I have never been to Alabama, or…
<>
I have never been to Alabama,
or where
Immortality
reigns supreme,
but I am told here and there
nooks and looks of poetry
reside abide and
ENLIVE,
And sadness is banished,
loneliness impossible,
&
Loveliness abounds,

And every poem
Gets a sun,
Becomes a star,
And every poem,
Is immortalized

And those who choose
to compose, selves to expose,
become angels protecting all who write poetry in their hearts,
but
who cannot nor,
dare to share
<>
but
they share with them...
who in turn
share to all
the confidence of
Comfort

~for M.C.C. ~
who sang me to sleep,
when my soul begged me for
sweet release,
just was lucky, I guess

"Mornings here with a coffee cup
Stories in my head, looking up
If the rain holds off we'll be in luck
But we're lucky anyway"

<>
Been there, done that,
ritualized & compartmentalized
the essences of the routinized,
to measure the days of my life,

as small keepsakes,
charms and tokens on a bracelet,
jingle bo jangle,
when another be repeated,
the telling belling of
a ✅ of satisfying satisfaction,
<>
and I!ve been bone
marrowed & narrowed hell~married,
imprisoned until decisioned,
that no life was no life at all,
(take note! y'all y'all),
and I miss my dog's greetings,
and snoring while I'm wide awake,
always loved to drive too fast on  
back country narrow lanes,
in my suburban shrunk
small suv,
with radio blaring, no need for
trucking on the Truckee,
been there, done that..
<>
in the small ways,
in the
small places,
take my slow going days my way,
and not no need
to rent borrowed uninfluenc-ed content
cause I custom built it in,
easy like, five easy pieces,
learned to make daisy peaces,
of the bright nights melding
with life affirming hot sunlight
and there is no bad time,
with a cold blue~ribbon
in my left,
my right grasping two O'clock
on my heart and steering wheel,
driving freedom fine,
Chapin~ Carpenter
on the stereo dial,
no set time,
just anytime,
rain or shine
for me and my poems
to *** together,
like old time,
any fine rhyming time,

together we flashback
to the sweet Release
from jail in 2008
<>
and break out a new one and clap  it onto the clasp
my bracelet of charmed
keepsakes,
like memories of
my old dog, thinking
one more time,
just got lucky
6/27/25

June 26, 2025
<>
a verily un~silly query,
for mine be already composed,
"A Flawless Poem", [1]
but
this doesn't beg the question,
as to what the answer
for you be;
and the 3:22am thoughts
are pouring over a tea bag of steeping darling Darjeeling
brain cells,
which sadly are not
resippable
and I fear are already long gone,
dissolved
but will be dragged back
from the irregular edges of
faint memories
for your
sipping them
later. letter by letter
<>
my slow dissolving, by a patient lengthy dismembering ,
this body's suite
of methodologies of self~distraction
to and from
its own destruction are numerous, varied,
well chronicled
<>
it is a dismembering of
disremembering,
a catalogue of life reviewed,
even occasionally revised,
for many are the memories
paining, and requiring
revisionist repainting;
an analog of a well thumbed catalogue, whose glue has tired and
the outlines faded,
as time and sad space
for you reach it's nigh
occlusions of conclusion,
reviewing, re-concluding
better outcomes than the actualities
<>
I see my ashes dissolution,
and into water traveling, well dispersed across continents,
their contents contented to
be filtered, but part and invisible parcel of a tinging invigorating particles of me,
will be shared to your body
for inspiration and even perhaps
reincarnation (mmmm);
me will be
tingling tinging the water
you
sip,
and old combinations of
new words will reemerge
from your fingertips and
silent scripts of
utterances
<>
thus,
we recompose the decomposed,
reassemble with a reassuring ease,
a last and ever lasting poem
anew,
and over and over
a once and first
timelessly
delivery
<>
this quaint notional of
passing conjoined words
through and over your lips
(ah ha!)
pleases me greatly,
though the lengthiness of
this creature goes on too long,
but @ 3:58am, length is a minor
to the adult need, to expound
every last kernel that is passing by,
for its inevitable retention and
ultimate
forgetting nonetheless
<>
iron of irony,
this is but a faint and impoverished recollection of
the harmonious words I heard in my head before they were etherized
<>
and a poor recapitulation of
their essences sensory density,
and yet, this revolution of
recapturing recall the question posed,
What if you only had one poem left, what would you write?

