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“The secret life of Song & bones,

An On Going ramble of word poem and song- by Les Moore started –JULY 15^th 2008”

The editor's are gone I kicked them out told them to fuck-off Now theres no fear of what they think or what YOU THINK The shadows of religion,virgins with cherries  mothers, old voices have no power here in this place where rage falls on a page ,as tears, love disapointment crawl from an inner place seeking redemption ,crying for grace-----WELCOME TO The secret life of Song & bones,

Life’s a music video ,with sit com moments,  porno picture hurricanes ,layered with little dramas of Angry sexy cigarettes , broken dryers ,injected with larger stories of fucked up husbands and broken down wives , love given but none returned, rejection of connection, children that die, mothers that love you but suck on your veins ,doctors that cure you then give you more pain ,every scene has fire followed by rain. We love our love, bury our bones bleed with our lips into a phone, cry for movement crave for a home, I once reached for a poem from the bottom of my brain felt like a mystic but they said I was in sane then I lost the poem between there words and ideas but for a moment I was the sea and the bird and every heart ache that I ever had was so absurd –

 Writing like a lunatic in the middle of the night-feeling wrong and right- up & down In & out – over & under touching grey and reading light ----But I don’t know what to say to you—small talk does not exist in the world of poetic bliss, or neurotic behavior what ever label you wish to place a pound it ---

-I see you in the mirror every day--- (said the child that danced into the clay)

ACT ONE- Mr. Brown & dear Miss Jones

Passion pussy cats or distance clones some place in between seems to be unknown –I will kiss your rose with all I got----Then you can go to wal-mart and shop shop shop till you drop----then suck my  blue berry popsicle ,and taste the juice….

Mr. Brown and dear Miss Jones roller coaster personalities never really fall in love for more than a day or two cause its so deep they don’t know if it’s true then in that very second it’s not-and the NOT is bigger then a mountain for the radical imaginative mind keeps crying for a new color where the high is high and the low is low as the world with its moral boxes and perfectly straight lines will convince them that they are out of step with the way things are

When “who knows maybe they are divine”   Depends who you are and what window you are looking into ,or out of ---     Say  crazy or lazy & dazey-I say to you-BY WHO'S STANDARDS? 

The Names have been changed to protect the innocent & guilty sinners & saints ,winners & losers screamers & moaners mothers & fathers sons & daughters ----Me & You 

'YOU CAN,T HANDLE THE TRUTH" Screamed Jack Nickelson in the movie a few good men

  Mr.Brown Letters (Never sent)

 When  I dance with wild flowers , sometimes I wonder why ,as the feeling fades from our voice and out of your eyes ,may be I feed on the oddly wonderful  extremes ,as I fall in and out of some mystic dream ,searching for laugher riding a scream , crying for love while licking ice cream --As you put me on a new schedule and into a  has been book can’t help but wonder was I the fish or the hook .?.?.Go ahead call the cops and arrest me for poetic slander, Put me over your knee and spank me for being a bad boy...take away my strawberries ,break my toys,,,CALL YOUR MOTHER and scream he’s a fucking bastard ,a broken dream ,some kind of drug in a dirty stream ,,He’s just a piece in a pattern that takes me away from the picture you seen of sugar plum houses and rich prince dreams ..call somebody with there fabricated vision of love and broken cherries to embrace your journey into distance and structured sickness ,look for the hoops and loops ,and bring in the professor of psychology to kill my pen-call the counselor lady tell her I’ve broken in to something old and something new  and you don’t know the difference-do you ?? ya summand the wizard pray to the fairies to bust my balls break my berries -------ooh ohm have I offended thee (I Doubt it) maybe you didn’t even notice I was there, so how could you notice I am gone just a fly a frog a stick in the pound,, a clown at the queens ball, a shadow on the wall in a room where people go ----Just a thought inside a thought nothing sold or nothing bought – I don’t need to believe what I think said the sigh on the wall—am I just a crazy old dreamer with a mixed up plot , life s just a music video , a picture show play your part and let it go ---Butter fly Girl with your hand full of broken strings---

