the Real

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I think of her..
The Real
her. I once wondered if there would ever
come a time where we no longer felt
the desire to impress or to be
impressed

But who is the Real
her? Is this just some sort of fantasy
created by woman to keep us men
on the path they have previously paved
for us

We all know
the equation
simple
Happiness = Happiness

If we all
sat around and bathed in our happiness,
many would consider us arrogant and narcissistic

Are there truly people out there
that undoubtedly care for others?

SO
who is the Real her:
unconditional faith,
emotion?
The Real her would cherish all
you have to offer

Where does one find someone
willing to give?

higher than the greatest towers in all
the world

gallantly they should carry their union
as heroically it was
when it was first

No, I’m afraid this is no
game
Not a time for any
adulterated wagers

Because the real problem in finding
the Real her is
recognizing the Real you

People Who Do

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When I have people I know
they are near!

But when there seems to be no one
it hurts me to think
about the trip
called life!

And it’s like my life is
many ups and many downs!

The ups make me feel
great but the downs make me think
to much also make me feel
very sad!

But I know there are people who do
care
so thanks
!!

Proto-Gregorian notational artifacts

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Suddenly I’m fronting a 30-member gospel choir and I’m singing

“Well it’s only Wednesday and you’re down at the bar–
Doing things you know ain’t right.
You hardly ever start thinking ’bout your Father in Heaven
Till it’s ten p.m. on Saturday night.

“You remember Jacob–how he wrestled with the angel,
Got his life down from off from up on the shelf.
But you, you, you, you, you–you got some serious wrestling
‘To do, brother: got to wrestle with yourself.”

Happy Monday

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Sometimes, remembering
there is a world beyond
your sadness is the hardest,
most important thing

Here’s to
the friends that forgive
when you forget, love
when your love walks away, and
leave a trail of smiles that
lead out of the woods.

Here’s to my friends.

not good enough

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we will have all wasted away by then
we will be empty shells of nothing
the whole island is a wellspring of evil
I can feel it every time I’m there
it is all hard and sharp
boxes and walls
I feel closed in and closed off
crowded and smothered
almost like drowning
I hate new york

the mysteries of People when I sing

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I would be dead if I didn’t
find it impossible not to laugh
at almost everything that is,
seen and unseen.

A singer explained to me once
that singing is controlled screaming.
I’m not a big cryer, but I did have a bit of sob
a couple of days ago and

I would sing
today if I weren’t to have
the mysteries of
People
when I sing

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