I'm sitting here, and it's after ten
Can't figure out what to say
I've played those tapes now once again
You can pick my music any day
i've swept up shit and driven nails
And dug holes in the ground
I'll draw some more if all that fails
Too bad you're not around
I could use a laugh or just a smile
it would help me pass the time
but it is good to sit for a while
and write these words that rhyme
with magic fingers, with brain on fire
you can't tell what he'll use
with cans of paint and bits of wire
he'll tango with the muse
he fluffs, the twists, he pirouettes
with things we've thrown away
he smiles. he glides, he takes all bets
that what he's used, you threw away
composition, texture, style
it's all the same to him
watch his magic for just a while
and take the trip out on his limb
he's daring, artful, droll and wild
he's all these things and more
he's heaven's willful artist/child
magician genius to the core
i saw some things hung in his place
some people think it's art
but where they are is face to face
with the inner lining of his heart
they call it work, he calls it play
the term doesn't mean that much
it doesn't matter what you say
only that you have the touch
standback, enthralled and contemplate
and maybe you'll acquire
a piece of history, trash of late
that satisfied your soul's desire
by larry Randolph
Jaroso, colorado
summer of 1995