the mask collection - By Keith Harden

7/28/2019 the mask collection - By Keith Harden

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keith harden

the mask collection

the mask collection...1 Keith Harden 1


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the mask collection c2013 bykeith harden table of contents 1....cover2....table of contents3....introduction4....mask collection5....squawk6....and that's ok... alissa7....the bond market8....route 489....coma10...crave #211...cowboy mouth [rhyme]12...turning #113...turning #514...big moon, shine a little light

15...dark haired girl16...i begin to rain17...SPAIN18...bottom of a hole19...kerouac20...in the middle of the stream21...broken promise land22...live and die by the gun23...bones, feathers & blood24...post ambition blues poem25...no going back27...goodbye to bliss28...too little, too late29...old boy30...end times is 'a' comin'31...failure is an option [essay]35...dinner's over36...hidin' in the hills37...about the author



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introduction the mask collection is a mixed bag. Included are 'regular' poems, 'beat-

influenced' rambles, song lyrics, quotes, one-liners, an essay and a short memoir.

With a couple of exceptions I selected pieces that would fit onto one page. [thatexcludes the essay].

Before the days of computers and word processors I threw everything I had

written in boxes. I moved many times from apartment to apartment, from house

to house and this accumulation of handwritten papers and notebooks went on

for three or four decades.. When I moved from Illinois to New York State I didn't

even open these boxes. They slept peacefully in the attic. When I moved to

Nashville I again left those boxes up in the attic for another five years and only

recently have raided them for some of the items included in this collection. One of the strange things about digging into these boxes was finding some

poems that I barely remember writing. Who was that guy? It made me think

about this idea I heard recently. They say that every seven years your body

replaces all of it's cells and if that's the case then all of one's brain cells would be

different than they were seven years before. This makes the idea of memory/

memories an interesting and mysterious subject.I liked the way some of the poems looked on their original "paper", whether

that be from a piece of scrap paper, the back of an envelope, an old leather bag, a

legal pad or magic marker on a rusty piece of tin from the garage. Some of what

you see here are the originals and some are re-creations. Something about the

physicality of these scraps feels good to me. Kinda like the difference between

virtual dollars in cyberspace and holding cool cash in your hands... Like the old country-blues song says... they are ragged but right.



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mask collectionI used to have a mask collection...can't seem to find 'em nowadaysdon't really need those masks now cause my specialty is anonymous cameosthat's a couple notches easier than character actingnobody else's lines to learnI keep those old masks in a boxwith the old hatsin the closet I still try 'em on once in a while.They are headgear that seemed cool at the time when I was buyin' 'em.A hat is like a totem,a mask for the top of your head.blackface liteI've noticed I only ever wear

one or two of those hats anymore.Just like guitar you can only play one hat or mask at a timeanywayunless you're Rick Nielsen [the guy in Cheap Trick].background check...A long time ago I saw him play in a band namedFusethat was back when Ted Nugent played in the Amboy DukesNow Rick always wears that little ballcapand flicks his picks while playingreal-good guitarand Ted wears camouflage and shoots lots of thingsand brags about it.Ted's a cat-scratch-crazy-personwith constitutional rights.On Walls And Bridges John Lennon is wearing four pairs of glassesat the same time. Glasses are kinda like eye-masks.John was shot dead by a crazy-person.Now I only wear one hat,

one pair of eyeglassesat a time,that's the extent of my survival strategy.



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squawksadly before i knew any betteri shot a robin in the back yard behind my dad's housedad acted like it didn't matter if i came to visit or noti know it didi used his pellet gun that he kept for scarin' off stray catsan air-gun you pump by handyou only get one shothe said "it's illegal to shoot robins"like he gave a shitredbreast dead on the ground

a cardinal gave me a disapproving tweetsparrows got the hell outa therebluejay squawked "i don't care, just don't shoot me"squawkdamn squirreljust sitting there on the fencedouble-dared memy great great grandma on my mom's sidewas part injunher name was Quintera with a 'q'why does "squirrel" havea 'q' in it?why does 'squawk' havea 'squaw' in it?



