The Grand Poo-Bah

Different pages.
Foreign languages.
Need some de-escalation.

High time for
the Grand Poo-Bah
to get involved.

Reached an impasse.
Stare down, stand still.
Wouldn’t hurt to ask…

High time for
the Grand Poo-Bah –
he’ll get this solved.

An authority
is needed now
more than ever.

High time for
the Grand Poo-Bah
to get involved.
High time for
the Grand Poo-Bah –
he’ll get this solved.
High time for
the Grand Poo-Bah,
get him on the prowl,
on the prowl.

Good ol’ diplomacy.
God bless ya,
Grand Poo-Bah.

(1/20/2020 – Gregory Street, Madison, Wisconsin)

When the Wind Picks Up

Caught in the veil
of illusion,
can’t move,
Great Spider’s closing in,
closing in.

Stuck in the web
hanging on
by a thread
but still suspended,
still suspended.

But it’s all momentary.
We’ll all be gone
when the wind picks up.
We’ll all be gone
when the wind picks up.

We’re weaving,
spinning, swinging
in a corner,
knowing soon we’ll fall
and it could be over,
could be over.

But it’s all momentary.
We’ll all be gone
when the wind picks up.
We’ll all be gone
when the wind picks up.

One world
cast upon another.
Can you point me
to the center?

How we long to see
how it all turns out
before we turn in.

Give us one more orbit
turning out, now turning in.
Turning out, now turning in.
Turning out, now turning in,
now turning out.

Climb on up.
Don’t be afraid
to look down
because
we’ll be by gone.
Oh! We’ll be bygones.

We’ll be by gone.
Oh! We’ll be bygones

when the wind picks up,
when the wind picks up,
when the wind picks up,
when the wind picks up.

(1/12 & 1/16/2020 – Gregory Street, Madison, Wisconsin)

Fellow Fellow

Well, well…
well on your way…
You are well on our way
to Nowhere.

Where, where
Anonymity awaits:
white robes, a golden robe
around the waist.

Lay waste
to your name.
Cast aside what remains
of your hard-earned face.

Face yourself, fellow:
You are
No body, no one.
Nameless heaven.
A feather in the wind.
A glacier melting.

Bones,
bones creakin’ –
that’s the sound
of your prophet speakin’.

No body, no one.
Nameless heaven.
A feather in the wind.
A glacier melting.
Fellow fellow.

Fellow fellow.
Knowhere.

(6/21/2019 – Half Moon Lake, Polk County, Wisconsin)

Plateau

Prodigal son blind
to sights unseen.
Apple don’t fall far
from the tree.

Got double vision?
Best to cover one eye.
Oranges roll out of groves
much to my delight.

Attribution theory,
that’s my weapon of choice.
Hand ever on the holster
as I listen for the voice.

It’s the known unknowns
that form this plateau.
Got a question:
Set in sand
or set in stone?

Guessing the gestures,
“just a but outside”.
suppose trapped in the membrane’s
not a bad place to hide.

Was that the turning point?
Well, I took a straight.
Out of bounds I go,
better sorry than safe
in my particular case.

Is it world illusion
or reality?
“Aren’t I missing something?”‘s
what I’m made to believe…

…and it’s
the known unknowns
that form this plateau.
Got a question:
Set in sand
or set in stone?

Slow motion
collapse.
Let’s go to replay
to see what happened.
Right there?
Right there.
Right there?
Right there.

It’s the known unknowns
that form this plateau.
Got a question:
Set in sand
or set in stone?

Said & done? No.
Said & done? No.
Said & done? No.
Said & done? No.

(3/3 & 3/5/2019 – Irish Acres, Mount Horeb, Wisconsin)

The Tundra Blues (Boreas)

Boreas,
God, have mercy on my soul.
Boreas,
God, have mercy on my sould.
Take me from this tundra,
it’s turning my heart dark and cold.

Outside my door’s a blizzard,
inside my mind’s a storm.
Outside my door’s a blizzard,
inside my mind’s a storm.
Haven’t left the house for weeks,
can’t take this frozen life no more.

Winter days they turn to weeks,
then months, then steal the years.
Winter days they turn to weeks,
then months, then steal the years.
Hardly remember what my limbs feel like,
Boreas get me out of here.

Boreas,
God, have mercy on my soul.
Boreas,
God, have mercy on my sould.
Take me from this tundra,
it’s turning my heart dark and cold.

Fields are white and windswept,
crops and creatures blue and black.
Fields are white and windswept,
crops and creatures blue and black.
Grab your sled and shovel,
head south while you can.

Lightning sparks the sky,
snow thunder rumbles down.
Lightning sparks the sky,
snow thunder rumbles down.
Boreas, is that you?
Deliver me to somewhere warm.

Boreas,
God, have mercy on my soul.
Boreas,
God, have mercy on my sould.
Take me from this tundra,
it’s turning my heart dark and cold.

(3/1/2019: Colectivo Coffee, Madison, Wisconsin)