this isn't your shelter...

Finders keeping lost things Others looking for a memory Alone on lonesome highways out of town. Losing what you've seen While humming softly to a melody To spite the silence bringing people down. Come see the color on the fingers From a painting ive let go. A time where we had chins up day to day. Pulled at every ocean at a moment so it was That conversation brewed a cup for us To quickly pour away. I've seen the pages dry of print In bindings we thought permanent While writers let us take the time to bleed. Through trouble thatched with ego still Against the might of iron will, I'm bending to the coastline at my feet. JN

"Have you told the kids about what I have seen? Have you told the kids about what I have seen? Of how life if lived through painter's eyes Is color dream to dream. Have you told the kids about what I have seen? Have you told the boys outside about the sun? Have you told the boys outside about the sun? That the blood under my fingernails is from my killings done. Have you told the boys outside about the sun? Did you tell your daddy how I let you down? Did you tell your daddy how I let you down? How we flew into the sky and then I let you hit the ground. Did you tell your daddy how I let you down? You recall the words you said that haunt me still? You recall the words you said that haunt me still? You said 'This feels like forever..." Now at night it always will... You recall the words you said that haunt me still? Did you know those bullets only shot to kill? Did you know those bullets only shot to kill? Years against your hands, the trigger pulled And here I'm bleeding still. Did you know those bullets only shot to kill? I'm alive for time, but soon I'll feel the chill. Do you know these hands, now broken, wish to heal. " JN

JN

Little spirit under foot, In sole, rut-stuck, Out of control and Dragged from where I leave and go, Keeps calling, calling, "home now, love." Taping ashes raining past Stuck red lipped fringe On bourbon glass Stains deeply, deeply, Heart heavy hunger For the past. Frankly, I think I'm still dying. JN

again?

...creepy

Mini-Victorian Baller

David Cottingham's 1956 Ferrari 500 TRC Testa Rossa No.40 Nikon D90 - 2011 Silverstone Classic - Photo: Dave Rook

French style in LA