Sorry, my keyboard wouldn't work and I accidently posted trying to fix it.
My newest is so bad I probably won't write it, but it's called My Girlfriend Won't Go There (c). It was inspired by a reed in my harmonica that works for straight harp, but freezes up when I tried to bend it, like a girlfriend that won't do that kind of thing.

Emboldened by Frash--apparently I'm not the only person who suffers from "cleverness"-- this is a song I keep trying to fix, but I'm afraid is just bad. No offence meant, Frash, but you know what I mean, I can't write simple evocative stuff, want to tell a story, tell jokes, whatnot. Here I try to do something more with it, but don't think I got around it.

My Fat Friend.

I used to know this fat guy back in 1978
he disappeared, and he re-appeared, but he had lost a lot of weight
one day in the dark someone came up to me
said I bet you don't remember me
No, who are you? and then, when he grinned, he was my fat friend

What you been up to? I've mostly been down
living here in lost river town
we're living in a lost and found

He had some money, folded it open to the light
when he turned it over on the backside it was white
I didn't say anything, it took me by surprise
he said this is just a work in progress you realise
I said no, I get the idea, I said nice

He took out a twenty he said lets go over there
turned it over on the back there was nothing there
he talked about his girl, said they could tell each other anything
but this is not the kind of thing you tell someone you can tell anything
he was looking at me and I thought about that, I said I see what you're saying

what went up must've come down
we're living here in lost river town
we're living in a lost and found

He used to see this girl I knew, Jessica Paint
and he was still with her, but that's not her real name
like any lost river girl you'd see around dressed anyhow
she wrote poetry about the Tao
and had that spooked look in her eye like they all did, like they'd been thrown from a horse as a kid

I was working the graveyard at the Daily News
and ran the press and printed the daily news
spent time inside my head somewhere inside the sound of the press
I made up my mind that I was kind of tired of this
dreamed of disappearing like a snake through a crevice in a rock
thought I'd go anywhere else

what went up must've come down, etc.

I'm going to pass around some photographs about what happened later
here we are in tailored suits, standing on an escalator
going down to Mexico, trading guarded glances
when he was traveling sometimes I was taking Authur Murray classes
this was the night when they were playing the beautiful Tennessee Waltz

What went up, etc.

I've seen unlikely things, household junk-drawers, decorations
cut out in cute shapes, our unrealistic expectations
out in a ghost-ship suburb, Andrea Dorea Estates
we go out to get the paper, we count the days, I roll the plates, day-o.