The seats are all filled on the zeppelin The Tower of Babel is raised - I’m amazed! And the hope springs eternal Their fears stay nocturnal for now The plastics hold shape in the soil The farmer’s daughter goes blind - so shall I The rooster…

Sunday morning, no such luck My head is dizzy, it’s bright as fuck I’m dying I make my way to south French broad Lumbering wondering where she’s gone or something I see Sam he’s in the same shape as me Bundled in funneling misery by the…

Spinning like the wheel Painted on the temple Does the wheel turn slowly Or is it me that moves? I can count the hours And I can name the prophets Kept like silver spoons Struck like wooden matches Should I call it sleep or divine…

Everyone is writing songs inside their heads Waking up from sleeping in their unmade beds I cleared out space in springtime to make room for the fall I wrote you words of kindness, but I won’t speak them at all The kudzu choked the hillside…

A cover of Working Hands by Tom Eisenbraun from his 2014 album "Radio Ghost"

When the sun sets over high mountains it doesn’t get dark When the valley cools in in the evening the crinoline bark Strike a match on the stone hearth flickering light for the fire I watch the blue ridge violet hue ridge fade in the night…

The manta ray hangs off of the keychain that you bought at the aquarium I asked if that was the thing that killed Steve Erwin - I was wrong and you sure let me know My buddy Andrew bought a cd in Connecticut by the Teeth called "Carry the…

When I was young I tiptoed the garden And then I salted all that I could see The summer sun it seemed a yoke upon me But no so much for the open-hearted leaves August came around while I was sleeping September grasses bent under my feet…

There’s this tiny monastery round the corner from my house I see the monks out walking, pulling weeds, and carting out the trash I see them at the Exxon buying cokes and magazines Their orange robes flow in the breeze as people fill their cars…