perhaps an extremely and extended
siren song of my exterior erosion,
my mind's muscle memory discarding its residue of residuals,
we call memories,
allowing our peculiar perceptions
to fade and yet,
find a way
to away to
you
for your
(wink)
reorigination
<>
As the Jewish King & Psalmist wrote
a thousand years ago,
there is nothing new under the sun,
but somewhere a poet
greets the sunrise
with newly inspired words,
as if it is a first birthing of
a great
and unexpected creation,
deserving of a last~ing

co~memoration!

not  the prophylactic kind,
nor the rubber kiss road tire kind.

but the rubber of bodies
old and young,
tired and tense,
young and flexible
migrained, played & splayed,
pain paralyzed,
soothed by cherubic
fingertips
oiled with,
anointed by,
a-custom cream
of tenderizing aloe
and gentling, kind loving
quieting & shushing

tho mine own temples,
raging, feverish,
combobulating
as words spill as *******
and then

she
sleepy whines:
why did you stop rubbing me?

and for
a sleep deep,
she leaves
me,
going unanswered

but happily
nonetheless
boy be typing
**The End

a gift for Aladdin Aures H
from his 3rd follower...

<>><<>
the inescapable need,
unformed firmament
inquiring; am I capable?

the impulse palpable,
the urge to urgent,
to gorge and disgorge?

instead of morning prayers,
precomposed and ordered,
morning poem plucked from

morning fog, gusted breezes,
early-on, newborn sun rays,
progeny of disheveled skies

words fused, in irregular sizes,
senses censured by drowsy eyes,
but the chest beating arrhythmia

means bursts of free verses
superimposed on reluctant eyelids,
jigsaw puzzlement be re-conformed

and the first poem of the day,
emerges from the intersection
of mind, pale dreams, and the

first is special till the neu morrow,
when fresh bursts explode inward
to windward, and the first is just

yesterday's mesh of hash,
once formidable, now last,
pinned, yellowing, purely a
*descendant of the recent,
but always, ancient past^

when you poem me,
and the sudden tumble
into a mesmerizing moment,
is a felling of a tree, that
everyone can hear, anywhere,
forest everywhere,
suddenly, I will know you,
no introduction required...
to be with you, and save my
day, my heart stolen, and to my
captor, I hereby surrender,
capitulate completely, quick quiet,
and we are three thrilled together, a triumphant triumvirate,
for each other and a unity of
1 + 1= 3

is a new counting,
a unique
formulation
a formidable forming

a mutual following,
a fellowship

nml
Weds.
June 18 3025
In the sunroom

"As if everybody knows
What I'm talking about,
As if everybody
would know
exactly what
I was talking about"

Paul Simon
<><><>

test the hypothesis,
get out the glass beakers,
mmmmix the acid and the base,
wear those rubber gloves
and with goggles on,

always paying penpal attention,
we have the first aid kit and
the fire extinguisher
nearby
and handy

As if everybody
would know
exactly
what
I was talking about

what
I am talking about
is self~care
and on a dare,

whispering,,
a modest scream,
an ego soul statistic~all
@it's ok,
"love thyself"

everybody
knows,
...as if...
....as if....

"are never really finished,
they are only due.
Writing may be draining,
never perfect,
but it’s always rewarding."

no buts or exceptions
whenever you think your
done,
you lets the little tickles of
mmmm. maybe a
change, a comma here,
and the madness is
well,
maddening

the reward?
the compulsion that drives
one to exclaim,
I can do better,
and take a clean sheet
and the blood rush,
accelerating heart rate,
the beating speeding up
of pulsing of everything

why that's your reward,
*you fool,
fooling yourself
one mo' time

flux.
a word whose very sound connotes its meaning, a sloshing state of change

a liquid moment,
for we solids,
of bone and flesh,

though
we may be islands of stolidity,
entrenched, focused, organized,
when the surround sounds
of change are all about
you too are
fluxed

the serenity of splendid isolation
is not an impervious shell,
close eyes, ears, nostrils, mouth
these liquid times we abode,
inescapable from the roller coaster of
crashing storms of our
environment

try as I might,
cannot recede into a
white sealed envelipe,
cannot secede from
the froth of current events,
in the age of no distances,
and the rotational revolution of
but one lever,
a single beating wing
can disrupt the
the supply and communication
channels of our normative existential machinations

let me retreat unto my poetry trance,
but that choice
is currently unavailable

be wary of the calm of routine,
we live in a time of
the olympics of change,
and we cannot walk
on water,
nor tread forever

flux.

the liquidity curse of our
ever curving intersections