tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64993984843243089832024-03-19T18:19:10.222-04:00The Butterfly BarTwenty-four, seven, and eleven,
...writings on the wire...The Butterfly Barhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12286918141504092096noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499398484324308983.post-23534339799814687652008-11-19T00:39:00.002-05:002008-11-19T00:45:28.779-05:00Last Call Evermore<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQERCeLMwdduvQrKrhCYUPXhF0U9NO4sxjLBY9K_n80eDEItrYig-UklLaKKNnR4JDkluA0t4ppMjwPCT7KFJc2XWo6frkEiPwiYkwWxUgl8mYu81f_ZfyIm0tz1XCLlpq6JF_reTKN5c/s1600-h/shadow-dance.gif"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 187px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQERCeLMwdduvQrKrhCYUPXhF0U9NO4sxjLBY9K_n80eDEItrYig-UklLaKKNnR4JDkluA0t4ppMjwPCT7KFJc2XWo6frkEiPwiYkwWxUgl8mYu81f_ZfyIm0tz1XCLlpq6JF_reTKN5c/s320/shadow-dance.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270240616102911186" border="0" /></a><br />Hope<br />in a bottle...<br /><br />Love<br />on the run...<br /><br />Life<br />with the best foot forward,<br /><br />one<br />and<br />two<br />and<br />three<br />and one...<br /><br />Here's to love...<br /><br />May it last forever<br />or at least<br />until last call...The Butterfly Barhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12286918141504092096noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499398484324308983.post-81226973481108550082008-01-22T07:12:00.000-05:002008-01-22T07:32:37.975-05:00I Love This Bar (The Beerhall Epic, Part 2) Eric Bachman and Singleton<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDUfcEWC3IiSzlsqqCdeuTt4ftXJlRoPXGmgwQP3Ygd1Nobzqnuf79CahZaeq8fmHbpQ4HDtOfg6Vn0rl4_-wOS5avY7Foz_MkXjlmKI0L80SuIvDiY9ERZDWGClNOUx9901aH157QVf0/s1600-h/470342136_34276ed693_o.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5148392772255675346" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; WIDTH: 230px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 201px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDUfcEWC3IiSzlsqqCdeuTt4ftXJlRoPXGmgwQP3Ygd1Nobzqnuf79CahZaeq8fmHbpQ4HDtOfg6Vn0rl4_-wOS5avY7Foz_MkXjlmKI0L80SuIvDiY9ERZDWGClNOUx9901aH157QVf0/s200/470342136_34276ed693_o.jpg" border="0" /></a>This moment<br />This Margarita<br />This Tia Maria<br />spin me on the floor<br />is everything<br />and more<br />wrapped up<br />in cellophane,<br />zip lock<br />bags<br />to go.....<br /><br />Too many people,<br />too many fraidy cats,<br />too many fools,<br />worried about the two step<br />the swing me up and<br />swing me low,<br />"dont drop me on the floor",<br />won't know this moment<br />like we know it,<br />teetering on the edge,<br />barefoot toes on the drumroll,<br />making boombox<br />outa nothin'.....<br /><br />And the show goes on.....<br /><br />because this is the day,<br />the time of our lives,<br />our chariot swings low<br />swings so very sweet<br />and heavy with<br />the swamp beat<br />rhythm and blues,<br />sticky with sweat<br />and high on the<br />drug of living each moment<br />to meet and make love<br />to the next one to come...<br /><br />This is the time<br />this is the place<br />and we are inheritors<br />of the long night ahead<br /><br />"I won't let you fall"<br /><br />And I never will--<br /><br />But somethings just happen<br />and we can never control<br />the whys or the hows<br /><br />Some people fall forever<br />through the blue sky of love<br />and the hazy clouds of doubt<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlXaJY8_s6s6Sixp-l4R2HC0JF7bk5P-6nIVMcy4NuiYjPH8l4juBgG9XwDVbLgC28mFoyF__iv5JVq3rl5QpqGG5RA0ziu9R_HdEfSvEhJWG5Qt9kSnf8qZsFY3hyIBq9AostYWtf4UU/s1600-h/volador1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5148392879629857762" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; WIDTH: 190px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 261px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlXaJY8_s6s6Sixp-l4R2HC0JF7bk5P-6nIVMcy4NuiYjPH8l4juBgG9XwDVbLgC28mFoyF__iv5JVq3rl5QpqGG5RA0ziu9R_HdEfSvEhJWG5Qt9kSnf8qZsFY3hyIBq9AostYWtf4UU/s200/volador1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />And sometimes we land<br />in the arms of the one<br />we dreamed would catch us<br /><br />Today is that day--<br />a brand new day<br />never before known<br /><br />name it<br />and it's yours<br /><br />name it<br />and let's take our time<br />coming home for the night.The Butterfly Barhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12286918141504092096noreply@blogger.com58tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499398484324308983.post-80364967395310022772008-01-07T21:35:00.000-05:002008-01-07T21:37:44.528-05:00I Love This Bar (The Beerhall Epic, Part 1) Eric Bachman and Singleton<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZUMRrsvpr_OhR3l0FYg64wuJ_VADiAUB_MF-C0ol3vqEVrGe-fmDBCPe-8SPhypjEIBna24qQ45MpuqjmdOymzlshuSmQUMdCSm_V447M2sngoZNGuL5RTYs0LZtD0N9di4z3OzUIWFU/s1600-h/finish.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5148390178095428530" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; WIDTH: 224px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 199px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZUMRrsvpr_OhR3l0FYg64wuJ_VADiAUB_MF-C0ol3vqEVrGe-fmDBCPe-8SPhypjEIBna24qQ45MpuqjmdOymzlshuSmQUMdCSm_V447M2sngoZNGuL5RTYs0LZtD0N9di4z3OzUIWFU/s200/finish.jpg" border="0" /></a>I pushed my quarters<br />over the edge...<br /><br />Plunked them<br />onto<br />the bartender's side<br />smiled<br />and chugged the last<br />hoo-rah,<br />twirled<br />and shimmied off the seat,<br />another day<br />another night<br />another song on the juke box played for a dime,<br />I almost called it a Tuesday<br />and walked out the door....<br /><br />But it was a new day<br />and<br />only three quarters fell in the well,<br />the other one<br />modgepodged itself<br />to my fingertips<br />and wouldn't let go<br />not even to smoke....<br />so I giggled<br />and wiggled<br />and the jukebox had hiccups<br />and caught on fire....<br /><br />it smoked<br />fizzed<br />sizzled<br />and stirred our careworn bodies<br />into a fast-forward flying tango<br />a rewind reality check<br />a pause and let's go<br />gimme three steps kind of<br />momentum<br />coursing across the floor<br />like a hot spring on an icy<br />mountain top<br /><br />and we weren't the only ones<br />moving<br />shaking<br />rubber band twanging<br />and not once faking...