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and that's ok... alissawe took teawith honey and milkwe had a 'serious' talk

casual attireas was the normlust disguised aslove light conversationyou got your period.whew!infatuation loses lusterso quicklywhat is the lunch special today?love is insecurity... love is neediness, not light, not casual.

and that's OK... Alissa. the mask collection...6 Keith Harden 1


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the bond marketIt wasn't herand it wasn't me, it was an errant algorithm beast with two backsETFs, CDOs, IRAs, LOLsengagement ring energy drinkputs love's portfolio in the black...legally sanctioned/obliged romanceneed to propagate All this going forth and multiplying, all this compound interest cis-boom-bah, all this fuss about a rally over overt genitalia a pumped presentation graphbull market bullengendered species masqueradecolor chart propagationdisplaying beautiful plumagemade to look bigger impress the clientpredatorchicken broth & generic saltinesunderperforming returns in the sacred bond marketlove/hate annuitymatures at death



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route 48"Did you see what I just saw?" I dreaded the answer"Amy?....... Am I going to hit it?"split-second pre-collision moment of silence sign says... NY Rte 48 - Ithaca - 28 miles - watch for deer - next 18 miles...fog lights are so-so, bright beams are overkill, a white-deer leaps head on into a Continentalblanco furro - roso bloodo "Wow... that was close... we gotta stop and see if anybody's hurt"doe death crash impala's cousin impaled on the crucifix hood ornamenton a beat-black Lincoln religion on wheelsluxurious pimp-mobile spirit-dressed in full regalia w/ Santeria statues dashboard bobble-heads still bouncingfrom seconds ago impactbroken lava lamp? in the back windowdriver's door finger-painted with radioactive red-corpuscle latex

secret codes in plain sight emblazoned in a semi-circle, curved around the wheel well fender-skirtfrom ecclesiastes; "a time for war, a time for peace" from the ten commandments "thou shalt not kill"no apparent contradiction bumper stickers say "napalm is the answer" - "nuke 'em back to the stone age" -"abortion is murder"doesn't the bizarro bible say "Abraham, kill your son"and you say buddhist's is weird?

name; unknown - cause of death; vehicular homicideidentifying marks on body; tattoo on victim's chest that says "JEAN" inside a red heart pierced by an arrow emblem on victim's leather vest; "hoggs rule"



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comafallen below the visible spectrumfloating brain

boneless mushy marrowbelow the riverbelow worrybelow melodybelow human kindnessbelow demon/angel below democracy

one ray of sunshineone rhythm of hope71 beats per minutecoma



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crave #2I said, "Come on, kiss me right now, love me, babybefore we even go to the dada gagamuck artist colony... right here, right now on the floor...". she won't want to when we get home later we'll see too many monochromesof cold stare subjective sufferingman-u-factured art-shockgratuitous highbrow gore for sale barely dry brush-stoked/bitch-slapped beauty we'll see too many canvas tattoos with the eternal smell of an oil-paint spillenvironmental disasters on display tend to dampen the mood I'll sleep on the floor and dreamof politically correct nippleson 16th century nymphettesfrolicking with nude olympians sporting pristine renaissance marble uncircumcised soft-onsI'll try again tomorrow before the obfuscating operaof our life together resumes at ground zerodark thirty



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cowboy mouth [rhyme]tell ya 'bout a woman from way down southshe got the moon in her mind she got a cowboy mouthshe's ready to ride she got a rodeo heartshe got crazy eyes like picasso's artshe got the sharpest tongue & her words they stingshe got an entourage she got a followingshe cries crocodile tears she pretends to poutthen she strikes again with that cowboy mouthit always seems so out of placesuch ugly words from such a pretty faceshe's a naughty little hottie from way down southshe got a lunar mind she got a cowboy mouth so put on your spanish boots my friendand get back up into the saddle againshe makes you wanna ride all day out in the rain it's a good kind of pain yeah I'm talkin' about that cowboy mouth



