I will tell you a story please don't think me bad
Concerning myself and the ******* clads.
I was just a young man, easily led,
They sent me to paint the gardener's shed
I looked around what did I see?
The ******* clads looking back at me!
Pictures of scantilys everywhere
Standing about in their underwear.
What I saw I found rather appealing
I commited a sin resulting in stealing.
The gardener would return that  day
Only to find a book gone astray.
So please please, don't think of me bad
Blame it all on the ******* clads
Then I made a big mistake
Into my room the book I would take.
My mind got lost in fantasy
Those ******* clads got the better of me.
I was only a young man stuck in a rut
I should never have entered the gardener's hut.
Then something happened that made me sad
The book ended up there in the hands of my dad.
"Tell me son where did this come from?
Good job I found it instead of your mom".
"Please dad don't think of me bad
I am only a young man easily led
They sent me to paint the gardener's shed.
I looked around and what did I see?
Those ******* clads looking back at me!
And what I saw I found appealing
So, I commited a sin resulting in stealing".
My dad was not angry but rather, concerned,
He said in a calm voice
Son there is a lesson you must learn
What you have stolen you must return.

Went to the County Fair today,
I have always liked to go,
So many animals,
and things to see,
It's truly quite a show.

The Carnival Games are fun,
But certainly never free,
Most are surely rigged,
You hardly ever succeed.

There are Side Shows galore,
Some bring, right out in the open
******* clad young women for
perusal, to tease men into arousal.
But you need to pay to go inside,
To get a better peek.

Best of all though, for me,
Is the vast array of Junk Food,
Right there on display,
for everyone to see.
Forbidden none healthy stuff,
that the rest of the year,
I never get to eat.

While walking around,
The sights and the sounds,
of these many prohibited treats,
Their enticing smells do so delight,
That my stomach begins to growl.

It does not help, that huge colorfull,
signs, on each food stalls does adorn,
Advertising it's tantalizing offerings,
making them all the harder to ignore.

The combination of these deeds,
of visual, and nose sensory sensations,
Can doubtless render this person,
incredibly weak in the knees.

Next up jumps a big dilemma,
Which one thing should it be?
Pop Corn, with lots of salt and  butter,
Better yet, that fresh corn on the cobb
I see.

Look over there, Oh MY!
It's fried dough Elephant Ears, I spy,
Sprinkled with honey and cinnamon,
I seldom, almost never pass them by.

Oh YES, Bright Red Candy Apples!
A boyhood favorite of mine,
and a sure win.
An apple a day, they say,
Keeps the Doctor away,
The candy is just there for a grin.

Fried Chirreo's and Corn Dogs on a stick,
Both I could do, making that combination,
a bona fide Hat Trick.

Nachos dripping with melted cheese,
Oh sure, that's bound to please.

Pulled Pork on a bun would be kind of fun,
But the Barbeque Sauce gives me gas.

One that I'd almost forgotten,
How 'bout Candy Cotton?
A marvelous Incantation,
Sugar dropped into a machine's
whirring vat, spun like magic,  
Puff, just like that.
No slight of hand required.
Really quite a sweet sensation.

I've spent now over an hour,
Just wandering all around,
Looking at the stalls and signs.
And yet,
Still can't make up my mind.

Racked with indecision,
This perplexing dilemma,
Rests with no other person,
This one is all about me.
Yet another half hour,
from the clock has expired,
and still no decision is rendered.

The day is ending,
it's nearly Six,
Not long 'till Supper Time.
Before I left home,
My wife did inform,
"It's *** Roast tonight,
your favorite,
Make sure you're here by seven!"

With a certain hesitation,
And twinge of remorse,
Disappointment etched on my face,
I turn listlessly towards my car,
With slow pace resignation,
Still pondering all those treats,
I might have had,
If it weren't for my procrastination.

Decision making,
I've been slow to admit,
Has never been my forte.