<br /><br />The best is yet to come<br />the worst is yet to come<br /><br />We can take it in stride<br />or in full-flight regalia<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLVItp_JQsRTdVdM5SDXIilX80qr_J1gDO8EqjiqvBa7XYXTJGDe2wHy7k-K9RXj5TMguzraHaeSQvX2752KwVtw58jOjShriKwQA2cGBm8qP0a8B1ltTbAPJYogYCEnMWCnwCSa252yo/s1600-h/fpscustom3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5148391771528295362" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; WIDTH: 181px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 249px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLVItp_JQsRTdVdM5SDXIilX80qr_J1gDO8EqjiqvBa7XYXTJGDe2wHy7k-K9RXj5TMguzraHaeSQvX2752KwVtw58jOjShriKwQA2cGBm8qP0a8B1ltTbAPJYogYCEnMWCnwCSa252yo/s200/fpscustom3.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />This day is one of many<br />and all it's own color<br />it's own flavor<br /><br />There's only one like it<br />and that's right now<br />this second<br />this moment<br /><br />and to think we only know it<br />by the one name we can think of<br /><br />TodayThe Butterfly Barhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12286918141504092096noreply@blogger.com57tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499398484324308983.post-7940810627687900572007-12-31T13:05:00.000-05:002007-12-31T16:21:34.225-05:00Midnight Blues, Eric Bachman and Singleton, 2007<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3rxbizvmP2Dm6rGrzYSU7fO84QZSEd0yqaurcxYPCP3bHbvVXQ01XuQy34wdF-sWFY5mqDcVKep-0jA8YWWtMIDxNV55M9Xub6Ys6xlaL9QWGfjpKxYWwTiCPm-V-IjxyFKQ1-5kq0ak/s1600-h/holidaysnowflake.gif"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 209px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3rxbizvmP2Dm6rGrzYSU7fO84QZSEd0yqaurcxYPCP3bHbvVXQ01XuQy34wdF-sWFY5mqDcVKep-0jA8YWWtMIDxNV55M9Xub6Ys6xlaL9QWGfjpKxYWwTiCPm-V-IjxyFKQ1-5kq0ak/s320/holidaysnowflake.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150201185415525378" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Midnight~</span><br />the love child of day and night<br />the great yes~no~maybe,<br />imploring us:<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">"Don't look back"</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Midnight~</span><br />Born in the arcane math<br />of 24 turned back to zero,<br />all clean slates filled<br />with <span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">pink love marks</span>,<br />one more X traced on<br />skin by waiting hands<br />we know in the dark.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Midnight~</span><br />patron hour<br />of witches<br />tyrants<br />gypsies<br />and jokers<br />drawing <span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">the line</span> in black~magic<br />marker,<br />stallion of seduction and strength<br />running time's marathon<br />the mother of all fevers<br />the endless<br />clandestine<br />taboo.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Midnight~</span><br />as the old<span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);"> <span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 51);">fire</span></span> light fades,<br />a brand new gift of 365<br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">sunsets and rises</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">~</span><br />the sacred mysteries<br />the soft~lipped silent passing<br />caress of our greatest<br />enemy<br />turned<br />lover.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Midnight~</span><br />fizzing and<br />running over<br />spilling enchantments<br />like the gifts of a wise Magi<br />from the mystic east,<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Midnight~</span><br />"This is the one and only now,<br />the endless this moment,<br />ecstasy reborn between<br />yesterday and tomorrow"<br /><br />As <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Midnight</span> falls upon us,<br />making everything old<br />new,<br />everything beloved<br />to begin yet again...<br />glasses filled with<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Midnight</span> love on the rocks<br />a Second Chance Martini...<br />spilling over<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 255);">in hopes that no acquaintance will</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 255);">ever</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 255);">be forgotte<span style="color: rgb(102, 255, 255);">n</span></span><span style="color: rgb(102, 255, 255);">,</span><br />and all sins began in such sweet<br />earnest<br />likewise...The Butterfly Barhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12286918141504092096noreply@blogger.com106tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499398484324308983.post-50376431591458085792007-12-28T23:17:00.000-05:002007-12-28T23:30:12.428-05:00Pixie Hat, Eric Bachman and Singleton, 2007<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2SwbSTdTsBNCmVqURAdaKXl1T1m7rhkDUBzcp76qiz4LU1uvHEEueBlu9MD7ZUWbmNkGdApoxSFAwjpnGHC3G1ju6ZGBO_p0fYfp47m61Zqo5TpObotQ9ByAjXB9AySusb3WoWskYdNk/s1600-h/C--a00000day0000-a15_watertower-2ring+%282%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2SwbSTdTsBNCmVqURAdaKXl1T1m7rhkDUBzcp76qiz4LU1uvHEEueBlu9MD7ZUWbmNkGdApoxSFAwjpnGHC3G1ju6ZGBO_p0fYfp47m61Zqo5TpObotQ9ByAjXB9AySusb3WoWskYdNk/s400/C--a00000day0000-a15_watertower-2ring+%282%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5149245254544454642" border="0" /></a><br />Sweeping out the front door<br />unshowered,<br />yesterday dressed,<br />on a faerie's<br />daylight<br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);">twighunt...</span><br /><br />Barefooted<br />and <span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 102);">sunned</span>.<br /><br />I'm off to gather<br />trinkets,<br />rock,<br />stones,<br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">powdered gold</span>--<br />to weave a<br />pixie hat...<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">*</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);">*</span> <span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">*</span><br /><br />She sweeps<br />out the front door--<br /><br />to gather<br />her magic,<br />and see what<br />the tide brings...<br /><br />An <span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);">angel</span><br />on her shoulder.<br /><br />Her heart<br />on <span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">greensleeves.<br /><br /></span>A <span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">devil </span><br />smiles in the details.<br /><br />Waiting to see<br />how her pixie hat turns out.