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turning #1turning, the light from Alissa's eyes plays tricks...it sends stray shards ricocheting like bright bullets into the glass of a picture framethen the light flies across the room and crashes into the plexi-glassnot breaking free it glances back into the mirror-paneand has a bright ideaplease hold the lamp steady, Alissalet me bask in this light for a whilein good time i'll shine like a new ideai'll bring some sun to the tablei'll light a candle andthink things throughi'll let you knowin a clear, cohesive fashion just what i thinkit would be hard to tell you 'how' i thinkit's all in me headthe phrase "hold that thought" sounds funny, doesn't it?i wish i could use my handsto hold a thought, fleetingbut all i can do is use my hands to write 'em down



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turning #5turning, her light peeks through lenscraftersstabs like bright knives cutting into my pupils,vibrating, rumbling rods & conesthen all the way back, behind the eyeball

daggering into the recesses, into the grey brain matterinto the deepest part, the hidden heart-mind, the most nakedly craven part of the thought processing organwe are immaculately dressed for dinnerso dignified like silver spoon-fed british royals using the correct forksto eat dead animal flesh

elegantly served on fine chinai smile at her baring my teethlike neanderthal man lust crawls under the table like a kimono dragon

cold, slithering snake mind legless, armless, but not bloodlessdinosaur distant cousinfrom 60 million years ago hunger and desirewant what they want no matter what the cost... we're not very good, are we?



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big moon, shine a little light last glimpse of heavenon the green riversidestars fall into darknesstearducts try to drybig moon, won't you shine tonightbig moon, won't you shine a little lightgreyhound hard stationstatues stand still last words long echoessweet-bitter pillbig moon, won't you shine tonightbig moon, won't you shine a little lightshe said "it's rain that drowns us" i said "what we is need rain"she said "it's now or never"i said "it's always been"big moon, won't you shine tonightbig moon, won't you shine a little lightblue-green death valleybelow the crying skylast flame burns brightestblood runs cold goodbyebig moon, won't you shine tonightbig moon, won't you shine a little light



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dark haired girllit by the moon - her hair was ravenwith a spirit deep - darker than night out in the sun - blue-black reflectionquicksilver woman - shes gone againi cried for my babyfor my dark haired girllaid down on the green grassfelt like the endin a pool of sorrowill drown againlong and tall - steep like a mountainand the flowers danced - on her summer dresswhite as china - smooth as silk quicksilver woman - shes gone againi cried for my babyfor my dark haired girllaid down on the green grassfelt like the endin a pool of sorrowill drown againinside her mind - a fog of memoriesof her fathers fall - of her mothers flight she speaks in rhymes - she has her reasonsquicksilver woman - shes gone again



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i begin to rain



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SPAIN



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bottom of a hole



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kerouacKerouac finds the license to adventure out of Ozone ParkCassady "mad genius of jails" drives like a bat into hellGinsberg's got a wolf in a cage in the shape of the word 'rage'goin' to Denver to get that 'mile high' high'49 dreamboat Hudson gets a flat and the road has to waita pack of Roncos empties too soon while the days of wrath & karma are yet to comeBuddha's in the clouds & Jesus is on the crossDharma bums hop freight trains & ride skyward into heaventerrible thin-lipped intelligence Burroughs broke the trinitythousands of pounds of sensemilla wait in your lungs just to kill yaever since Jack helped Lucien hide the knifeguilt's been a blackball that lingers for lifeJack jumped ship in Norfolk now Paris has to waitpurifying the soul & the manuscript via candles while the days of wrath & karma are yet to comeBuddha looks down from a cloud & serenely smiles at Christ Jesus on the crossDharma bums hop freight trains & ride skyward into heavenDr. Sax Wild Bird drops benny-fueled bop religion from high on the horse's backnext bohemian generation semi-deliberate disintegrationin New York City flophouse cold-water flats where blues become realon 115th Street where hepcat hipsters walk the beatlightning cracks/thunder rolls & raindogs bark all nightfeline pawprints show the world in only black and whitewhile the days of wrath & karma are yet to comeBuddha's attains Nirvana while Jesus waits to die & rise againDharma bums hop freight trains & ride skyward into heaven



