beside my companion

man i dont know what to say
man i don't know what to not
say, this is not true

i know quite well what to say
not saying it is getting tiresome
not living it is getting worrisome

nostalgia and burnt rubber
paperwork left undone
is the IRS looking at it?

drinking whiskey on a middle
not enough to make a difference
spilled water to the hindquarter

the energy is stuck in the gain
waking up midway through thing
frustrated because it won't come

crystalline energy diamonds drop
not everyone is aware of this
the algorithms have become stride

grace, taste, case, late, bait
how long do we wait for the gold
dull and wicked and ordinary

my brain is in a basement of can't
sharks circle the bent grass from
rhythm guitar of the bands clarity

time passes and passes
time passes and passes
time passes and passes

-the Whisky poem cycle

"Well, I'll tell you a story of whisky, mystics and men. And about the believers and how the whole thing began...And if all of the teachers and preachers of wealth were arraigned. We could see quite a future for me in the literal sands. And if all of the people could claim to inspect such regret. Well, we'd have no forgiveness, forgetfulness, faithful remorse. So, I tell you, I tell you, I tell you we must send away.
We must try to find a new answer instead of a way"
-James Douglas Morrison "Whiskey, Mystics, and Men"