<br /><br />Waiting for the moment<br />when all will be said,<br />and yet there's still<br />a little bit left <span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">undone</span>.The Butterfly Barhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12286918141504092096noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499398484324308983.post-70182607809849853532007-12-24T08:54:00.000-05:002007-12-24T09:01:41.237-05:00The Crisscrossed Circle, Eric Bachman, Singleton and Maithri, 2007<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT9rcTat6hDnDApd5ntOZoolqqFhFJBkO7QFLskYXDzreFq-B2dniYUqRk-gRE0rreUH9SU5NOxoCarRvRYgsIo36uyxoBKdPF3ML429QW0gE7PYUZJo6i0Wtm3vjLieCk_HL9HGgf1G0/s1600-h/peace+sign+singleton+hippie+art.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147537820360700786" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT9rcTat6hDnDApd5ntOZoolqqFhFJBkO7QFLskYXDzreFq-B2dniYUqRk-gRE0rreUH9SU5NOxoCarRvRYgsIo36uyxoBKdPF3ML429QW0gE7PYUZJo6i0Wtm3vjLieCk_HL9HGgf1G0/s200/peace+sign+singleton+hippie+art.jpg" border="0" /></a> Peace<br />It reads the same<br />inside out and backwards<br />in the mirror<br />in the sunlight<br />in the aftermath of falling stars,<br />in my soul<br />where it always was,<br />and<br />always<br />will be.<br /><br />The curve of love,<br />the beginning,<br />the middle,<br />the neverending<br />of a circle...<br /><br />And the light<br />shines<br />on a day<br />that even God<br />said<br />was a good one...<br /><br />May we all be blessed....The Butterfly Barhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12286918141504092096noreply@blogger.com88tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499398484324308983.post-76367090494319353102007-12-12T19:43:00.000-05:002007-12-12T20:25:31.926-05:00Tightwire, Eric Bachman and Singleton 2007<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh1Z4XtDnEV-HFlTNrsFBU0tXvZoikrTyFnd8GCy5yNNSI0MY3WyH-_e2LloUEVEag2YbwyLOKaeGaZqm762b_hAD4fRAhJCpoQDn_KWY_HBkp_sfmvACdK8s8k3lVSn2KCtvuzz6PH3A/s1600-h/butterfly+card.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143252251802522786" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh1Z4XtDnEV-HFlTNrsFBU0tXvZoikrTyFnd8GCy5yNNSI0MY3WyH-_e2LloUEVEag2YbwyLOKaeGaZqm762b_hAD4fRAhJCpoQDn_KWY_HBkp_sfmvACdK8s8k3lVSn2KCtvuzz6PH3A/s200/butterfly+card.jpg" border="0" /></a>I tiptoe<br />on the highwire....<br />no net,<br />no stopping now,<br />and fall....<br /><br />ten thousand stories,<br />endings,<br />punchlines not yet told<br />and land in the net,<br />a butterfly jolted,<br />captured,<br />kicking barefooted on the wild trapeeze....<br /><br />And you're there,<br />on the wire,<br />halfway to my dungeon in the sky,<br />bloodless<br />and daring the ground...<br /><span style="color:#33ccff;">"join us,</span><br /><span style="color:#33ccff;">break us,</span><br /><span style="color:#33ccff;">knock us the hell out of here"...</span><br /><br />and we laugh<br />because our eyes never leave<br />the beautiful,broken,<br />colored, cracked<br />space<br />of our very own touch,<br />suspended in nowhere,<br />here,<br />half way to there....<br /><br />I step<br />you step,<br />You reach<br />I reach,<br />I fall<br />You fall,<br />And the crowd wooshes and roars,<br />Catastrophe is what they paid for<br />with ooooohs and ahhhhhhs and<br />two nickel tickets.....<br /><br /><span style="color:#33ccff;">and we make it every time....</span>The Butterfly Barhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12286918141504092096noreply@blogger.com57tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499398484324308983.post-73792744262440892922007-12-06T21:56:00.000-05:002007-12-07T20:43:37.652-05:00In This Way of Love<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLk4-Jy71kSwywKfaNGX34cGuwAe-33njYfaS_gLzrF3gGaH0uUTHNS0ZZtuiGCfV1Syx_sPS3P87c9xfQyAP-nAkNTv2dDYIyXz1hsW5RDp0wjluOuo7z73G4cyXjYmtnHfbKUEtLf_vN/s1600-r/yellow+butterfly.2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5138563647268770562" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhGSIUyDqw1ex5wlvJQ-2sp-XZh3ynRs4mm07IFmATnJJ9CmmSfVUMVbVkpTTbAFSWXPclzt2vI0uX2uTtA6g7mEW7dfhMN8OTo05crPg8WHjl0D7cMK8zeXDx8AgGhRg6eFxbBPH9_oV1/s320/yellow+butterfly.2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 255);font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;" >Eric Bachman and Singleton, 2007</span><br /><br /><br />Butterfly of <span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);">gold</span>,<br />San Marina's own<br /><br />She's so very free...<br /><br />Always has been,<br />Always will be.<br /><br />Wings stretched--<br />resting in a fold<br /><br />she'll never fly<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">alone...</span><br /><br />and will always<br />float with me.<br /><br />Does she remember the dream...<br />the discovery that she made?<br />mermaids and<br />butterflies<br />are one and all the<br />same....<br />one for the sky<br />one for the sea<br /><br />one in a heart's<br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">midnight blue dream</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">"In this way of love</span> <span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">is the balance kept"</span><br /><br />they say that<br />butterflies only<br />live for a day<br />or the moment<br />and I can't<br />believe this is true<br />and mermaids<br />live forever<br />in the shadows<br />and the deep--<br />I can't believe this is true<br />so I'm sure they take turns<br />trading underwater dunes<br />for summer wind<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);">"in this way of love</span> <span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);">is the balance kept"</span>eric1313http://www.blogger.com/profile/13807078704660045859noreply@blogger.com57tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499398484324308983.post-20342326936632023592007-11-28T23:02:00.000-05:002007-11-29T07:09:36.560-05:00She tells stories.....<strong><span style="color:#9999ff;">ERIC BACHMAN and SINGLETON 2007</span></strong><br /><span style="color:#66ffff;"></span><br /><span style="color:#66ffff;">Her face was wet,</span><br /><span style="color:#66ffff;">chilled, but not cold</span><br /><span style="color:#66ffff;">and I succumbed...</span><br /><span style="color:#66ffff;">fell</span><br /><span style="color:#66ffff;">into her soul,</span><br /><span style="color:#66ffff;">her innermost heat,</span><br /><span style="color:#66ffff;">a fire that even</span><br /><span style="color:#66ffff;">the rains of November</span><br /><span style="color:#66ffff;">couldn't completely</span><br /><span style="color:#66ffff;">extinguish.