YES some times I tell my self lies when the story changes so I can run faster then I feel through the fire and into the steel--------- (must be some attachment left)

Ahh go take your vibrator and do what you wish lick the girl in the naked dish bang the young men with there muscles so tanned kiss the moon touch the sun find comfort in the strange man  with ocean front property and a Harley ,  ride till you drop

I desire to hold no attachment to nothing—for only then can I really Love

When the strange man,s tired and the young men insult you for being you

 The sun won’t shine, moons been stolen away -----

---call me and sing a song

I’ll tuck you in and rub your back, I will sit in the passenger seat and watch you drive with no direction in mind, I’ll listen to your song, We can jump in a different lake every day I’ll write you a poem if that’s what you need, we can have lunch in Rome and dinner in Greece we can give food to the Hungary and light to the staving spirit, you can go or stay, work or play move into white or fade into grey ,know the blue touch the day, laugh and cry-walk and fly I won’t smother you if you don’t break me with condesending eyes--- all I need is some one to believe --Life is a music video --Excuse Me-Just another crazy dream I found in a box of corn flakes   

 Judge me not; acceptance is hard to find in a world with so many fucking lines and social structures ,ideas ,concepts ,Cold boxes -to hide the God inside of You & Me

Just don’t kill yourself please don’t give your spirit to the beast with the big teeth, for that my dear Miss Jones would be a waste, the rest of the show is a matter of taste --

  The order of the day is disorder ,"Go fuck yourself "said the post man

  A Thought  written on a napkin--------

You need a lot of attention -were you always this way?

Will you always be this way ? Are the army of Doctors trying to fix you?

May be your just that way and it,s Ok.!!!!  To be that way

To give attention provides purpose for the giver to give there must be a receiver with  no receiver there is no giver -with purpose ,,and a world with no giving purpose would be a very dark one in deed  --- For when you receive you give well in the giving you receive --The Balance is not up to you or me-----So listen to a God Dam  Beatles song and LET IT BE---------

 I some times put my words in my winter place for it is a season I seem to trust. A time of hiding ,resting ,waiting for renewal -regenerate- Summer is fun but winter is the reason why summer feels so Dam good----

Another napkin note---

What did you feel when the steel bit your skiin, was there love in the rush of blood is the ritual as holey as it used to be-----Is the vacation from your self worth the price you pay for the trip---- What hungar is it that you will never confess as you rush off to the lake in your pretty little dress knap snack packed ,shadows stacked , while the man who drives the rocket that fell between your feet , is a little bit puzzled and partly asleep---he wakes to  an inner scream of  Lady Macbeth" I'am NOT A BAD WOMAN I"AM JUST A LITTLE BIT TROUBLED " ya me too he confides ,as the door shuts and rocket slides into another moment-----  

Notes in a peanut butter jar of things I would never say –to you the butter fly girl with the child like spirit that loves like Jesus, but bites like steel through indecision and unclear deals ----which confuse a mans heart –so he just leaves—why would he stay-crazy man---

Fuck that shit when a heart is played like a yo yo sooner or a later the string breaks so do you have a box full of  broken strings ,and no real male friends to call your own and wonder why? 

SO you run into cocaine excitement ---

Your to god dam honest to be a drug addict so don’t do it they will kill you ,they will find your body next to a dumpster of broken needles and rusted pop cans then all your mothers money love ,influence, sandwiches and flowers won’t be able to save you ..

And you’re much too sweet to be sold as meat –I just don’t fucking under stand why you won’t let a good man Love you –makes me want to cry----

they say your like a child but flirt with every man you see "i think your just friendly and kind with  a odd sense of  fun, haunted by a fear of hurting those who love you while dragging a bag of disapointment's- so you decide to move to fast- are you afraid of your mind,,thoughts can,t kill you,,but acting on them can ---The sigh on the wall said"you don,t have to believe every thing you think"

I don,t fucking under stand why you won,t let a good man love you-Makes me want to cry- makes me want to run--and never take a chance on love-i just don,t under stand---most men are afraid of the attention you need ,so they just fuck you and run away - you let them-do want it that way it does not seem to make you happy ----