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in the middle of the stream when her horse went down on her way to chinatown one thing survived a love letter from carolina she couldnt see freedom is mostly in your mind one blackbird song now shes forever gone one distant drum this day must come not even a real hard rain - can wash it all away not even the noonday sun - will bring enough lightto help me see the reason - why she switched horses in the middle of the streamover and done she will never bear me a sonill never know why she chose to close her eyes truth be told not everyone lives to be old one blackbird song now shes forever gone a distant drum told me this day would come not even a real hard rain - can wash it all away not even the noonday sun - will bring enough lightto help me see the reason - why she switched horses in the middle of the stream



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broken promise land comes a roarin wind - hear the rattling roofs of tin - blown away again another shotgun shack - all the walls are paper thin - blown away again comes a drivin rain - the rivers overflow again - yeah, they flood again and your boat is gone - swept away like little childrens sin - swept away againand along comes a mission- to lend a helping hand actin like a band of heavens angelshands on the bible- they pray it all away at the end of the day youre left with nothing here come the planes - the sky is falling once again - tearing buildings downthen the tremors start- and they shake the earth apart - tearing up the groundand along comes a mission- to lend a helping hand actin like a band of heavens angelshands on the bible- they pray it all away at the end of the day youre left with nothing and the promised land - is never really given but its still alive- inside your dreamsand the faithfull still believe - they are forgiven but nothings really what it seemsin broken promise land....



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live and die by the gun all my heroes were partly outlaw& they were partly holy menthey were armed anddangerously readyto stop the vigilante mantheyd defend you if you joined thembut dangers part of the gamethey knew that each daycould be the last daysomewhere a bullet had their nameanother sister without a brotherone more mother without a sonanother woman without a good manone stray bullet and youre donelive and die by the gunwhats an outlaw without a frontierto put their spirits to the test?there were reasons thento be readybut things have changed east and westno more showdowns no mexican standoffsno poker games for a stetson hatbut there are peoplecaught in the crossfirethey lose their lives in nothin flatanother sister without a brotherone more mother without a sonanother woman without a good manone stray bullet and youre donelive and die by the gun



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bones, feathers & blood packed my leavin' trunk - made copies of my willseven hundred miles - with a guitar named Billpainted over the paint - fed all of my Jonesesdeath letter in hand - tears and running nosesbones, feathers & blood - dark clouds up abovelost someone i loved - just the other daybones, feathers & bloodbluebird she is gone - blame it on the weathermissin' that sweet song - & the bright blue feathersa little late for sorry - bought some doghouse rosesdeath letter in hand - tears and running nosesbones, feathers & blood - dark clouds up abovelost someone i loved - just the other daybones, feathers & bloodthe gypsy woman whispers - a secret kind of spellshe's speakin' to the spirits - & i am scared as hellif i could bring you back - well i just might sell my soulthis black magic's got me down - in a deep dark hole let out a rebel yell - & kicked a hornet's nestcouldn't hide the pain - with a camouflage vesta window opens up - while another door closesdeath letter in hand - tears and running nosesbones, feathers & blood - dark clouds up abovelost someone i loved - just the other daybones, feathers & blood



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post ambition blues poem

long after the hot part of the fireafter big bad flames bright yellowafter slowburn dwindled to lukewarmwhen things have cooled way, way downtemperature is not afterburnbut aftercoolliterate fool delusionpost-coolgot the post-ambition blues babe - post-conviction bluespost-postmodern- post-hip- cool on it's way to coldbetween love signals and bird-flipbetween silver and goldsincere apathyhonesty from exhaustionhyperbolic whimper .com dopenot the capital T but small t gimme gimmeso tired like whitealbumjohn-----got the post-ambition blues babe - post-conviction bluesdon't have the energy to care that muchdon't even think about trying to climb the pilelost direction like selfportraitbob-----------apathy to the rescue post ambition cool to the rescue apathy toolnon-straight is as non-straight doestap dance all day tap and touch me babe like doorperceptionjim---------- anointed one drives in circlesdrives you around the blockkeeps you to from half brainedhow fast is half assedself-appointed critic wants it all but won't WANT it.some have it but nobody keepsgot the post ambition blues babe - post ambition