</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">Did I ever tell you</span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">I was in love with snow?</span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">dimestore</span> flocking</span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">quilt batting</span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">crystaline</span></span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">fortune telling</span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">flakes?</span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">And the cold shock</span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">hot</span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">of drowning</span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">in</span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">a bathtub full</span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">a hillside high</span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">a ditch on the side of the road</span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">of white</span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">forever tumbling from overstuffed</span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">"I can't believe I ate this much!"</span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">"Gotta unbuckle my five oh one"</span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">clouds?</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">Her face was wet</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">so was mine</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">her hair</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">my hair</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">her clothes</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">my clothes</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">soaked</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">clinging</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">and cold</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">in the November air</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">and she prattled</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">on</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">cheeks five o'clock pink,</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">fishtelling</span> the story I knew by heart</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">and how I never forgave</span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">the skies</span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">for teasing me</span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">with plump white wine</span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">goosefeathers</span> falling</span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">unexpected,</span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">never recorded before,</span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">cant be happening!,</span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">and then</span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">wrecking my dream</span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">in the morning?</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">her face was wet</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">and so was mine,</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">and we laughed</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">at everything:</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">rain</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">clouds</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">wind</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">tears</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">shivers</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">smiles</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">and brown eyes;</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">the soul of the earth</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">with come hither to lines....</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">it was my only one night stand.....</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">her face was wet </span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">and so was mine</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">and in the cold </span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">November <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">nightness</span></span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">we </span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">played snow angels on the hill</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">and laughed at </span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">the stories</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">behind us...</span>The Butterfly Barhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12286918141504092096noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499398484324308983.post-16679496679641015582007-11-21T21:36:00.000-05:002007-11-21T21:12:35.246-05:00The Little Things<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCk3Uf4ncZ87dfng8rEV9GJUcsQ2uNu6r3ZagB9UQEGAtCNBbdyZ1grWYuESG2YIF8Jtopjlwrt5lff7R3cATDtoWO0l_zQVyG_eJF2Y7UJZ3JBpPkSqzWQjPkWiP1AhpvfxdKvKWd8C8/s1600-h/bird.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5135481620335039746" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCk3Uf4ncZ87dfng8rEV9GJUcsQ2uNu6r3ZagB9UQEGAtCNBbdyZ1grWYuESG2YIF8Jtopjlwrt5lff7R3cATDtoWO0l_zQVyG_eJF2Y7UJZ3JBpPkSqzWQjPkWiP1AhpvfxdKvKWd8C8/s200/bird.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Little dead bird<br />cold<br />sleeping<br />at my feet.<br /><br />Wings<br />ragged<br />tattered<br />torn.<br /><br />I touch her<br />barely<br />with one toe<br /><br />and die inside<br /><strong><span style="color:#ff6666;">a little more.</span></strong></div>The Butterfly Barhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12286918141504092096noreply@blogger.com90tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499398484324308983.post-71127573446065187342007-11-18T19:45:00.000-05:002007-11-20T05:15:40.866-05:00The Waiting Game--Eric Bachman and Singleton, '07<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHzSwLyQW0N5Xc5t9SiLUXStYpJJBrbkwjjSQnR2U1d6WQ3GrLaKnDtz204GThIj8neSv2mTfTGzCeEwseVftFu0CCjl_Fum1c5yRJQeQAd0umQaE8MUCzwH-pKIURytBWMcptha2JQBY/s1600-h/five-o'clock-somewhere.