Caveside tones
CAVESIDE TONES. LIV. LIV JOTS. MERCH. CONTACT. She ROUGE for the strum of sound
in the soul cave
mud to knees, hand on scope reverting real time
to glimpse quantum newness outside a spacial fence
typing text of no grand meaning consumed empty time
and made the aloneness factor more savory
If you could GRASP it, you would not
LEAP forward to strike the automoton BELL
week of work will soon be forgotten
as weekend blinders set down into place
It was low volume, distortion filled,
streaming music in my head for a week
If you whispered louder, I would hear you but
I wouldn't be helpful unless you made me giggle
Not on the calendar, the big mind SWEEP
Yes on the calendar, bubbles and little waves
Soak every wiggly toe in a relaxing pool for the holiday
IT was pleasure and more, don't zap my MOOD

caveside tones © 2010 all rights reserved

CAVESIDE TONES. LIV. LIV JOTS. MERCH. CONTACT.
Some frowning IS allowed
if you are a musician, an artist,
TO clear the air and the room
TIME has mad dash feet that pile days
into hapless weeks
stir and fry is the recording process,
a few munchies and swigs of dark beer  
The spring of green settles the high winds
It is not a little pebble I will throw
Scribble a few words, kick the sound in
and the entanglement begins
music is a whirling propeller that
soars or cuts into heart strings
The crowd held HEAT the outsiders craved
The floor was littered with EARS,
did it matter who couldn't hear
The beach, the flow of waves,
down your back, is a memory de loop
Was a better day, when my slowly waking eyes
could shut back upon themselves
well if it isn't FRIDAY, telling me
the weekend will be GREAT!
Lay a good plan, the week awaits
with technical tentacles
there was no END to what was gone
no parting OF ways, just a turning
But it was a 3-D hump with big stars,
why didn't it pump up sales
The moon just happen to come along
when I needed a skyward light
Windy days remind you to hold on to stuff  
Beauty of a soul to be free 
that poured a bruised heart into song
  -Liv 
Amy Winehouse
Entranced by the arc of her hair splashing,
he drowned in lemonade on the sandy lonely beach
When all is still the slightest movement
of spider or sunlight is caught by our attentive eyeballs
WritingS & words

email: liv@cavesidetones.com

Music Listening post