Once the getting was good, but now the getting’s got gone / I’m going downtown just to tie one on / I’m oak aged and sour, I’m going down by the hour / Now I’m as blue as night is long / So won’t someone dance with me to a waltz about whiskey / And […]

And now we circle the sidewalks of this suitcase town / We have found some comfort here / We are experts / We are experts of the past / Coffee is cold like evening air / And still we sit like watchmen / Sweet morning lady / Sweet, sweet is so necessary / I just […]

He dreamed he played the notes so slowly that they hovered in the air above the crowd and shimmered like a neon sign (Oded Tzur, poem by Dana Gioia)