she’s a pistol at noon but at two she’s a calm blooded mare when she combs through her hair the mirror reflects a moon waxing crescent edging out that young slivered stare in keeping with father she is quiet when she’s drunk but she’s never too drunk til there none left to drink and it makes a boy think that the moon should run red cause no matter the hour she is constantly crowding his head she’s got a pile of salt on the ground come through the door the table is set come through the door and get what you’ll get she’s got a scale that weighs by the pound boy when you leave you’ll walk out a man it’s better to know than to wander the land the long empty days indicate that the summer has come as a rule of thumb the idle come out humid with passion forever strangers to doubt the kid had been warned not to mix with the dangerous kind they’ll rot out your mind and always persist but he smiled inside cause for danger was all that he wished she’s got a pile of salt on the ground come through the door the table is set come through the door and get what you’ll get she’s got a scale that weighs by the pound boy when you leave you’ll walk out a man it’s better to know than to wander the land in a closed room again tradition is writ like a tattoo on god in an unfinished font like the brand of a blind man she’s a pistol at noon but a four she is pushed through the door though the elder want more the young ones are gripped by the wonderous ache by the pang of a white knuckled fist she’s got a pile of salt on the ground come through the door the table is set come through the door and get what you’ll get she’s got a scale that weighs by the pound boy when you leave you’ll walk out a man it’s better to know than to wander the land © 2015 Tom Van Stockum

I’VE BEEN WALKIN’ TOWARDS SOMEBODY AND YOU’VE BEEN WALKIN’ TOWARDS SOMEONE NOW AN INTERSECTION JOINS US AND ALL OUR WALKIN’ DAYS ARE DONE SO GOOD DAY AND HOORAY I’MMA LET MY WORRIES WASH AWAY AND I’MMA SIT DOWN ON THIS ROAD ‘TIL THE OHIO DON’T FLOW LIFE IS RIDDLED WITH CONFUSION AND LOVE IS OFTEN HARD TO KNOW NOW MY RIDDLE’S FOUND SOLUTION AND I’VE NO REASON LEFT TO ROAM SO GOOD DAY AND HOORAY I’MMA LET MY WORRIES WASH AWAY AND I’MMA SIT DOWN ON THIS ROAD ‘TIL THE OHIO DON’T FLOW (BREAK) PEOPLE, THEY OFTEN WANDER AIMLESS AND SOMETIMES EVEN ROLL LIKE CLOUDS WHEN LOVE’S RIVER FLOWS RIGHT THROUGH THEM WELL PEOPLE THEY OFTEN SIT RIGHT DOWN SO GOOD DAY AND HOORAY I’MMA LET MY WORRIES WASH AWAY AND I’MMA SIT DOWN ON THIS ROAD ‘TIL THE OHIO DON’T FLOW © 2015 Tom Van Stockum

fly me down the river float me through the clouds if jesus don’t deliver i’ll be comin’ right back down for all that i done in my life i know that it sounds sometimes like i don’t think much of thrills but believe me i still have a good time when june was just an infant and i was just a kid for all that i was missing i didn’t notice it opportunity may call but sitting on my porch is all that i want in my life and i don’t mind the nights when i’m lonely they call me a sitting stone they call me a sitting stone and the moss it grows on these granite bones they call me a sitting stone carmelize and thicken the sugar in my stream let the ivy keep on growin up my legs and past my knees just a pound of dirt in the end to keep in character i’ll defend that i don’t think much of thrills but believe me i still have a good time such a good time they call me a sitting stone they call me a sitting stone and the moss it grows on these granite bones they call me a sitting stone there’s a rumblin’ comin from the hills again it’s the plain that shreds the air through its churning lungs though the cockpits unmaned the cabin takes concensus we don’t need no landing strip that ain’t how miracles are done we don’t need no landing strip that ain’t how miracles are done though it’s hard to see above the canopy just a bats are blind i’ll stay free the thinner air ain’t what my body needs i like the warmth of humidity i’m easy to find i’ll be easy to leave just as i’ll forget you you’ll forget me so good luck on the kill but believe me i still have a good time such a good time mighty fine good time they call me a sitting stone they call me a sitting stone and the moss it grows on these granite bones they call me a sitting stone © 2015 tom van stockum

JUST A FOOT OF PAVEMENT STUCK BETWEEN TWO TOWNS EVERYBODY MAKES A FUSS ABOUT THE THINGS HE DOES BUT NOBODY CARES ENOUGH TO TURN HIM ROUND ALWAYS BITTER TOWARDS HIS COLLEAGUES OFTEN JEALOUS OF THE LIFE HE CAN’T APPROACH THERE’S A SADNESS IN HIS EYES THAT ALWAYS GETS DISGUISED BY THE VITRIOL THAT’S ISSUED FROM HIS THROAT WITH NO ANGELS IN THE HEAVENS WITH NO HELP ALONG THE WAY JUST A CITY LIMIT POTHOLE WAY PAST HOPING HE’LL BE PAVED ONE DAY WITH NO SHOULDER TO CRY ON HE DECIDED THAT HE’D SHED NO MORE TEARS BUT ITS CLEAR THAT DECISION WAS DECIDED BY A SERIES OF BEERS LIKE AN OLD BEATEN COASTLINE HIS DEFINITION IS PULLED AT BY THE MOON THOUGH THE BOTTLE CAN SLOW TIME IT LEAVES NO TIME FOR MAKING A MOVE WITH NO REASON TO STAY SOBER AND A HOLE TO HIDE AWAY JUST A CITY LIMIT POTHOLE NOT TO KEEN ON GETTING PAVED ANYWAY (BREAK) AT THE BOTTOM OF THE WELL WHERE THE WATER TABLE LIES WHEN THE PRESSURE STARTS TO SWELL THAT’S WHEN THE CRACKS BUILD UP INSIDE AND WHEN HE HOBBLES DOWN THE LANE HE DRAGS HIS BOOTS OF STEEL HE ECHOES OUT A NAME THAT DESCRIBES THE WAY HE FEELS LIKE A CITY LIMIT POTHOLE JUST A CHILD IN THE BODY OF A MAN CAUSE HIS SPIRIT DIDN’T AGE IT LEFT A RUSTY CAGE THAT CAN’T BE OPENED WITHOUT SLICIN’ UP HIS HAND SO NO MORE DRINKING FROM THE COLD SPRING AND NO SUGAR CAUSE IT ALL JUST TASTES LIKE SALT WHEN THE SPRINGTIME BRINGS THE FAIR BE ANYWHERE BUT THERE JUST KEEP WAITING FOR THE WINTER AND THE FALL WITH NO PLAN TO JOIN THE PARTY AND A MILLION REASONS WHY JUST A CITY LIMIT POTHOLE NO JURISDICTION TIL THE DAY HE DIES © 2015 Tom Van Stockum