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no going backJackie's on the ceiling.. falling up..soft smoke in the mirror.. clouding up his face..floating like a butterfly.. stinging like Ali.. he can't stop hitting himself.. leaving scars.. seeing stars everywhere.. big-huge roundabout drunk punches..air guitar Townsend giant circle arm swings.. Jimi just stepped off the wall & the flames were flying..quiet as the devil then louder than God.. the loudest Truth ever heardloveisrealislove............................................................... orange peel on a light bulb slowly burning sweet.. oxidental air signals new invention.. strange long-grain blended declension..

putrid incense meets cat box urine smell.. we call it a draw.. zero to nothing..tie game tied to the game.. tried to quit but can't.. unicorn castrata horn horse of a different mother colour Mare comes to you..saddling wisdom to it's back hookin' the present to the past..gallop to a place inside.. where she laid you down easy before she let you down hard ...shielded she'll never tell you why.. you will never ever know the secret..because it's secret..isloverealislove..............................................................weird almost gunshot wound in the stomach.. he takes off his shirt.. seventh strange ab muscle.. a bonus to the six pack..curves his neck to look down into a place of dirt and grunge..to a time when he learned the code, the hidden code.. the Ohio code... the upwardly mobile cream of the Appalachian prison work gang song that contains the code.. the Henry hammer battening down the coffin-vault handles..the bullet is still there.. it will be the causer of cancer.. not fast cancer but snail pace slowe death..long silver pain..realloveisreal................................................................



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no going back continuedwe read in the paper about this drug dealer who got shot in the head..they found him tied to a chair.. could and couldn't believe the sequence of events which led to driving his car.. old rags and T-shirts wiped off all the prints..out into the country out on a Woodsy road.. thought about sweetening the tank but didn't have the sugar..a TRUE friend did the driving and put us as far away as possible..relaxin' came long after.. forgetting is taking lot longer..realityisnotalwaysreal........................................................picture Jack on a stretcher.. he was 5'11" with a medium build but was only 140 pounds at this point.. he asked for mother Mare but she was a four days ride away..across the West middle plains.. this was not a toothache.. not fast cancer.. weeping and weeping.. sleep deprivation blues.. one more son of Jesus on the cross.. nobody died for these sins...one more 60s casualty that took place in the 70s.. you can't insure against this.. ya can't buy no policy.. it's only forward now..no going back...



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goodbye to bliss four wheels are rollinbabys out the doorshe said goodbye to prideshe couldnt trust it anymoreshe cracked the windowand let the world inno more bein aloneshes comin here to take me back homeshe says thats where i belong but what she doesnt knowis ive let myself go... now im too far gone she thought she had found mehere with open armsbut the sun led her blind straight into harmi blew her a kissthrough a crack in the doorno more bein' aloneshes comin here to take me back homeshe says thats where i belong but what she doesnt knowis ive let my heart go... now im too far gone i said its good to move on, instead of standing stillcause mountains take foreverto fade into hillsshe said goodbye to blissshe couldn't trust it anymore



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too little, too late too many miles - down the open roadtoo much dust - the oklahoma wind has blowedtoo many times that - the birds have flown southtoo many lies - from a cowboy mouthtoo little, too late - too little, too latetoo many promises brokenhurtful words were spokeneven if youre sorry its too little, too latetoo many seasons - of louisiana raintoo many spirits - swallowed for the paintoo many innocents - lost for a causetoo many stones - piled up by the crosstoo little, too late - too little, too latetoo many promises brokenhurtful words were spokeneven if youre sorry its too little, too latetoo late to come back - and fall on your kneestoo late to hear you - come and speak your peacetoo late for letters - i don't have the willtoo late to tell you - nothing ended well



