brooklyn betty

Sparks fly with the pick of chords
A flash of candle light hits me with a smile
Blue ribbon, jazz, like rock and roll
Riffs from strings
Wail on well through the evening
Are we both in it for the long spell of wicked sweet melodies
Are we both in it for the smiles
It’s all written with the notes

Can we skip the 6 1 6
Let’s pretend it doesn’t exist
Please don’t go at 6 1 6
Fireworks light up the green mill tonight

Smiles built with bricks of sound
Speaker walls all around
What they play is what they mean
What they sing is what they see
Don’t you see
The instruments spark the light
There are fireworks in the green mill tonight

Watch as they stand and blare perfect waves of land shifting air
Listen to the vibes
Big and small, two sax’s hold it down
The bass strums for a better way
The organ soothes our thoughts
As we sit and whisper this and that, back and forth
Enjoying the urban mill
Well on through the dim lighted dark
Please stay another night and day
There are fireworks in the green mill tonight

I dread the 6 1 6
Let’s pretend it doesn’t exist
Please don’t go at 6 1 6
Fireworks light up the green mill tonight

Now you see, now we see
What it means
What I am, you are to me
I’ve got a million thoughts
You a million dreams
Waves echo throughout the seven seas
I’m lost in the blonde strands
You hold my hand
The drum pounds firmly as a statue stands
Balancing in the darkness
In winds of sands
Let’s outlast the thunder
And lighting of the sun
Please don’t go at 6 1 6
Let’s talk and laugh
Beneath the soft blankets
Hours come to a crash
There were fireworks in the green mill tonight

I dread the 6 1 6
It’s happening way too fast
Let’s pretend it doesn’t exist
Please don’t go at 6 1 6
Let it last

If you stand too long you’ll get too lost to stay
A seat in a throne won’t escape away the means
If you look too hard your eyes can get confused
A magnifying glass won’t focus on the letters you mislaid
If you yell too loud you may swallow the truth
A bright blue megaphone won’t make up
For all the calls you wish you hadn’t passed

I can’t walk when I think about
Where I’m going to step until I stop
I can’t talk when I’m all alone
When no one’s here to listen
No one else is this gone

I need a trip, I need a sip
Maple syrup sticks to the bottom of the feet
To the bottom of the tongue
I need a sip; I can’t stop to take a drink
Without falling off pattern
Over the ledge into the rapids
A ride of forty-two million feet
Down the waterfall
All the way to the back
Into the middle of the street

Stand, stare and yell
I can’t move another inch in that direction
I don’t want to get to the end
I can’t say another word
There’s no one that’ll listen
I’ll walk away down that eerie path
You’ll hear me coming, me and my bell
Headed for the clash

It smells so clean, smells so clean
It’s only getting hotter
My finger tips sting
When I get to the trees
The blossoms are sopping wet
From the humidity and bumble bees
I want to take a bite of the apple
They’re yet to ripen
I stand, stare, and wait
The worms yell, “They’re all rotten”

Can’t make a move
The writings are in italics
Our fallen fathers were told
It’s not on the itinerary
That was signed in cursive
The signs warn don’t you dare
Cause the world has always been
And will always be fastidious
History is written with a pair
Of one sided eyes, loaded dice
We may as well be blind
Cause we never saw those locked away warning flares
As burning wicks
We stood still on endless elevator trips
Staring through the glass
The people outside mouthed
“Read our lips, enjoy the ninety fifth floor
With no one else around
Nothing to do, but look down”
Our screams echoed within the cubicle walls
“Let us out, we’ll pay fifty million pounds”

Stand, stare and yell
I can’t move another inch in that direction
I don’t want to get to the end
I can’t say another word
There’s no one that’ll listen
I’ll walk away down that eerie path
You’ll hear me coming, me and my bell
Headed for the clash

The shutters are drawn
I’m sitting around thinking
I like it better when the grass is longer
I’m not mowing that lawn
The collared shirt feels like it’s electric
And I’m crossing the underground line
Currents of a thousand volts
Question after question
They’re all answers and demands
Trying to get me to listen

I can hide under the stones
Avoiding detection
Where the ants and I seek
Roses locked by forests of thorns
Singing our songs of a resolute revival
With an acoustic guitar
Venturing with the farm
Into a concrete Amazon at dark
Without a flashlight or an idol
Orienteering, machete blades on strings
Slicing the way, searching for fallen martyrs
Statues of the glorified in their youth
This volume of age we’re looking to shape’s not seditious
Just trying to get a little further to somewhere
Anywhere but climbing those same old stairs
Those are built to end in ruins
You’ll hear us coming, rocking bells
Headed for the clash