Well perhaps, No for sure.
Maybe, I'll probably come back.
Tomorrow, or even the next day.
It could, or might possibly be,
That by then, I will have thought,
this all through,
And come to some decision.

so it begins when it begins
    blasé grass serrates
past herds of carabao dreaming anxiously
  of the day's toil;

the countryman stilts through
   mounted in gray mountain
with dippers, casserole, mirrors
with imprints of ******* clad women
    and women who are (really ******* clad) ready for bathing work,
    collections of red days and even
    tenderly the ***** sing attenuated songs of rooming-houses —

  the crunch of basil over the afternoon.
waft of a pasture's death my eyes well
    up rivers and ponds of elation. dog days, feral nights limp behind rusted
   kennels and makeshift asylums

   there is nothing left of the world
(this small world
            that only rises when bellows
  of festivities harangue the many streets
             bending in them, the curve)
  men moving from neck to neck
    of bottles — (in the north there
      is only four corners of bottle: gin,
   pristine brook; in the Visayas is
      the redolent Vino Kulafu of the same
   potency) plucked out of the vermilion
   and on benched careening on half-painted gates crooning Sinatra
     gets stabbed, bloodied on the floor,
named after elegies; native chicken held
     upside down and beheaded as many blacker days stifled; what do you make
    out of this?
    
      carabaos, equines, hens line up
   the slaughterhouse behind the
      TODA; you know a fine day when
         it happens — breaking eggs
  against the lip of the kaldero. crumbled
    archaic sensurround, barrage of
      simmer round the clock cycling
before the child wakes and wails to suckle
          our mothers, faster than repose
  of milbrightlions of stars falling asleep
      to silent radios, leaving windows
   open revisited by the eve of cold.

maybe I should encourage violence within conformity and seek to end impressionism or maybe NOT!- create perversions within a song split-ting hairs of the long dead being found at a youthful age washed ashore no longer breeding nor bleeding ceased of breathing to be now an exact science- scaled back models of when it was brave to be bold but hidden from news cameras for leftover caveats - I wanna go else-where and find redemption to shout ******* - desktop plants dried out from foul air and aspirin bottles ******* clad in old skin next to a banana peel- no remorse no recourse no answers for in my brain
prescribed lies conjunct with irreversible truth complexity.

I once made love to my then boyfriend on bar stool I stole from the fraternity boys down the corridor after a night of carefree drunken antics. He turned off the overhead florescent lights and twisted the **** of the free standing lamp in the corner. The room was partially occupied with dim light and created still life subject matter out of my roommate’s trinkets.  I lifted myself onto the mahogany wooden bar stool, elongating my torso as I leaned back onto the heels of my palms for support.   He approached me without utterance. I let my knees splay open and I followed him with my eyes from a fixed location. His fingers were spread wide on the outside of my thighs, softly sliding up and removing my dress. Tickling just above my hip bones he slipped ******* under either side of my white lace ******* . He slowly drew the ******* down and over the bend in my knees, grazing my calves and off of my left foot, leaving them to hang at the hinge of my other ankle. He slid into me easier than ever before. ******* dressed in soft light I sat statuesque and encouraged him to pummel deeper into me as rings of blood formed at the base of his *****.

I

If I were a poet
I would compose beautiful line
breaks and elegant stanzas.

Similes would be ******* scattered
with alliteration like
stars against a sunset sky.

My tone would be of reason
rather than innocence.
I would refuse to analyze
the meaning of death in literature.

              II

Fortune cookies would be my mantra
and life would be a wiggle
instead of a struggle.

I would pray five times a day
to my journal
most benevolent, ever-merciful.

My poems would not be of peace
of war
or (you)nity
or them here Amur'cans.

              III

My form would be indifferent
and probably never earn me awards
or acceptance to grad school.

Fondness of (parentheses)
may get me compared to e.e. cummings
or completely dismissed
if I were a poet.

Peculiar
Agreed?
How ******* clad lassies
Get the pass to show their ***
Long as nobody touches
Jiving gyrations
In counter-clockwise rotation
Seldom unescorted by damnation
By God, sense the relation
She's losing her patience
Can't afford to be a patient
So being patient...
That **** is ancient
Swanging ******* before eyes
Eyes that can't see
Eyes blind by the fuckery
***** get hickory
And the tic tickory of the clock
Stops
Drop drop
Shake that body for the coin
Make those men yearn to join
Their meat to your groin
Blind men throw out the presidents
Nixon Jackson Benjamin
Facts is
That these hoes stay cashing in
More than ****** busting traps
And toting gats to make stacks
Peculiar
Agreed?
How a ***** sell and smoke ****
High off they own supply
Baby mamas multiply
Covered all the **** by a lie
Making these young girls cry
And the innocent have to die
For this boy to strive
When you mad at the *** clap
Fat *** on a mans lap
Slow wine then fast
Slow grinding for cash
But no harm is caused
No obstruction of laws
But men be a "Boss"
& a woman... A loss

