He had in his hand ..
A violin
A violin
In his long hand
In his long hand
Trembling

The dress she wore
Nonexistent
It fell away like dust
And exposed a body
Of only skin
Of only skin
And her hips the lines
of a cello
of a cello
played
In the rain
Wet and deep
And cavernous

He held in his hand
A violin
And she

And she
And she... ... ... ..

In the rain

Deep and cavernous
And wet

And he
And he .., ..

Trembling

It was monstrous  
Yet I slayed his generous advances
  
How could I have predicted  
Sure footed  
But...  
Both creeping pounding each  
Both snarling sides of face  
  
One sweetly  
  
One harsh and dripping breath whiskey  
Snoot and scowl  
A bronze fist the left  
  
I caught it like straw  
  
The right as if snow had fallen on my lashes  
  
Not that I had wept  
  
And neither did I laugh  
The laughter caught and kept  
  
I saw his eyes each  
I saw belladonna  
And fire  
I saw hate and love  
And the slow death of the Sun  
Into a chill night  
Casting tender mercies
  
Until another morning  
Where pounding crept  
Where my aching came
  
And peace had slept

I decrease in this winter worship of you
Nights of dark wine
Stain my lip
You had left your blood on my tongue
I tasted it
And had thought to drink more
My desire beyond the fruit  
In the iron  
  
A skin like  
Delicacy  
The nature of my ways
Taken and broken  
The ****** burst  
Dripped to white sheets  
And was counted
  
I would like to feel like white again
Would dwell in that cerebral cloud
For an eternity  
Would walk  
Bare foot placed with serene forward  
Calm  
The grace of youth  
The mercy of not having to  
  
Remember  
Need  
Want  
Know
  
Have any doubt  
About what one touch  
One taste of you again passing  
My connoisseurs lip
Might do to me
  
The Earth collided and cooled  
In the time it took for you to leave me
  
Minutiae  
Details like hot stones
Linger  
When held in my hand  
Warm calm and its effects
  
But the calx
Of anything worthwhile  
Still dries red  
And owns little residual value
By any apothecaries standards  
Worth his salt  
  
You flake away
Fly into the wind
The scatterings a mess
And leaves only a spirits agent  
To show prophetic map
To nowhere sacred
  
Well hidden under etched statuary  
Of dark wings
And angelic gaze veiled and obscured
Rounded mound holds the body of my faith  
  
But the most of me still exists  
Outside of this  
And roams the red droplets  
Eluding to destination  
A map charted on cotton  
So long ago
And far away
That my memory has become a maze
  
A prized labyrinth  
Of memoria
And nocturnal emissions  
  
I so often wake from my dreams  
spent
  
But my virtue does not lay
Within my dreams
She lies at the feet
Of where you once stood
And spread your arms to shadow me

Your arms hover no longer
Your swing does not fly shade
Like swift ghosts
Across my face
While iron lingers on my tongue

I begin to shake with capability
The woman of me slinks back into my soul
And kisses the forehead of my girlhood

Slow

Dance to graves ..
to Rogers and Waters
And Dens of Uniquity

To moments a capsule
Instantaneous
The spread

Poison or living
It does not matter...
but into the marrow
It’s seeping

Into the marrow
Through concubine flesh

Through
Flesh and bones ..
To marrow

A harrowing beat..
by Rogers and Waters
The lamp light still comes pleading

To garnish the cheeks of thin women wearing musk
Men in hats and dark ..

Dance to graves..
rivers among men

Dance to graves at once.

Where the boulevard nears the bridge
Liesel stands with arms akimbo
Defiant posture deflecting whistles like bullets
And low ball offerings like marbles
  
She heard:
Toss her a nickel watch her shake like it's a dollar
In a pig's eye  
she roared
And spat hard for emphasis
  
Call her a *****
She might be persuaded  
If you smooth your tongue with velvet
And dip your fedora to hide it's fork
  
Her belly rumbles
It's hunger for a snack points peekaboo
Toes towards Harry's good time diner
10 cent burgers draw an unscrupulous crowd
  
Her pious snubs  
Of men who might fill her purse  
Have done little for a definite need of sustenance  
Though the fine slant of uppity *****  
Now lifting her little chin
Seems to have really brought out her aristocratic features
  
Buck whoops and haws
As she makes her appearace
He is a huge fan of Liesel' s posterior
And cannot wait for her stride past
  
A thought hits:
With her rumbling challenging haughty composure  
Feeling on the verge of fainted dead away
She snips:
  
Buck I'll let you pat me where I jiggle
For a five bag of burgers  
And a side of beans
  
Buck grinned ear to ear
And picking yellow feathers out of his teeth replied:
  
Liesel darlin
For that *** I should only buy you three

I have stood for  
And witnessed  
Arm up with hand raised  
And a delicate finger hell bent
Like a Pope placing compassion  
On an aging head  
While he weeps  
And tells his secrets  
To someone he should consider
Only a man
  
Only a man
  
The nights have stood for it
They had taken their stand  
With eyes of a moon
A crescent  
In their part closure
I was told they would weep as well
  
And so I raised my hand
  
For the world
He was only a man
  
My hours wander
I trail them
And turn my head  
To minutes past
Each tick emptying seconds  
Into waiting  
  
This hope holds anticipation  
In my belly
Once the foreplay to lust
And wild ambition
The purgatory in it
A tremendous heaven promised
But only Hell
  
Only a man
Only a man  
  
My thoughts dwell in the Nin
I read her desires  
And find...
  