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old boy if you let those dogs run hungry they're they're gonna chew you up yeah they're nipping at your heelsthey're gonna chew you upi can hear them howlin' loudit's coming through the airi thought i heard some rustling leavesthey're gonna chew you upfeel a chill it's crawling' up your spinebreathing' hard you're losing timeold boy better walk away put away those caresold boy better quit the race find a rocking chairgood old boy he's got to find hisselfa good old-fashioned girlold boy got to find himselffind a better worldif you let your girl run hungryshe's going to tear you upyou know these blues ain't that funny they're going to beat you upold boy better walk away put away those caresold boy better quit the race find a rocking chairgood old boy he's got to find hisselfa good old-fashioned girl

old boy got to find himselffind a better world



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end times is 'a' comin'three sheets to the wind - bottomed out againall your troubles are - hanging out to dryyour heart is far from safe - it still ain't found its placeand all you feel is old and in the wayand you're going to that city - that's high up on the hillstraight to your demise - to live out one last lieand now the end is coming - you feel the end is comingyou're more than halfway there and there ain't no point in carin'the end times are coming - yes, the end times is comingno not for the world - but for the old and in the waystanding at the brink - with less than half a tankless than half of half - of a centuryain't no angel baby - to rapture you awaysatisfaction's gone - on a too-long holidaypick up your guitar - lay your burden downwrite yourself a big long - "dear John" letterkiss your girls goodbye - don't you let them see you crywhisper one white lie - "things get better"and you're going to that city - that's high up on the hillstraight to your demise - to live out one last lieand now the end is coming - you feel the end is comingyou're more than halfway there and there ain't no point in carin'the end times are coming - yes, the end times is comingno not for the world - but for the old and in the way



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picture #1 artist's sketch of a house broken down failure is an option

The desire for success lubricates secret prostitution in the soul. - Norman Mailer

"If you become popular it's always because of the worst aspects of your work.." - Ernest Hemingway At eighteen our convictions are hills from which we look; at forty-five

they are caves in which we hide. - F. Scott Fitzgerald

There are times when you feel like you've seen it all, heard it all, done most all

of it and there's nothin' new under the sun... You want something but you don't

quite know what it is... You are wont to rise above a plateau that you've been on

for too long but you're unsure how to do that... Though your chops/skills arepassable you haven't had a breakthrough in a while... When you were younger

you made progress steadily... Given the circumstances is it too late to progress?

Are you over the hill? Does it all come down to making clever observations

about the ridiculous things that people do? Ho hum..



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You sometimes think it may be easier in the big leagues but then again the

stakes are higher... Amelia Erhardt disappeared in her plane and Buddy Holly died when his

crashed... Bessie Smith died from wounds suffered in a car crash and Clarence

White stepped into the road and was hit by one... Jimi, Janis & Jim died from too

much booze, etc... Stevie Ray Vaughan died in Eric Clapton's helicopter, at the

top of his game Robert Johnson was poisoned by a jealous husband and

Hemingway shot himself... Brautigan shot himself... Van Gogh cut his ear off

then shot himself... Charles Baudelaire hung himself... David Foster Wallace

hung himself... Elvis overmedicated, Charlie Parker O.D.'d, John Lennon was

shot by a "fan", Abe Lincoln by a foe, Jesus was crucified, Ghandi, JFK, Bobby

Kennedy, Martin Luther King, Jr., Malcolm X all taken out by assassins' bullets...The list of big league/famous/successful people dying before 'their time' is

HUGE... Tweedle lee dee.Currently there's no manifesto burning up your chest or great American novel

forcing itself on you, those are tubular quests for the young... But you've got your

two-cent wisdom, your five-dollar ideas and a full ten-gallon heart... You've got a

lot of life [and a few more pounds] under you belt... You have strong opinions

and various other forms of acquired crankiness... There's no doubt that you've suffered from a form of post-ambition blues for

the last few years but what you want now is more time... You hope and pray

you'll get another couple of decades to write what you have to write it all down...