You think if you wear your short black dress
maybe someone will notice you tonight
but its cold outside
skin raised, you just want to be inside

the alcohol coursing down your throat
warms your organs, releases memories
but not in a good way.
begging to forget and forgive, live with no regret

shes attempting to forget the touch of your fingertips
against her naked body, tracing and racing
her heartbeat goes at the thought
of your face, smile, laugh

she never loved you, but oh how she cared
and you didnt

he weaves home buzzed on bicycle falls asleep telephone rings 3 AM waking him suspects it is Reiko does not pick up receiver momentary pause rings again 5 times does not pick it up truth is he is still weak for her unable to fall back to sleep gets up makes tea ignores steaming cup decides instead on glass of wine watch telephone does not ring again he sips smokes cigarette march winds rattle window stares out at darkness

following week Cal insists they go to tittie bar Odysseus agrees they order 2 for 1 beers steak and lobster 12 dollar special watch vast assortment of ******* clad bare breasted women Cal comments makes me forget about the hell my life is Odysseus acknowledges i hear you their attendance becomes weekly ritual bartenders bouncers dancers managers know them by name Odysseus smiles flirts with familiar athletic flat-chested brunette believes dancers grasp powers wiles of female mystique that current feminist movement condemns Cal warns dancers are all phony all they want is money Odysseus glances away from blonde female gyrating against pole on stage you’re right Cal why am i such a sucker for a pretty girl? creases brow ponders besides everyone’s thoughts and feelings we are our bodies variations of nature unequal characteristics beauty casts unjust hierarchy of privileges what you might refuse a 1000 you will permit with 1 suitably possessing beauty’s fascination beauty corrupts renders us slaves it’s sick like rilke wrote each single angel is terrible think about it Cal doesn’t beauty tend to take advantage and in doing so does all beauty hide some selfish truth? In that self-interest comes loneliness why am i attracted to that selfishness? isolation? Cal looks points replies chill Odys check out puffy ******* at bar

later Odysseus comments i want to write a book about process of growing questioning choosing love over hate aging death Cal remarks me too Odys if you finally write yours swear to me you won’t dress it up with chase scenes murders surprise twist ending just tell the truth about what happens to a person as they go through life keep it real keep it uncompromised

Shall I open volley,
spike with clenched hand?
Acquiesce to athleticism,
or drop return?

Is there a score?
numbers imply a plan,
encumbered; ******* clad...
jockstraps and leather,
tube socks and man.

****** courts,
exotic terminology,
words of reduction,
redacted, redacted, redacted!
under spells of seduction...

What more?

Who the **** cares.

Piles can be chucked,
and strip smiles, 1 grain at a time,
throw a bone, throw another,
you'll build your own monster.

What more?

redacted, redacted, redacted!
join me down below...
I'll give you history,
it will set everything aglow.

What more?
**** more.

Questions?
redacted; for your own security.

Not Goliath,
not even Iago... wait, that may be whom you cast!
Laughter man, so much laughter,
I grow darker;
a product of your mind; that's just a reminder.

Had I plotted, had I connived,
had I been...
trolling gutters,
sexing the populace,
setting parties to war?
You gave me the part,
and the act was in pantomime...
improbable for paralysis
severed spine,
redacted, redacted, redacted.

You set loose scenarios,
and now I willingly oblige...
I'll take my bow,
and cunning smile.

756

One Blessing had I than the rest
So larger to my Eyes
That I stopped gauging—satisfied—
For this enchanted size—

It was the limit of my Dream—
The focus of my Prayer—
A perfect—paralyzing Bliss—
Contented as Despair—

I knew no more of Want—or Cold—
Phantasms both become
For this new Value in the Soul—
Supremest Earthly Sum—

The Heaven below the Heaven above—
Obscured with ruddier Blue—
Life’s Latitudes leant over—full—
The Judgment perished—too—

Why Bliss so ******* disburse—
Why Paradise defer—
Why Floods be served to Us—in Bowls—
I speculate no more—

Love* is an amazing thing
People just mix up what hurts.
Love is Beautiful
Rejection is sad
Love makes a mortal hopeful
Disappointment makes him mad
Love is supposed to be Truthful
Lying makes the relationship go bad
Thus making the mortal ruthful
And begins placing feelings on a writing pad
Claiming " love is hurtful"
Lies, your words are ******* clad
For love is bliss.