Got to go NOW my string Broke----

From the fortune cookie collection 

A  wise mans wish for you ,& me , and every body we see  -trust your voice with in---

I’ll tuck you in and rub your back, I will sit in the passenger seat and watch you drive with no direction in mind, I’ll listen to your song, We can jump in a different lake every day I’ll write you a poem if that’s what you need, we can have lunch in Rome and dinner in Greece we can give food to the Hungary and light to the staving spirit, you can go or stay, work or play move into white or fade into grey ,know the blue touch the day, laugh and cry-walk and fly I won’t smother you if you don’t break me with condesending eyes--- all I need is some one to believe --Life is a music video --Excuse Me-Just another crazy dream I found in a box of cracker jacks 

 Judge me not; acceptance is hard to find in a world with so many fucking lines and social structures ,ideas ,concepts ,Cold boxes -to hide the God inside of You & Me

rattle snake shadows crawl across the blankets where I lie music I used to love sounds like noise ,rain falls inside and the sun dressed in grey- speaks with a different voice , fuck your  rich bitch mother with the protective needy eyes—dam your appointment riddled life-you search for a bubble to hide in , but you conceal a plan ,under your breast and between your legs  to break out, for you are the child who cry s for attention and shelter ,then rebels at the thought of restriction and rules , you love the night but hate the hole it puts in your heart ----who am I to say or know any thing I got no degree –I am just a little man who crawled out of a jail cell with a hand full of pills and a spark of light ------I saw heaven in the dance of tears Is it inside the pain where the answer lives not away or under or over it, and only when I  dance slow  and know the music  can I let it go so a new song can take it’s place---It,s never  just black and white for every moment has a billion shades & possibilities---  ---"Dam it ,He said--I AM A SONG WRITER   

Sometimes people can leave you and still be there riding in the car sitting in a chair caught between things said and things seen I felt some sincerity and heart in her words once ,now it seems empty ,scripted and far away ..I am just not sure who moved  --guess she,s just another verse in the life of song and bones

Yes I did it nobody twisted my arm --I fell in love with a larger women with bad skin ,bubble gum lip stick and hola hoop ear rings ,with a child like personality that needs more attention then most people can give , she has a rap sheet of behaviors that scare the jesus out of doctors and sinners ,she has a book full of lables she keeps in her purse for every action good or worse . she sings songs to her brother and gives secrets to her mother  The boys in my gang think I am crazy with bad taste and twisted guts ,,,May be they are right ...Or Maybe they can,t see what i see, for they love there drug store queens with perfect tits ,tanned skin and scuptored hips---For i do see past this world ,,And I see the kindest spirt i have ever known .In her eyes i see the best song i ever wrote .I know what boat she came in on i was there...She,s the dream and the nightmare the blessing and the curse a reflection of my best a reminder of my worse --every second has a season-all things come so they can go ,leaves into dust water into snow --What brings us together pulls us apart ,,,what moves her mother breaks my heart..Words sometimes get stuck in my throat ,then she leaves but doesn,t move as i fall into another wound of fear and borrowd tears. I sometimes long to throw her my box of secrets ,for my soul knows her spirt does not judge but the shadows of this world do , I am afraid she will tell her mother sing it to her brother ,or put in on a list and save in a file and send it to the goverment with the lady with the funny smile . I love her honset heart and devotion for home, but sometimes God gets lost in blood and other people visions of you---no matter how true --What pulls us together pushes us a part - in this little movie of light and dark --But whats saddins my spirt is part of me know,s when I fear not and let her be who she suppose to be(the child of NOW}for when shes listens to HER voice we have no choice but to flow in the water that not many see or feel the river of light the one that heals not just us but every thing we touch   ---Not much has happened since because we are afraid------for what moves the mystic looks crazy---two sparks are better then one ---but they seldom hook up  cause they burn each other out with fear and doubt--

Sex can pull you close or push you a part ,you use it like a sword to stab your own heart ---I don,t get IT,, Why won,t you let a good man love you "makes me wanna cry