may our bodies remain, oh yeah, in history i'll treat you right baby, i am honest that way, hey.

my words
hit the page clean
tell me if they compare
to anything you've seen

Knee deep in the moving process, and I'm still taking the time to sift through every scrap of paper on which I've ever written a solitary word. What can I say, I'm a sucker for myself. God, that's vain. Ha. That's me though- all skin and skin deep. So I'm finding all these random lines of prose and poetry that I wrote during those last dwindling weeks of solitary confinement in residence. Well, I guess it wasn't really that bad. Or maybe it was. Anyway, the point is that those few weeks go down in history as my most productive artistic period of all time.

Here's a snippet of halfling that I almost lost forever while moving.

not all pearls
not all girls
are fit for print
tied down in ink
and instinct
now in my mind
i always see you smiling
just you, your star
and your jesus christ guitar
oblivious
to what you've cost me

It's funny how reading it now, it doesn't mean what it used to, but it still touches me to see a picture of my thoughts like this. When it comes to my poetry, it's as good as a photograph to my memory. This is a photograph of me almost exactly one year ago. If I live to be a hundred, I'll read that poem again and see a photograph of myself and remember the frustration I felt. I'll remember what would otherwise be lost to senility and sheer insignificance in the grand scheme of things. Now that's the power of the pen for you.