-fir.m

My raybans still covered
my swollen  eyes as I stepped
inside the Rite Aid,
in my pathetic attempt to
hide from the neighborhood how much
I had been crying.
Tears of anger and
some of despair and
others of sheer exhaustion
had coated my cheeks
and worn the edges of my eyelids
raw and reddened my
corneas.
I had stumbled out of my apartment
in an effort to rid my body of
feelings, assuming the brisk spring breeze
could somehow sweep up everything
I felt and whisk it away as
quick as it had come.
I squeaked past a couple
******* clad women with
sunken eyes that bore holes
into the glass of the cooler
as they stared longingly at the
rather large variety of
malt liquors, the selection of soft drinks
lesser than the collection of
40s I passed on my way to the
back of the store.
I distracted myself imagining
the taste of the various soda pops,
a wild cherry Pepsi dissolving into my
daydream tongue right before it
turned to Big Red Cream Soda.
Diet Sunkist in hand,
I stared at the ingredients on the orange soda bottle and reread the same words
over and over as he interjected himself again and again.
I made my way to the counter,
feeling ever grateful for my sunglasses
as more tears welled,
and I cleared my throat before mumbling a way-too-weak-for-an-outgoing-girl hello.
Before I knew it my distraction faded
from view, and I turned left down Oak
as his face peeked out in my
rear view mirror in the majesty of
the sunset.
I shook off a feeling of admiration and
reminded myself that even after all this time
he still manages to disappoint me as
he always has.
I murmured something about how,
"He ain't ****" like I'm some bad
***** that doesn't give a **** about a dude.
But then I remembered how deeply I had loved
a man who never loved me back and
never failed to prove it.
My stomach began to drop,
leaving me feeling as empty as the
messages he had sent me in his pathetic
attempts to convince me of ******* masked as
the rhetoric he knew I wanted to hear,
just enough to keep me around for his
(admittedly) selfish reasons.
I loved him and hated him all at once
as I realized 4 months ago when
I told myself (and him) that I was moving on,
it was only my head that had,
my heart still staggering, like a
drunk stumbling off a belly full
of cheap whiskey,
And as I later drowned my sorrows in
TV dramas and artificial sweeteners,
I vowed to get that last piece back and really let go...
I'll start tomorrow
when I sober up.

i didn't say a word.

the laughter was wrapping
tight about my neck.

two ex-girls were blushing,
my glance ricocheted off,
then landed on
my clasped hands.

i wasn't in charge of the party.
i only lived where it took place.

nobody had any alcohol,
everybody drank coffee or redbull;
talked with foreign
class.

i wasn't in charge of the music.
i only owned the stereo system.

so we listened to some pop-punkshit.
i started storing excuses,
in case someone asked me to dance.

the boys were all grinning.
the boys were all christians,
while they hunted their prey.

the girls were all grinning.
the girls were all christians,
while they still ran free.

i played priest.
kept my *** on the couch,
swore celibacy with every fired neuron.

lauren was gone,
and
amie threw a party.
she invited an army of
******* dressed exs
just to remind me i
hadn't outran my guilt.

the laughter started to wane,
people looked to me to stir
the conversation.

i didn't say a word.

i didn't breathe.
the weight of the room
was too heavy for me.

i cut myself from the stares,
someone asked where i was going,
my feet kept moving until
carpet
was traded for
concrete
was traded for
gas pedal
was traded for
anywhere distant.

Sliding from the silky, satin sheets
Slowly she saunters to the terrace
And scans the sparkling, star-sprinkled sky
  
As slender arms loosely clasp her svelte, ******* swathed silhouette
So too her thoughts encircle her sweetheart
  
She smiles as she recalls their tryst...
  
          His strong embrace holding her safe and secure
          Lips that tease with nearness
          At last bestowing passion-soaked kisses
          Whilst hands slide up to her soft, supple breast
          And trace circles around her sensitive, cerise *******
  
She is lost now
Caught in the exquisite snare of sinfully-sweet reminiscences
Of two lovers seeking to please
And thirsting to be satisfied...
  
          Slow, tantalizing caresses gracefully ****** their souls
          Hearts, minds and bodies of two lovers now aroused
          Suspended over the precipice
          Oh, yes, such blissful anticipation
          And then … surrender
          Surrender to sweet, sweet ecstasy!
  