When I was younger I was warned of a lake built on fire
You’ll jump right in and burn into submission
You’ll swim out anew against the old resistance
It’ll dry your eyes to window views
The climb back down will be tough
Like so many die on a summit descent
Look at K2 for wisdom
 
Fire melts the ice
Evidence burns the fiction
I stumbled upon a lake
That met the description
It’s dyed yellow, orange, fused with red
Perfect substitutes for the resilient blue
Seen before in my dreams
Déjà vu, the colors are unreal
The yellow lake built on fire
Surrounded by mountains and meadows
Woods, canyons, and rock formations
Diverse landscape built on top of heat
Geothermal, yellow stones
A volcano underneath
The mercury’s in the red
 
Send me yellow
Scenery, fresh air
Change me yellow
The Yellow Park
Built on top of hot
Solid, matchless rock
Send me yellow
Change me yellow
 
Sulfur, heat, a canyon deep
With drastic steeps
Sketched with fine point lead
Colored in earthy crayons
Trees, a third gone
Courtesy of eighty-eight
Overdue, the fire went haywire
Burnt the woods, all dead and tired
Twice a decade later
I’m enjoying Yellow’s choir
Landscape, wildlife and wildflowers
They survived the wildfires
 
A trip, balancing the bright white
With the overcasts’ flat light
Full exposure to a land I now know
Blurry, spot focus
All without falling into the flames
In my eyes, beneath my feet
The campfire, the lake of fire
Nighttime, flicker, flash
Holding my composure
Imagination to sight, sound, smells, taste and touch
I take it all in, the yellow lake built on stone and fire
 
Send me yellow
Scenery, fresh air
Change me yellow
The Yellow Park
Built on top of hot
Solid, matchless rock
Send me yellow
Change me yellow
 
It’s hidden so I climb high
With the grizzlies
In the Teton, Bridger, Absaroka mountain ranges
I soar alongside bald and golden eagles
Through sunset skies, the reflection of the land below
I float in the Yellowstone Lake on top of fire
As big as the salty sea, save sulfur
From the active volcano
Geysers blow steam, warming the river’s running, never ending water
I swim the snake with the cutthroat
Winding between mountains and trees
Show me a reason to climb out of the yellow lake built on stone and fire
I’ve got me, the land, can’t you see I’ll be staying longer

Shake it, shake it

The spray paint can

Shake it, shake it

Glass bottles on the fingertips

Clink, clink, clink

Come out, come out

The sharpshooter

An art warrior ghost

Come out to spray

Brick, wood and concrete canvases

Creative with textures

Unique with colors

Twisting innovative shapes

Into the realest designs

No need for a hand

Breathe deep, that motif

Enter, it’s locked

Driven by motive

It’s going where no man can

The key has been swallowed

By the one and only

Who knows all one can

Is he beast or man

Neither, nor, a combination

A man with millions of hands

A centipede with an abnormally large

Right side of the brain

Rocking lightning and thunder

With pots and pans

There must be more

Paint, the resource

The sharpshooter

Opening wider the door

Come out and spray

Bob Dylan of shapes

The sharpshooter, the ghost, anonymous

Hendrix of paint

The sharpshooter, the ghost, anonymous

Come out and spray

You dig, it digs, SS fires

Sprays his plan from a can

Reaching inside souls

Pick pocketing their cries

With his hands bent behind his back  

Their eyes climb

Graffiti tree tags

Branch after branch

Brick after brick

As they stare at the walls

It shines on the surface

It shines beneath

It’s taken way too easily

They think they understand

It’s much more deep

Come out to spray

The sharpshooter, the ghost, anonymous

With each brick, a branch

Each line, a leaf

The overall picture is planting seeds

That drop as acorns

Onto concrete sidewalks

The faultless graffiti, faultless tress

Created by the anonymous one

Come out and spray

Bob Dylan of shapes

The sharpshooter, the ghost, anonymous

Hendrix of paint

The sharpshooter, the ghost, anonymous

Come out and spray

Spread the aim, the mission

Quick to fire, half a second

From backpack to the grasp of five fingers

Painting a masterpiece

Implement critical thinking

Cause the bricks are sinking

In the depth of the thick paint

The people are all drinking

Layered, covering, never smothering

Spray cans the weapon

Paint the ammunition

Peace and dreams the difference

The sharpshooter, the ghost, anonymous

Un-holster, spray paint can in hand

He’s calling, the walls are calling

DC, Chicago, NYC, LA are all calling

Come out and spray