In his eye  
My hair  
And the extent of it  
Into the stars  
And their restlessness  
  
The volumes of dreams  
And perverse reality  
Hold my comfort
blooming my confusion  
Little FLowers
My lost home  
The Delta of Venus  
  
It might just be okay  
My love  
Wherever you go
I might be too
Even without you  
You are only a man  
  
It can be lonesome
In the wilderness
Once again  
And you will not be alone in it
without my track beside you
  
You would like to hear my footfall
stop to bend
And ****** into me your river
your might gripping my hip
To have me plead your name
To beg for you
And pant you are a God
  
But I shade myself now in these thoughts
from any condoning  
Of your deity
  
You are only a man  
And I am my own woman
You do not hold my sensuality  
Or my hand  
To put it up  
To lift it over your head  
Without sight of me
While digging into my parts  
  
You forget a disembodied soul
It's longing and need dismissed  
No shelter in you
no home for it  
  
I am only a woman
And with you a shell
Of pink and golden arching
That curved you a dynasty
And place to sleep

There lives in the everyday
On a Wednesday late morning sidewalk
Of grimy city and in the small town
In the overcast of pregnant skies

Just plain folks
Blind enough of their own ego
To wear an immunity of self like a concrete saint

You see them in timeless pause
And watch in awe and ache
As blue and grey birds
With eyes as cloudy as your skies
Rest peacefully on their fingertips
Nurturing fat bellies with morsels of a sacred stillness

The squaw that stroked the camel's sack had finally dun herself in.      
She looked into the eyes of the beast,        
and became powerful frightened of his wicked grin!        
Oh Holy Moly how that one stroke too far had engorged his needed ****....        
She saw her touch had unleashed a devlish urge and swallowed hard with a lump..        
Swollen from lust..        
And in need of a ******...        
He pawed his hooves at the ground..        
Never in her short sqaw life had she heard anything snortin such a hellacious sound!        
Then she saw the enormous size        
of the thing she had rized..        
And the camal hocked a big ol spit..        
The sweet lil thang Cherokee hollered, and her mocassins took her off lickety split..        
He came chargin right behind her, bound and determined, nostrils round n aflared..        
Man! You should have seen that purty lil squaw runnin, by gawd she was ascared!!!

I had cried out for home    
In the midst of all out wreckage  
An onslaught of bad days  
Bad people    
Bad things to do    
To good people    
To feed a bad habit    
    
There lay my bad seed soul on the filthy carpet    
I had rolled on it    
I had taken a nap on it    
And the polyester fibers    
Had attached themselves to my brain    
The pseudo soft mesh of red *****    
twisted into grey matter    
    
And I cried out for home    
God I believe    
And no words for him    
Aside from that thing    
In my tummy    
Wrenching that I needed him    
    
And to the alleys again    
Once more in the morning after    
I pulled myself up    
Sticky faced    
And mouth curved an OG grin    
With hip walk down lick street    
My lean serious    
My intent Ill    
The illest    
    
Then behind me sirens spin    
‘‘Twas the cop    
From the night before    
Or, the night of    
Whenever    
Or the day I    
And I probably did    
I don’t remember    
    
But he was sure of it    
And my wrists were soon tight with steel    
Key lock    
And pale faced feeling    
Drained to my knees the rest of me    
Slid into seat    
Customary head tuck    
And to county jail    
    
Booked in    
****** up    
Off grin    
I had been too tired    
To argue much that stripes and numbers were not my color    
    
I was going to stay a while    
A little vaca a go go    
Hell no you can’t leave    
But    
At last a place to really sleep    
And eat    
(Insert here any form of gelatinous ooze)    
    
And just to break the serious monotonous    
Time......    
....................(you cannot imagine what whir lies between those kind of) ........ticks....    
    
I found my hustle    
  
For a beautifully    
Artfully    
Passionately rendered Madonna and child I did for a stud broad    
She traded me three e gig filters    
(I shoved up my *******)    
Aughhh...    
“nicotine baby, hadn’t seen you in a while.”    
    