As she stands now on the circumference of sensual abyss
She sways slightly
A soft breeze strokes her sun-kissed skin
It whispers to her spirit and begins to sing a song
A song so enticing
So stirring
That small goosebumps rise and glisten
  
So once more she slips betwixt silky, satin sheets

Energy, Electric
Blue, Shocking, Stinging, Fire
It burns and buzzes in my blood

A constant presence
The ******* clad succubus on my shoulder
Whispering lustful nothings in my ear

Always on my mind
Perverting and Invading
Thoughts stained with crimson desire

Heart rate heart rate
Faster faster
Harder harder

Blush, giggle
Hide the ***** feelings one shouldn't feel
Feign the innocence that's been feigned for years

Need, want
Anything to quench this constricting fire

What is it?
Is it, being stunning, without a single flaw?
having a perfect figure, a well-defined jaw?
Is it shutting in your emotions and keeping composure?
Perhaps being ******* clad, with indecent exposure.

No.
Beauty is none of the above

It is acceptance, and self love
Not listening to others who try to bring you down
Shrugging off the haters without so much as a frown.

Beauty is a smile, a confident walk
Not listening to when the naysayers talk
No one else can define what is true
Beauty is simply being you

i

gosh,look at the time
half past two
must dash
bird lime..
moon cane
how are you
purr
i´ m fine..
i´ m fine too
even so
sun frazzle
brain..
yes,
you love
you love
**..
then
gone
do
stone..
more paper
how life
has
changed..
how we
manage
bird lime..
blind
we are
the stars
dazzle
moon cane..
only yesterday
we did our sums
and today
we are the sum..
birdy
doest thou
dwell
on tomorrow..
moony
the sun
will
shine..
in our mind
will be
see
will..
hope
and
glory
scissors..
and joining
a great
hand
in your´ n..
god
bless
it takes
genius..
never taken
the eye
off
the ball..
for every
ladder
a fallen
snake..
things have
a way
of even
and out..
can i say a
colour
here
gray..
or rather
grey
is very pretty
bird lime..
moon cane
is that the
time..
gone three..
we never really
untitled
no
no named..
lol
cared
did nt worry
oh no..
stoics
burning flames
kind
and unawares..
or war
one penny
four blackjacks
and a blooming
sweet twilight
to boot
things were
different..
moon cane
seems so long
and yet
very brief..
know what you
mean
every word
a lost diamond..
a dew drop
in the early
morning
sunshine..
long as you
have
your health
blinding wisdom..
moon cane
bird lime
i mind my own..
do you..
and what do you
do all day long
flip,look at the time
drink wine..
lol
those were the days
think
says or said..
argued with everybody
easy a bell tolls
off stage
my life has been..
yes,a curious affair
there were so many
occassions
so many closed
cages
moon cane
and do you know
what saved us
apart from a
******* clad
don´ t
sixth sense..
go..
bird lime
stuck
along
then..
silence
is the
most
listen..

ii

we held our tongues
he was a screaming hushed
silent jungle
quieted throne
moon cane
all alone
never mind
the time
a diving hippo
crocs slip in
and birds
flap away
ever silently
baby
beware...
here is a
cross
some so
there lurks
light like air
then sweet cruelty
you hear that
less that nothing
lurking traps
the day quiet
why even the trees
beseech in prayer
still rapt
listen a sigh
the fear is held
like the rose
tween rot
in the silent
in the variance
move real slow now
and listen
we know
nothings glisten
do this waiting
what is to wait..

Waves hiss
lapping the shoreline,

******* clad
beings
soaking up the sun.

A slight breeze
pushing clouds,

they dance
for our
entertainment.

The vastness
of the ocean

reminding me
of the bigger
picture.

The grains
of sand

whisper
their allegiance
to the stars.

Like the king of a rainy country, am I!
Rich, but weak, young with an agèd eye -
The grovelling of his old tutors he scorns,
The company of dogs leaves him forlorn.
Nothing can bring him joy, no hunt nor falconry,
Nor the mortal jousts  before his balcony,
From his favourite jester no ***** tale
Can redden the cheek of one so pale.
His ornate chamber has become a tomb -
And courtesans, *******-clad, to whom,
Though royal favours inspire their provocation;
This skeletal youth finds no temptation.
Flamel himself could forge no plan
To extract the dark humours from this man.
In the baths of blood from days of yore,
He finds no properties to restore
This dazed corpse in whose veins once red -
Now flows the green waters of Lethe instead.

Jukebox rocks, two dozen hard?working dusty men,
Bent elbows lean, Gold liquid flows
Glass rises, lit cigarettes talk.