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHzSwLyQW0N5Xc5t9SiLUXStYpJJBrbkwjjSQnR2U1d6WQ3GrLaKnDtz204GThIj8neSv2mTfTGzCeEwseVftFu0CCjl_Fum1c5yRJQeQAd0umQaE8MUCzwH-pKIURytBWMcptha2JQBY/s320/five-o'clock-somewhere.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5134346078226617554" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />You’ve got the five o’clock blues<br />and a ten spot in your pocket--<br />There's no place like home<br />after a little hell on Monday.<br />(<span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);">no matter where home is</span>)<br /><br />Meatloaf and cold potatoes,<br />callin’ your name out loud,<br />the paycheck's spent and<br />the fridgadair’s humming;<br />Warm<br />And hollow<br />And empty.<br /><br />Happy hour is three days off<br />Says the sign, the schedule<br />the Monday morning cue card.<br /><br />The parking lot's all lit up,<br />the double doors flap<br />wide open,<br />closed<br />and open again...<br /><br />and that’s really all you need....<br /><br />Five o'clock and an open invite;<br />all we're waiting on is <span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 255);">you</span><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 255);">.</span></span><div><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div>The Butterfly Barhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12286918141504092096noreply@blogger.com100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499398484324308983.post-49316372134174716352007-11-12T19:05:00.000-05:002007-11-18T20:01:50.326-05:00Pretty Little Ending--Eric Bachman and Singleton, '07A pretty little ending,<br />all wrapped up tight;<br />sugar-coated candies<br />in a movie theatre box.<br /><br />The credits roll by--<br /><strong><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);font-family:courier new;" >The End</span></strong> spelled out<br />in unmistakable font,<br />everyone's going home.<br /><br />Confetti dust and rays<br />of a lost sun flickering,<br />floating in bright chaos,<br />their shadows play tag<br />on a dirty silver screen--<br />And suddenly I remember...<br /><br />It wasn't all that great;<br />I just wanted it to be.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeXO81Ulx8wXLxn4Zyd-ieElG3_Td1Z6Lo-xRdW1HHOq7sLPJ3kGKqmEfAtIZwH4xQW2dTjWD5ozjQxJy4DzEZgXu0RsUX3o_KQRGSgw5OcZA674AKQuunxHL5sC8YMKRPbUeQHi_mBY8/s1600-h/THE%20END143.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128496304912454562" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeXO81Ulx8wXLxn4Zyd-ieElG3_Td1Z6Lo-xRdW1HHOq7sLPJ3kGKqmEfAtIZwH4xQW2dTjWD5ozjQxJy4DzEZgXu0RsUX3o_KQRGSgw5OcZA674AKQuunxHL5sC8YMKRPbUeQHi_mBY8/s320/THE%2520END143.jpg" border="0" height="210" width="222" /></a>The Butterfly Barhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12286918141504092096noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499398484324308983.post-44212123441112274742007-11-06T11:11:00.000-05:002007-11-06T16:34:40.143-05:00Eyes that Sing, Eric Bachman 2007<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTB3OAqGoedGpBHgbCqZ_PXDaPEY5Jy-U59LKwXJerBgIWUD5wu9uJaxqftOCWYMLYoeuQmLrFW_UFN98cjlwVqV_KVEwA01R2Hok2fNKZpVNF498D9SWVE3jFmBF20q0Bg_sQm9RRTR0/s1600-h/justgivemepeace+(2)+eyes+(2).jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128500166088053682" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 208px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 95px" height="147" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTB3OAqGoedGpBHgbCqZ_PXDaPEY5Jy-U59LKwXJerBgIWUD5wu9uJaxqftOCWYMLYoeuQmLrFW_UFN98cjlwVqV_KVEwA01R2Hok2fNKZpVNF498D9SWVE3jFmBF20q0Bg_sQm9RRTR0/s320/justgivemepeace+(2)+eyes+(2).jpg" width="208" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I may not see you there<br />looking through the leaves,<br />but your soul sings a song<br />that ripples true and rings<br />across the body of time<br />a piano played by heart<br />a hundred notes and lines.<br /><br />Every verse you know<br />was learned so long ago.<br />And all the songs you sing<br />are from a siren's dream.<br />Echoing the blue <span style="color:#33ccff;">sky </span>blues<br />autumnal <span style="color:#33cc00;">virgin</span> forest scene<br />across the body of time.<br /><br />Your song gives you away<br />behind the thickest leaves.<br /><br />Your eyes give you away<br />the body of time, a dream.<br /><br />Your heart may be alone--<br />I listen for it's wild call.<br /><br />Your eyes they sing<br />a song of midnight lights,<br /><br />Dancing through the distance<br />the <span style="color:#cc9933;">burnt</span> gold leaves of fall.The Butterfly Barhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12286918141504092096noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499398484324308983.post-12667178038072254712007-11-04T10:04:00.000-05:002007-11-05T18:06:14.416-05:00On The Floor, Eric Bachman and Singleton 2007<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMPrNVKJF7MGDj-7yCNZntSqFjuamnzXXX5-2gDF6-jY2wjdz2lh2bt5imnMAgY7d0Oh4ISOY5-6VlNa6579ezM4dGHH6A6c10mMXWAEk-jQuo4aes5hl38Z8cXZ7WxKMVE-mSgHdFhcI/s1600-h/timeisup.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129109437263762386" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMPrNVKJF7MGDj-7yCNZntSqFjuamnzXXX5-2gDF6-jY2wjdz2lh2bt5imnMAgY7d0Oh4ISOY5-6VlNa6579ezM4dGHH6A6c10mMXWAEk-jQuo4aes5hl38Z8cXZ7WxKMVE-mSgHdFhcI/s200/timeisup.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Watching the bold clock face<br />ticking down the brick wall,<br />tocking sepia lyrics<br />talking--unraveling<br /><br />spilling<br /><br />spelling<br /><br />yesterday<br /><br />and maybe<br /><br />tonight.<br /><br />Misfit makeshift couples--<br />Strangers two hours before<br />Three beers later<br />(who's counting?)<br />Folding like pages into<br />gray night moths<br />enveloped against, into, onto<br />each other by moonshine…<br />Desperate<br />for a Friday night love story.<br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">(“Hey, what's your name, again?”)<br /></span><br />But not us,<br />we laughed at the clock….<br />pick pocketing<br />Our last lines<br /><br />We clinked! to the last call<br />and all that could’ve been<br />if we had risen to the occasion…..