If you could write a nice little book of short stories or a couple of novellas

wouldn't that be sweet? You could have quite a time banging out a memoir or

tossing off a few essays to keep things more interesting in the autumn of your

life. You still entertain a few aspirations that are probably pipe dreams but whatthe heck... what the hell else you gonna do?.. tweedle lee dum.

It's always nice to have options... and failure is always one of them... don't

they say you learn the most from your failures? Can you fail better?



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You know what failure looks like... You've seen a lot of it... You failed to go to

college, you've failed your eye test at the DMV, you've had failed friendships,

failed relationships with women, your marriage failed, you've failed to buy the

correct size of shoes or win a gold medal in the olympics... You've felt like a

failure at times before you've gone on to later success and in that instance failurewas a motivator.

A lot of successful people tell stories of being rejected in the early part of their

careers... They say things like the journey is it's own reward and you must first

fail before you can succeed... We've tasted several different cans of that chicken

soup for the soul... We've heard the catch-phrases like "been down so long there's

only one way to go and that's up" and "it's always darkest just before the dawn"

and "if you really believe in yourself then nothing is impossible"... You hear thatlast one all the time on Oprah... I don't know about you but these platitudes are a

little too fluffy to be real... It's OK to have a few pep-talks ready for emergencies

but usually the pep-ees leave the pep-ers with false hopes... Not every dream will

come true... Sometimes you fall and can't get up... Sometimes you can't win no

matter how hard you try... Sometimes you flat out fail... If failure is an option

then at least you can move on.. [or maybe even try again]... Like taking some castor oil or a bitter vitamin pill it's good for you so say it

again... failure is an option.Failure can present you with the need to change... When crisis follows failure

there is an opportunity for change... you can divest your loss and convert your

energies into something new and better or at least different... Some people go

through a transfiguration and make certain key discoveries during the process

that they wouldn't have made if the were sitting pretty on top of a success... they

find their true purpose.



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picture #2 artist's painting of a house broken downOne failure may be an opportunity to make something beautiful or unique, to

turn a sketch of a broken down house into an impressionist painting or to turn

your broken heart into a blues song or to take your failure, your broken life and

turn it around. So get that jake-leg shakin'... get out of your body bag... dust off

your gumption and shoot the moon at sixty, flash the soul at seventy, try to make

eighty then ninety... * * *



35/37

dinner's overI found the b & w photoI'll never ever talk or hug or laugh & cry or eat with them ever again

A bolt of pain shoots through electrochemical wiring and reaches the top of the inside of my head this bolt careens off the cliffinto a rum-soaked pool of consciousness and the airbags release with a 'whooosh' and as the left brain collides with the right brain knocks the medulla oblongata into 'ache'

and in this state your squishy gray braincreates an imaginary foot which kicks a buncha neurons in the teeth and that begins a brainiac bar brawland the snooze-gazette reporters wearing horn-rims employed by the Memory National Bankre-write their copy

and hand it in and wait for the angry letters to the editor and all this happens in less than a second in your brain-mind havoc reeked at the speed of electronssame speed as light and that's pretty darn fast, babe...dinner's over



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And the secrets they lay buriedSo shallow in the groundTheyre surely bound to rise upThey will not be kept downBlood signed and sealedAnother shady dealAnd the devils still out thereHidin in the hills K.H. in Urbana, Illinois

Winter of 1971



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about the author... Keith Harden is a lifelong scribbler,note-taker, collector of stories, lyricist, songwriter,musician, singer, graduate of the folk-blues-rock & roll-school of hard knocks playing every kind of gig

imaginable for more than 40 years. He has recordedand released more than ten albums of music from folkto blues to americana and alternative rock. He wasborn in the tiny town of Tolono, Illinois and lived inCalifornia (when his dad was in the army stationed inSanta Barbara) he then lived in Ohio for part of histeenage years, and back to Illinois for a lot of yearsthen several years in upstate New York.

Keith currently lives in East Nashville, Tennessee.for a complete bio, photos, music, etc go to;

www.keithharden.com [email protected]

c2013 by Keith Harden K.H. in Geneva, New York

Fall of 2001

the mask collection - By Keith Harden

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