She poses on a white piano bar,
******* clad; slow moving, bending,
grinding, shaking, gyrating.

She blows kisses
to admiring eyes
with lustful wishes.

Cleo's little girl dream
of being rescued
fades with each midnight hour.

She spins around, steel?scissors held high.
Scissors reflect mirrored walls;
penetrates smoky beer air.

The scissor flashes down
cutting a hole above her heart.
Cleo offers the red satin circle,

Keepsake for the trucker who watches.
He believes, "She dances for me."
He offers up a dead President.

She cuts a hole here
cuts a hole there.
Soon she can start her own government.

It's hard to know where
first hole began or
last hole ends.

Today I am slickly coated
with the sheen of a long walk,
only holding hands with purpose;
the goal to find it.
The destination that holds promise
according to the latest yelp reviews-
promise worth remembering
while bearing the heat of the summer subways,
the morose and lonely feeling
of watching a couple cling to each other
as the trains swing our bodies around.
When the stench of the city streets-
the receptacles for those
who can't wait any longer,
invade our noses like they were home.
The promise that morphs into ringing
in my head when my stomach grumbles
next to the carts on the sidewalks
with the burning flesh they call halal meat,
smells warm and familiar
sharing shish kabob kisses and chicken knishes,
but I've left those days behind me.
Now I'm scouring the streets of Brooklyn,
for that new chic creperie sans animals,
things with faces, or friends if you will,
screaming "Find me!"
whilst dodging the heady scents of Popeye's,
and bacon egg and cheeses,
meat markets, fish markets, bright moving ads,
of women ******* clad eating burgers.
Would you like lox or sturgeon with that bagel?
and when I do get to the little mom-and-pop
of a hole-in-the-wall cafe,
I think of the carnivorous brothers and sisters
that have had the meatballs to join me.
The countless nights I've had to explain
where I get my protein from,
that yes, I can eat pizza.
And no, it's not a travesty
that I want to give up cheese.
Because the real travesty is in the this country's handling
of living things, and by animals- I mean all of us.
And carnivorous brothers and sisters,
when you're feeling threatened and defensive- and you've got
guilt and entitlement coursing through your
friend-fed veins and thus you claim,
We're shoving our vegan, vegetarian, pescetarian
efforts down your throats.
Think again and know that we're only doing the best
we can to help what we believe in.
That we eat and live
with purpose and promise in mind.
Real women can eat vegetables too.
You can take vegetarians to barbecues.
Trust me, we're good at co-existing,
Are you?

my body wants to shatter into thousands of tiny waves,
with dotted i's and flawless traces
my thoughts are soldiers walking to their graves
stolid grins, formed feet in iron spaces.

Silverware, silver wear, a face staring into the depths of my soul, eyes focused, pupils dilated, one beat
two beats, three beats, a mountain naked in sulphur water, and ******* clad nature
hands warmed up around all the bread you can eat
and wait you're

gone again. that brief space where i saw your zero zone undressed
silk scarves unbound: your hair floating over your *******

you floated away again in the wind after you scoured the roads
saw how much you could ingest until your swollen body implodes

Wake up at 2 am, pull the curtains back
eyelashes dusted with moonlight settled on the black
little love sighs dancing with snuggle-time dreams
goodbyes issued by jazz men and dancers on their beams

my iron-clad stag
trotting the rag tag jag
singing in the band
-- a rogue hearted brigand
heavy hearted and pale
words useless and stale
terrified

terrified of everything: of the heart i don't understand
of the yesterdays in the sand
and the wan-waxed-moon
this blood-red flesh-torn tune

and the way we lie intertwined
like my soul's lost its mind
on this bed that smells like me
but not what was a soliloquy
not the future i can foresee
on waves of waves and seas of sea

but put your arms around my waist
lick my neck and savour the taste
because i'm floating away
but unlike the night-chased day
i'm losing this game;
this game of no shame
no shame, and I blame
the wind-tossed demon

and the gods of the sky
whipped by the clouds

and throw high and dry

On a summer day I saw a pretty dame
bathing in the warm waves of the beach's tub.
She tanned her skin to adorn her slim frame,
massaging its softness with each gentle rub.
From that distance, she exuded sweet fragrance
stemming from the refining of her radiance.
Sensual movements from lips, hips, curves, legs and hands
made me fantasize as I relished each moment.
My love-struck eyes gazed at the rhythmic movement
of this ******* clad model for all lands.
After a sunbath, she tied her pristine towel,
then with a fixed look, she gazed straight at me.
'Hello, the adventurous gentleman,' said she.
'You sure look gay, hale, hearty and swell.'
Shyly my fears of rejection loomed large,
whilst my love dreams turned out to be a mirage.