<br /><br />To one last spin<br />one last dance<br />one last drink<br />the last of many tonight<br /><br />And tomorrow,<br />we'll do it all one more time...<br />one more spin<br />one more sigil scribbled<br />on the back door stairwell<br /><br />Everything is perfect<br />everything will burn<br />every night without end<br />when you're the Silver moths<br />in the black cantina...<br /><br /><span style="font-size:0;"></span>The Butterfly Barhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12286918141504092096noreply@blogger.com43tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499398484324308983.post-74531206950214484512007-11-02T05:40:00.000-04:002007-11-05T18:07:08.014-05:00Behind The Powder Room Door, Eric Bachman and Singleton 2007<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicXc2pt1pp1nX32zMVirwoQEDjbHO80RL_Ttmh021Uro4wvj-F-_kBW3JgU85S9QiJUXPz7FnXdDwCZ84FviUSFmy15KCJyxB6S60csSigAbXBXfEU9SHDCdOfQ1L3ghsMMW_WOpky3LQ/s1600-h/marilyn-gold-dp-l+(2).jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128178155210003346" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 138px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 468px" height="420" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicXc2pt1pp1nX32zMVirwoQEDjbHO80RL_Ttmh021Uro4wvj-F-_kBW3JgU85S9QiJUXPz7FnXdDwCZ84FviUSFmy15KCJyxB6S60csSigAbXBXfEU9SHDCdOfQ1L3ghsMMW_WOpky3LQ/s320/marilyn-gold-dp-l+(2).jpg" width="108" border="0" /></a>All lined up like perfect flowers<br />with their pink painted faces<br />moulin rouge cheeks,<br />little hens<br />in the ladies room<br />cackling<br />spitting<br />hissing<br />smiling<br />through antique teeth,<br />veneered words<br />splinter off their <span style="color:#ffccff;">tongues...</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#33ff33;">"So nice to see you"...</span><br /><br />Even fairy tales<br />have cardboard creeps<br />climbing through the pages,<br /><br />And she believes in fairy tales,<br />so she dusts them off daily<br />with feather words and gloss,<br />billowing sweet cotton candy,<br />pink on their blue cheeks<br /><br />They prattle as she prances<br />out the door...<br /><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">"Isn't she a doll?"...<br /></span><br /><span style="color:#33ff33;">...<br /></span><br />Sometimes,<br />you have to fix the endings.The Butterfly Barhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12286918141504092096noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499398484324308983.post-57057564919331296702007-10-29T16:20:00.000-04:002007-11-05T18:07:40.680-05:00Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down, Eric Bachman and Singleton 2007<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBXpayo_csRPT-GjaoMiGr9535Vut3aA06b6v-_r0D6JITFEfasAV0gFl79xClD2cj00XBFv5bSZEOeUx-GWkzwWJ351OkbNMnRndTcGS83jECtqUxmA0yTjiLEGia58fM2yURy85Q1z4/s1600-h/cubo.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125486247798628850" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 212px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" height="300" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBXpayo_csRPT-GjaoMiGr9535Vut3aA06b6v-_r0D6JITFEfasAV0gFl79xClD2cj00XBFv5bSZEOeUx-GWkzwWJ351OkbNMnRndTcGS83jECtqUxmA0yTjiLEGia58fM2yURy85Q1z4/s320/cubo.jpg" width="250" border="0" /></a>She curtsies and beckons<br />to the highway rollers,<br />the evening strollers,<br />the "I just left my wife<br />this morning"<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ers</span>.<br /><br />With her eyes wide open,<br />blinking<br />winking<br />lying.....<br />they believe....<br />do they ever believe,<br />her eyes, burning<br />reflecting their desire...<br /><br />Everything around her<br />drowning in the want<br />to bathe in her love.<br /><br />A tear like a diamond--<br />rough and in perfect season and tune;<br />falling like a stone from above.<br /><br />She told them a dime<br />a beer<br />a skate<br />a stroll<br />or stone-skip throw<br />is all it will take<br />to win a true heart.<br /><br />Told them with <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">piercing</span> eyes<br />to step right up if they think<br />they have what it takes,<br />a quarter for the jukebox...<br />your dime,<br />my time--<br />and to believe that<br />24 hours is enough...<br /><br />For <em>anything.<br /></em><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Because she told them so....</span><br /><br />Told them how to win a night<br />at the <span style="color:#ff0000;">Paradise South.</span><br /><br />Told them almost everything<br />keeping dreams for herself,<br />a shadow walking with her<br />the only friend who knows.<br /><br />Forever is just a dream,<br />enchantment of the night--<br />her heart's true name<br />scribbled on a timeless picture<br />in her gilded locket for eyes only.<br /><br />She bows with royal flourish,<br />takes the floor, fading into smoke;<br />lights high above beaming down<br />like a sun never shone on earth.The Butterfly Barhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12286918141504092096noreply@blogger.com62tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499398484324308983.post-8318217695449738502007-10-27T05:43:00.000-04:002007-11-06T16:38:37.340-05:00Nickel Drafts, Eric Bachman and Singleton 2007<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1loTk68G5t-NmaTHp8kf-SadNhJvW8a73ivc2iCHsB54JeUkGQix08F65YWwBtzyrI5BIdV3pP-4ofN_XenqkkHP66tlqqtdki8Jr0PQI74Ayc6i07v3hXj9-_UwxlP8J311W3B7SHYA/s1600-h/beer_bottles.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125960506677387890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1loTk68G5t-NmaTHp8kf-SadNhJvW8a73ivc2iCHsB54JeUkGQix08F65YWwBtzyrI5BIdV3pP-4ofN_XenqkkHP66tlqqtdki8Jr0PQI74Ayc6i07v3hXj9-_UwxlP8J311W3B7SHYA/s400/beer_bottles.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Backs to the band<br />we drifted down--<br />drafted, up--<br /><span style="color:#ffffff;">(clouds have nothing on us)</span><br /><br />Penned a paperback book<br />on Budwieser napkins<br />stacked<br />aces high,<br />a house of cards<br />between us.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">"Shhhhhh.... "<br /><br />"No talking"<br /></span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">"Okay"<br /></span><br />Words penciled<br />between strangers<br />leg to leg<br />shoulder to shoulder<br />tall tales, short stories<br />spun right there<br />at the bar.<br /><br />I only heard<br />your voice<br />once<br />in a smile,<br />as we ran<br />across the street<br />let them fly<br /><br />White butterflies<br />wooshed by traffic,<br />ghosts<br />with bottle ring<br />halos.