, and died to make this land great--we should have done better
instead, all we have to show for, and all our children will inherit
is poverty.

Let This Darkness Remember Me

The height and the breadth
Of what my heart has confessed
And my passion for flight
Keeps the ground out of sight

Then while frantic in my need...
Suffered wounds that would not bleed...
And my eyes fell bitterly
Toward a truth I would not see...

And I'm weary of fighting
Such compulsive confiding
Draw the curtains and turn the key
Let the darkness remember me...

Let this darkness remember me.