romance the burnt sea
love its stain on your writing hand
romance its dark waters
and the stillness of the words it creates in your heart
evening light shows the beast of tides
gnawing at the sandy shore with restless hunger
feed it your naked feet as you run through the crashing waves
feed it your devil fish of ******* clad thoughts
but hide your face lest it see you and desire you

the beast of tides feeds on the velvet sands of paradise
while its offspring feed on starlight
ever hopeful of redemption foolish as it is

she tells you she loved the beast and the burnt sea
opened her heart to its plain plight
cared for it mended its wounds
spread herself to its darkness
now as it lay off shore she longs to swim in its dark water
she speaks of joining its bitter love
the burnt sea has hills like waves in the grasslands
creates creatures to chase this butterfly
all must taste of salt
even the sky
and the beast and the burnt sea shall see it done
she surrenders her naked feet to the
and rejoices in the salt scent
romance the burnt sea
for it is loved as she is

Down
the streets that whisper names,
through lace curtains
people play their parlour games
twitching
sneaking looks from behind Gothic scripted leather bound books and overstuffed chairs
where ***** is taken and sherry drunk
and tea biscuits dunked in warm Earl Grey
and another day begins in mill house town.

Locomotives sweating steel feel their way
across the bridge
to Morecambe bay
where there's a different class of folk
used to smoke and steaming coal
to steam the fish within the bowl.

And the bowl is either empty or it is not
never in between,
Like the life we live a lot is never seen
but talked in murmurs on street corners
by former miners
agitators
free creative thinking men who know to use the pen and not the sword but they're starving all the same
all in the name
democracy.

We see it differently
a heresy that's being perpetrated to dislocate and disengage and put poor people in a cage.
In the zoo you'll come to see
democracy through iron bars
Tsars that's what these suited tyrants are
well suited to the task in hand
to strip the land of all its wealth
and let's not forget the National health which is good enough for me and you
they'll feed us anything here in the zoo.
Bupa now that is super for the supermen and ladies too who come to visit on Saturdays at the zoo.
I don't know what to do
should I laugh or cry or demonstrate
or have I left it all too late?
What a ******* awful state we're in
It's one for all or ****** all and then we'll fall
into the straw
strewn ******* across the floor in cage 3b
I see but can't decide
have I died and gone to hell?
well
only time will tell.

Swerves the verve of voluptuous curves
That ******* clad lies become ironclad wides or wives
That the uxorious mission is a useful instrument of precision
That a denuded forest becomes the acme of toon and television
Let us garble our quotes and refrain from prolonged oaks
That whisk the memorial flames beneath the softly and the constricted spoke
I wrangle with big swells and tumescent lips
Labial love is liquid rushing to impress my scent and my lisp
Flamingos careen the specialty of wide-nosed oxygen
The toxic ragamuffin does lack the characteristic halogen
Runny tears on whitewashed days, scrape the pond of excess
**** of waifs and wastrel sways the world’s columns stand ever more proud
The future has two authors a converging future and an approximated past
Leeching on to the dastardly knockers of hacked brass tax
We then linger and malinger with germs that flippantly exercise the *******
That exorcise the ruffled harbinger in an incomplete rhyme
Sordid yet sublime, a city breaking on through to the mother side
Of the brother’s promise, to bequeath love lost and undressed
Unbuttoned snooze caffeinate my coffee
Established crews scour my pastiche of laundry
I need a confirmation that some littoral joke isn’t anymore creative than a hoarded broke
Broken in fracture, illuminated by rapture, the panacea of pain disaster
The deliverance of fragrance yet to gain and yet to lose,….. refrain poetaster
Simpered friction swipes the edict of election
As ******* becomes the Olympus of defection
But ponder no more these quodlibets of regaled glory
The amaranthine time has been proferring the same tried and true Love Story
Arranged or deranged, the best will *** and the rest will come
Thereby we become the litter of Medulla Pons surviving on Jack-and-Dandy ***
Remember this in many ways we are a shining city paid for by the mentally ill
Waylaid with the marble of the ultimate rocketship dumb enough to thrill
We soak and absorb the truest bright and the weakest light
As the fraternal order of the lambent moon becomes an extraterrestrial communion rather than an aghast fright
John Derry offers me two geese and I offer to fleece the homespun danger of the moral police
But Capone cannot cap the stone with signature and artistry alone
He cannot unfurl the booth bonfire and the broken home
But his evaded taxes are relaxed because of meritocratic classes
Of wisdom becoming wizardry and idiocy becoming harlotry of sinister waste crass plastics
Limpid with freckled frowns and monolithic and nomothetic pounds
Of zeros escalading a spawn-trout upward voyage and a quiet pillage of a bear-eaten town
Benign rumors of soaring afflictions and deloused tumors swarm the pasquinade village
A Potemkin place where gays get spayed covertly by laying a nescient egg deceased and weighed
In the navy we are not, but thanks to the gravy we are bought and we are sold
And of course you must trim the bushes before they scowl in the fold
Hedged bets on arts, squirts and debts
Of hottest flirts, car washed shirts and wrangled King Tut **** and Cleopatra wet
To this history I owe a greater than perfect debt
A Raider with influential sweat
A gamboler with a frisky totem of regret
Radiant sun says goodnight
Glazed to beat you, you fearful fitful 1997 willful fright