<br /><br />This word<br />and that word<br />whistling<br />waves<br />free<br />falling<br /><br />the story out of order<br /><br /><span style="color:#ffff66;">And that's the way it's supposed to be...<br /></span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvnDYUpoFicAy4ReWKqeiBY-1L8oqnAPhsvNfsiTr6oP2-fHnV8iwJsD2uGBS3TbI8GsCGXaWwVLT-vF0F6TVHgPkzcnrlcIYdXQjiGpFPbDGvNVJQH8UrHZoPFN1ezj1cgsVDXww95KA/s1600-h/1913_nickel_t2_rev.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125960188849807970" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvnDYUpoFicAy4ReWKqeiBY-1L8oqnAPhsvNfsiTr6oP2-fHnV8iwJsD2uGBS3TbI8GsCGXaWwVLT-vF0F6TVHgPkzcnrlcIYdXQjiGpFPbDGvNVJQH8UrHZoPFN1ezj1cgsVDXww95KA/s320/1913_nickel_t2_rev.jpg" border="0" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499398484324308983.post-22988448260640473642007-10-26T09:58:00.000-04:002007-11-05T18:09:07.471-05:00The Show, Eric Bachman and Singleton 2007<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggOQYKTj40Wn3OEEfuXeSZ6vQDD9Oc3oH3OM2zcvH73nqk-gIq2K8YPZk30vNo9g3I7XdMPJVLCX3PiHL0nAILOj-ZxfhuYZw8CiKV_B_-_ghpkhLNlXRUUFyBVvFsZ0TKczB-mRWeTf0/s1600-h/mermaid+71.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125490967967687170" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggOQYKTj40Wn3OEEfuXeSZ6vQDD9Oc3oH3OM2zcvH73nqk-gIq2K8YPZk30vNo9g3I7XdMPJVLCX3PiHL0nAILOj-ZxfhuYZw8CiKV_B_-_ghpkhLNlXRUUFyBVvFsZ0TKczB-mRWeTf0/s320/mermaid+71.jpg" border="0" /></a>"Like water fits a mermaid"<br /><br />A taffeta gown<br />in phospherescent teal<br />roaring<br />slurping<br />climbing<br />dancing on it's own<br />sequined<br />and beaded<br />zippered<br />and fated<br />by the seamless seamtress<br />of the sea.<br /><br />From the watchtower<br />she's dripping in<br />frothy hemlines<br />moving victorian lace<br />sea foam splash<br />smile sigh<br />eight miles high<br />and deep.<br /><br />The sun pulls the curtains<br />endless encore<br />the lights go on and off<br />and she's swathed in tie-dyed<br />skin<br />and butterfly wings<br />naked<br />but for her soul<br />a crystaline buoy<br />tethered to the shore--<br /><br />The show must go on...<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIRSz7vZzkgGNwvMXIr-QQteOjgYxacmZFLENa8FXBLmey-_wzA5tPoXc17NBjVSjQik6lCksLIFV38gF6fnOcq7SPAItQsuBL4RNuUUmEXw7y1MaRROTLTuJZBHHVgKF0Yi4wxQEYVxQ/s1600-h/glow3-0222.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125492904997937698" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIRSz7vZzkgGNwvMXIr-QQteOjgYxacmZFLENa8FXBLmey-_wzA5tPoXc17NBjVSjQik6lCksLIFV38gF6fnOcq7SPAItQsuBL4RNuUUmEXw7y1MaRROTLTuJZBHHVgKF0Yi4wxQEYVxQ/s320/glow3-0222.jpg" border="0" /></a>The Butterfly Barhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12286918141504092096noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499398484324308983.post-77629501851659866962007-10-24T22:34:00.000-04:002007-11-05T18:13:31.572-05:00Red Glow of Pardise South, Eric Bachman and Singleton 2007Neon lights burning:<br />Red hot and electric<br />they never close down<br />fall down, burn out<br />they never do lie<br />except to the city;<br />red glare, she cries.<br /><br />The neon lights click<br />on and on, clinking<br />even with the dark<br />thinking, tinking<br />on abandoned streets<br />of the long after hour<br />craze and shuffle home<br /><br />Red lights glaring like<br />moonlight and bloodstone<br />in the see-through rays<br />of the old rising sun,<br />burning her face bronze<br />her lunch-time squint;<br /><br />(Don't frown--<br />you'll get wrinkles)<br /><br />The neon lights buzz<br />on through the night.<br /><br />The neon lights lie<br />to the city so wide<br />as the jukebox dies<br />it lies in plain sight.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-ounsbzchNtPimlbno_vId19RlMe1IPobdhsagbAaTocGgqsUU97woByG87_6OQ1cy8-GUrwRKvfLwmucqXBzppFfO58baSZNkYvL5kXPQOISpFY2XY9IYjTK7ISlhFDJM8S-150WGGE/s1600-h/neon+23110073.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124727634850925858" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-ounsbzchNtPimlbno_vId19RlMe1IPobdhsagbAaTocGgqsUU97woByG87_6OQ1cy8-GUrwRKvfLwmucqXBzppFfO58baSZNkYvL5kXPQOISpFY2XY9IYjTK7ISlhFDJM8S-150WGGE/s320/neon+23110073.jpg" border="0" /></a>The Butterfly Barhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12286918141504092096noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499398484324308983.post-4029668756660200762007-10-23T21:33:00.000-04:002007-11-05T18:13:00.133-05:00An Every-Night Cinderella, Eric Bachman and Singleton 2007<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYqbpjEtJhbiSU5cAw04ZKJt34bjwR0nFXb4BZMkq4QETDwXziCKKgpQXGg13yD5NgNcOl-_fW8m1bc-h2UwRywBDVAefShEPusCjp-0UYwlSG9rx2-sPEl9PjzN3XiF_eLvUIGketIf0/s1600-h/cinderellaStars_eBay.gif"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124713620372638994" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 248px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 298px" height="320" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYqbpjEtJhbiSU5cAw04ZKJt34bjwR0nFXb4BZMkq4QETDwXziCKKgpQXGg13yD5NgNcOl-_fW8m1bc-h2UwRywBDVAefShEPusCjp-0UYwlSG9rx2-sPEl9PjzN3XiF_eLvUIGketIf0/s320/cinderellaStars_eBay.gif" width="277" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><em>I'm not alone...<br /><br />As long as the wind<br />will talk to me,<br />I hear your voice<br /><br />I'm listening...<br /></em><br />The wind always<br />has a story to tell....<br /><br />She whispers<br />in the night,<br />whipporwhills<br />to the moon,<br />frolicks in the sun<br /><br />But she listens,<br />as she gales,<br />tumbling litter<br />winter leaves<br />baby butterflies<br />waves<br />crashing<br /><br /><em>I hear the sounds </em><br /><em>of her bright voice<br />echo; alive</em><br /><br /><em>Sometimes I hear her<br />moan--gasp--cry<br />sometimes<br />laugh--lilt--whisper</em><br /><br />In the night,<br />there are secrets<br />everywhere<br />and she knows<br />all of them.