remember how I used to have really long hair? With a ponytail down past my shoulders?

Yeah, that was kinda fun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
New piece.

Collusion

I know a lot of people around here
and if I thought they’d believe me
I would tell them the black story of how

you did so little to save me
how you pushed and shoved past me
to get your ass out the door to where

he was waiting to take advantage of the time
and the circumstances to make
sympathy his bitch and where

she stood next to him with her finger
in the corner of her mouth and pretended
to care what was happening right in front of her as

we tangled our way past the cameras
I know are there people out there who would notice
the way we fell down the steps cradling each other as we fought but not

you, oh no, all of you who
stood there watching with your whistles and graveyards
and stared at the impossible blue of the sky while

they let us nearly bleed to death in front of the whole
stinking town and now the newspapers might as well write it up
as an example of how low everyone’s fallen when no one steps in

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And for Cowboy and the rest of the gang:

Cleansing The Undermeats

Uncle Justin
was in trouble: his sister had asked him
to watch the kids and make sure they got lunch but
his famous spinach and artichoke dip
ran out early so he called for back up from
the guy he liked to call “the
corner store.”

As soon as the “groceries” appeared
he delivered a mighty “harrumph” and departed
to his room to relive his favorite daydream
for the thousandth time this week: imagine
being forced to cleanse the undermeats
in a public shower in front of
the Grateful Dead and their legions!

“Harrumph!”

Enough mushrooms
can make even the soapiest junk
beautiful, he thought. He was certain
that Jerry would be proud of him
if he weren’t already dead,
and for real this time.

Even after his sister got home
and found the kids painted with spinach
and chowing Fruit Loops dry while “Europe ’72”
blared in the basement and the endless tour
trucked merrily through the house, Justin
kept the faith: Nothing to do but smile, smile,
smile!

And so, kids, the moral of the story
of Uncle Justin, his fabulous
(and spotless) undermeats, and
the adventure
of the spinach and mushroom afternoon, is this:

the Grateful Dead suck.

— trust me, you just had to be there