Though I style my curly braids with ribbons bright,
and colour my sweet moist lips with royal red
to look as bright and fair as a newly wed.
Though I stand on two towers to get a better height,
with eyelashes that beckon at each gazer.
Though my trendy gowns make me a trailblazer
with great designer labels that distinguish.
Though I have curves which men wished they could relish,
revealed slightly through my ******* clad frame.
Though I have this charm which could hardened hearts tame,
making vicious criminals to dream and lust,
still I am nothing more than organic dust.

there is havoc at the tips of his skinny fingers.
there is passion and fury in his rhythm.
to the eyes,
he is nothing but a quiet silhouette.
but,
his sound
burns through your ears,
down your spine,
falling toward the floor
granting religion to your feet.

the guitars are discordant,
the vocals are merciless and incomprehensible.
the smoke is perfect.
******* clad women,
drunken men,
just dancing,
crashing,
clashing.

i stand idle,
a regular sore thumb,
in the collective chaos.

but the skeleton in the back,
conducts the shouting symphony
with a barrage of symmetry.

scream.
howl.
holler.

focus and control are his,
not mine, hers or, any of
the other hims.
a psychedelic metronome,
a machine
of a heavy metal drummer.

sweat.
hips.
hands.

i watch him closely,
silence inspiring the noisy.
his eyes closed, his mind
counting,
while my mind
melts,
and all anyone thinks or felt
was the beating of their
hearts, matching the beat
of his drums.

Found my slice of paradise on the southern coast today.

Although I felt ill prepared at first: cycling in my climbing shoes (the only shoes I found tossed in my car),
no helmet, and nothing but a large body of salt water at the end of the trail to quench my thirst for refreshment,

perhaps what I was most unprepared for was this small patch of sand I stumbled across at the edge of the lagoon, much unlike the pristine white sandy beaches with ******* clad women that embody San Diego County, this slice of shoreline is squeezed by a motel parking lot to the north and tightly packed condos to the south and seems rugged and uncombed, like an abandoned lot the city had intended to develop before the recession but instead left it to sit, collecting seaweed and mangy seagulls.

Slightly windy, home to an unwelcoming rip current, and the view of the freeway not far behind me, this was paradise. My unkempt paradise.

Although a few scattered families littered the sand, who somehow felt like intruders to a secret jewel I had just discovered, I still felt that this was my new patch of sanity. I felt a strong urge to keep it a protected secret matched with a sense of pride in finding it and the desire to share this hidden sense of serenity with all my friends on the central coast; bring them here to christen it with the free-spirited energy I had unwillingly left behind.

But instead I left that decision for another day, rolled out my yoga mat I had haphazardly strapped to my back, and started my Vinyasa flow with a view of the Pacific Ocean; a sputtering plane engine was my mental Sanskrit, the tide my metronome for breath.

Even the stares of my fellow beach-dwellers wouldn’t deter me from this spot. I had left my mark near the lifeguard tower, a skinny path from my tires and a rectangular imprint of my mat that said: I'll be back. Perhaps what sealed the deal was the sign I passed as I pedaled away: Bicycle Friendly Community. Yep, maybe this could be a home away from SLO.