<br /><br />But if one knows<br />to listen well<br />to her breathy voice<br />and feel her caress<br />and her soft kisses<br />on their face<br />nothing<br />will remain hidden<br /><br />Nothing<br />will stop her<br />from becoming one,<br />from becoming a kite<br />of stardust and light;<br />blue and purple<br />and red and white<br />flying from the palm<br />of her invisible hand<br /><br />And then she'll do<br />what the wind<br />always does,<br />she'll unravel<br />the kite string<br />one loop<br />one inch<br />one beer<br />one line<br />at a time<br />and set it free<br />a new constellation<br /><br />One more brand new<br />Cinderella<br />dancing<br />in her midnight sky.The Butterfly Barhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12286918141504092096noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499398484324308983.post-53973760670205148372007-10-22T20:58:00.000-04:002007-11-05T18:10:58.294-05:00Atomic Moon, Singleton 2007Keys on the floorboard,<br />fingers digging past<br />lost cigarette butts,<br />McDonald's reciepts,<br />dashboard buttons fallen<br />in the dark<br />to find them,<br />Two keys to the car,<br />one to the house,<br />one to the Storage Shed where<br />memories are buried for ninety-nine<br />dollars a month,<br />one to the post office box<br />three cities ago,<br />just to crank the damned engine<br />in the cold and<br />barrel out,<br />blonde hippie chic<br />under the<br />Steven Kingish,<br />Halloweenish,<br />Jack-o-lantern<br />laughing moon....<br /><br />And drive here.<br />Where pink ladies paid $7.95 an hour<br />drape her in Este Lauder perfumes<br />and dripping vintage beads,<br />bathe her in bargain basement<br />dress-me-ups.....<br /><br />She slides through the<br />swinging doors,<br />keys clanging<br />on the bars of<br />the old pocketbook<br />bouncing off her hip,<br />sashaying<br />swinging<br />singing<br />into the blackened parking lot....<br /><br />Cinderella....Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499398484324308983.post-2272238094183077612007-10-19T19:03:00.000-04:002007-11-05T18:11:29.143-05:00Open, Singleton 2007<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDrdtmgnfLsG7bOhyphenhyphen2KpEFuXVjbArCFHvQAEKfVoFVNpHC1TtiypP-wAxGbNG39yPc5bdg0toL6xzivFbyoR93UPeWQgy6tF5WR-Xm8eAH8wPQPygzMcurT0iUnpBUEmiFI2gW89JW7Jc/s1600-h/jeans+on+the+floor+001.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123426415289442754" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDrdtmgnfLsG7bOhyphenhyphen2KpEFuXVjbArCFHvQAEKfVoFVNpHC1TtiypP-wAxGbNG39yPc5bdg0toL6xzivFbyoR93UPeWQgy6tF5WR-Xm8eAH8wPQPygzMcurT0iUnpBUEmiFI2gW89JW7Jc/s200/jeans+on+the+floor+001.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Three pairs of blues<br />inside out and wadded<br />crumpled at the bedfloor<br />Eight left shoes<br />different heights<br />for different faces<br />heaped in the corner<br />and I'm ready to go...<br />dressed in tried and trues<br />and that damned<br />concrete block<br />I'm growing quite<br />accustomed to.<br /><br />The barstool<br />six from the right<br />leans<br />on wooden knees<br />a black plethera<br />valentine<br />that whispers<br />"be mine...<br />when you're<br />breathless"<br />when you've had<br />your fill<br />of <strong>them</strong>.....<br /><br />And I'm off....<br />Fridays are for dancin'.....</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499398484324308983.post-86373160109489033552007-10-18T20:26:00.001-04:002007-11-05T18:12:07.402-05:00Mocha Morning, Singleton 2007Last call forgot us<br />they couldn't find<br />our hands raised<br />for roll call<br />or find our shadows<br />on the floor<br />I was in the ladie's room<br />talking to my other smile<br />and you were bangin'<br />on the cigarette machine<br />playing pachinko with<br />our last dimes for<br />a pack of anything<br />pall malls<br />bubblegum rings<br />or fortunes....<br />anything that would<br />happily land at your feet<br /><br />And so we missed it,<br />another round<br />downtown at the cornerbar<br />and in the wee hours,<br />the free hours<br />we took the party home<br />to dance in the kitchen<br />and drink Michelobs left<br />lying on their sides in the<br />vegetable bin,<br />but<br />we did that the night before....<br />and there was only bologna there<br />and some cheese<br />forgotten<br /><br />So I brewed coffee and<br />when you went to fetch the cream<br />you find the henna<br />in the karmic red tubes<br />chilled and ready<br /><br />We pretended it came in every color<br />blue<br />and<br />the color of my hair on top<br />and painted mocha colored cobwebs<br />up and down our calves<br />and laughed....<br /><br />I read the directions this<br />morning.....<br />sipping cold black coffee....<br />and crossing my legs,<br /><br />It says in perfect foreign script.....<br />"does not wash off with soap and water"Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499398484324308983.post-14206837236515454612007-10-17T23:22:00.000-04:002007-11-05T18:09:41.273-05:00The Perfect Corner, Eric Bachman 2007The perfect corner bar,<br />a perfect place to sit back<br />to kick our feet up<br />and loose the shoes,<br />listening to voodoo sing<br />it's charms and invocations<br />from an electric guitar amp.<br /><br />The perfect circle--<br />hands held with strangers<br />as the bright lights dim,<br />electric freedom singing<br />while everyone watches<br />the stage for her next trick<br />her next dance, next song.<br /><br />Perfect circle, perfect corner<br />perfect burnished wood<br />perfect cigarrette burns<br />perfect drinks, perfect laughs<br />everything was like that;<br />real and a little impossible,<br />only a dream--in your face.<br /><br />Last call is light years<br />into the future's haze.<br /><br />Open the door and look out<br />at the new-born universe.<br /><br />In the windows by the corner<br />an open sign glows--perfect.<br /><br />Non-stop neon lights burn.<br />and the sunrise only means<br />it's a new morning.eric1313http://www.blogger.com/profile/13807078704660045859noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499398484324308983.post-1487664731101653522007-10-17T22:53:00.000-04:002007-11-05T18:12:37.404-05:00Will work for beer, Singleton 2007He spins stories on the sidewalk<br />and the five o'clockers gather round<br />hushed from their rush and tickertapes<br />by his words,<br />whispered<br /><br />they linger and loiter and loot<br />his cache<br />parading in<br />trenchcoats<br />and pantyhouse<br />and breaktimes<br />listening<br />to their lives<br />in make believe<br />wannabee's,<br />and verytales<br />whispered<br /><br />and she draws a circle in pastels<br />around his workaholic words<br />and the shady people grazing him<br />but noone notices<br />the colors<br />that<br />she's painting<br /><br />just the barefeet<br />dancing through<br />the stories<br />leaving chalky footprints<br />on the sidewalk<br />and the way<br />she collects<br />his dimesUnknownnoreply@blogger.com10