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If it's not loud it doesn't matter
If I can hear 
                    then I'm alive
Sweating skin
Clothes damp
Swagger in the hips
Drink to your lips
Alive and living
Dreaming  
                Spinning
Late tonight
just darkness 
         and ringing

Hitting Floor

Clotted up blood

of a bruise

stains my knee

like a birthmark.

It is still tender

to the touch

after having 

hit the floor

harder than it 

should have to.

It is not glorious

to gaze upon,

but it makes

for a great story

to tell over a few

drinks as we 

laugh about

everything

and nothing.

Young Neil

The Old Man plays guitar
in the same way he always has.

His hands have grown stronger.
Fingers wrap around the fretboard

as comfortably as lovers lips
kissing in the dark.

He is older, frailer.
The sound he divines

is the soul of immortality,
the sound of life lived

adventurously.