I wake up on my sofa after
Work, knowing she needs

Workman's hands to hold
Hammer and nail at

Points she's chosen for her
Pictures.

A stronger back for heavier
Things, but I'm spent. Work is

War, now. Power drill, pistol.
I bark orders at privates,

Not warnings at young, spiteful
Carpenters

Fresh from school
With too

Much product in their
Hair to want to wear their

Mandatory
Hard hats.

My heart skips beats when I
Lift. I count falling stars

At daytime climbing stairs.
Lie to concerned foremen.

A brain-soul-body Bermuda
Triangle of energies lost.

I have love to last her lifetimes,
Shoulders to rest her weary,

Closed eyes against or dig her
Fingernails into, gasping.

But for now, the ceiling I gaze
Up at stares back down judgingly,

Not recognizing this frowning
Ghost of the mud-covered grin I

Carried a few, short years ago.
The futile clawing and sliding of

A minuscule man climbing a
Colossal statue of himself.

the day
when even the not so faithful
were tempted to pray
for the health of the nation

Honey I'm drunk,
Don't come by,
But if you do
Bring Canadian Rye;
I've two feet planted
Six feet high,
And I ain't right ready
To lay down to die.
But the sun is sinking,
And my body's stinking,
Honey will you come,
Please bring that Rye.

Honey, I drink,
We both know why,
Let's not pretend,
Let's not lie.

Honey I'm dry,
I'm gonna die,
I've six feet planted
Two feet high.
I ain't quite steady,
I could use a high.
The sun's in the east,
My demon's a beast,
So Honey drop by,
Please bring that Rye.

As she lay in her vulnerability
She remains open to the universe

As she surrender her nakedness
She radiates to the warmth

As she engulfs in the wild
She roams, serving curiosity

As she break in the swinging tides
She soaks in abundance

As she belches the aura of the past
She sums up brilliance

As she looks up to the waning moon
She strokes her mood in tunes

She is a woman, a beauty to be felt
As she smiles out to the shores

She is the womb, an unfurling fertility
As she carries others burdens

She is the ultimate female energy
As she balances the male synergy

She is to be nurtured and loved
As she bears the fruits of earth

She is stunning with her sparkles
As without her we won’t exist

She is a lover, a mother, a sister
As we hold her womanly nature

Note: Inspired by a painting I did of a naked woman lying in repose but -looking out to the shores. What is she? What might she be thinking? *Dedicated to all the women.... the feminine energy.

I listen to the songs they sing,
about the peace and the love,
about unity and compassion.
I stop,
and I hear nothing.
Why do you think they're always in my ears?
I keep them near to me.
artists are truly born somewhere other than earth,
they pass by on shooting stars
belting out their messages so sincere.
but does it actually hit earth,
or does it just turn to dust in the sky?

one for the delirious,
the inquisitors equipped,

loose lips,
loose grip.
loose lips,
loose grip.


the truth is the troops
are lost in the loops,
of houdini moves,
from those fools,
those fools,
those fools.

oh what can we do,
to break through to the justice.
alas, alas,
the rustic handshake.
not much comrade,
not much.

combat,
contrast,
combat,
contrast,

those stage show motions,
we slept on the stage,
we slept on our opponents.

i’m broken,
i’m broke.
**broke.

Lying makes a placeholder for the inevitable truth. The lie will become the truth, as a rectangle can be squeezed back into a square.