And I considered this    
And I asked why    
She had fortuned my ****** with this wealth    
    
A big woman they called Squirrel    
Who had sported stripes on the daily    
And would be for 15 plus more years    
Said to me    
“Because I need to make these grey walls home.”    
She stuck up the Madonna    
With toothpaste and spit    
And sat down to pray    
    
And here’s the thing    
About God    
And    
About stud broads called Squirrel    
Both have quite the surprising answers    
To questions    
You ask    
Or prayers you did not know you’d cried out    
    
Prayers like    
I want to go home    
  
And big bad women    
With our lady of perpetual hope    
Lightening the dark of their eye    
Show you how to make it

Let me start by swearin my attraction to an occasional dusty ol juke joint was no cliche preachers daughter rebellion.    
A good American girl, loved my Daddy, Jesus,  and both their good names.      
But the appeal and anononimoty of the sin and frolic rockin 'n rollin out those doors! Too much.      
Was just the temptation to do me in.      
At least i had respect enough to scratch that itch three counties away.      
I had needs to be met.      
      
And ****** those needs.      
**** the need for the whine and moan from the likes of Hank Williams and Patsty Cline.      
Double ****** the need for the warm thrill and taste of gin.      
And triple ****** the need for a spin with a good ol country boy gone ornery!      
      
Pardon, a necessary preface to my hot and bothered at him walkin in the door of my good Daddy's store.      
And now i go on to the gritty of the nitty..      
      
It started a dull thing of a day, was doin payroll, startled by the chimes announcing someone comin in.      
      
I recognised him immediately from my last carouse about.      
A deep blush risin and sweatin the thought of my cover blown, i tried very hard not to stare.      
But good God he was ****, all blue jeans and swagger, he strode right up with a wicked **** eatin grin.      
      
"Hey baby i remember that shakin!"      
He says.      
Prayin my resolve would cover the weak in my knees i answered, "I'm sure you dont!" fightin hard the smile curling up the sides of my mouth.      
He laughs "Yeah, what time you want me to pick you up?"      
"Are you kidding!? Not on your life." I heard myself sayin, unconvinced.      
The white hot flash in his devastating blue eyes nearly melted my ice *****.      
Then he turned around laughin said "Alrighty ***, i can read the hours on the door."      
      
The rest of the day went by in a haze of tryin to focus vs. the tickle between my legs every time i thought of him.      
      
Finally it turned time to close, hatin how scared i was at the thought of him not bein outside in that parking lot.      
      
But of course there he was. Lookin so cool 'n tough. Leanin up against his rusty red pick-up truck.      
Said "cool baby, hop on in."      
      
Wasn't much talkin on the long bumpy ride to his place. Dirt roads can seem endless.      
That one sure as hell did.      
      
There was certainly no ceremony upon arrival, just a "Baby hop on out."      
He was off, no help with my door.      
      
Greeted by the blackest dog you ever saw, sniffin at my crotch and nippin at my skirt. Guess like dog like owner. I was seriously doubting my judgement at this point.      
      
The insides of his trailer left no stereotype untouched, of your corn fed Ozark's man.      
Prise fish mounted on the wall, Budweiser cans as far as the eyes could see, and a guitar laid out on the couch.      
      
Thinkin to myself, good thing this was just a ****. I mean, this dude would play a precious Montegue to my Capulet.      
      
Opening the door to his bedroom he pointed me the way, says "Get ready sugar,  gonna make you squeal!"      
      
And after things got goin, it wasn't too long, until like a stuck pig, squeal i did!      
You can't  imagine the sounds comin outta that room. Like thunder scared livestock, huffin and pantin and snortin. ****! There may have been a whinney! He did ride me like Seabuiscuit. I mean rode hard and most definitely put away soakin wet.      
      
Then suddenly he shouts "Glory!" and it was over as fast as it had started.. He grinned at me and rolled over. I lay there stunned and spent.      
      
I sat up on the edge of the bed. Not sure what to think. Then noticed my name on the top of a piece of paper on the nightstand. I picked it up and immediately read.      
      
It was the fumbly beginnings of an actually quite poetic love song.      
Quadruple ****** the pounding in my now softening heart.      
      
I lay back down, spooned up behind him, and kissed the back of his curly dark head.

It sat just beyond incineration
Swearing nonchalance with the great ease of a sociopath
It's jacket promising a "Good time at Larry's, bring a friend!"
Itself, lay alone and charred
If anyone had paid it any attention
One might have caught the sulfuric hint
of a mighty hell that had consumed whole
First Oxygen
And then home
And then for granted future
Of the hateful demon who had tossed the thing
And the red headed woman who had once laid beside him

Self run (Riot)

I walk
6 feet tall
All of me

(I have been told I lead with my ******, it is unintentionally ****** forward if I do. My head is usually in the clouds. I’m assuming my ***** is too. Once I think about it . .. I’m away to something else. Figuratively and literally. I guess If my ****** leads, I soon follow.)

All of me
5 foot 9
And 6 feet tall

My perfume
Hubris
But at most I’m self aware
At least
I’m oblivious

It wafts around
At 6 feet

High

(I have been told I look like Debbie Harry, I prefer Chrissy Hynde, but Debbie Harry will do. Especially on those one shoe Sunday morning afters. Even then I douse myself  O! DAY! Perfumed. Pride and all of its bilingual manifestations)

At
6 feet tall
I’ll take you to Church
O! Faced

(A man once once winked at me and said; Jennifer I’m going to take you to church. He meant a good ****. Or intended a phenomenal one.. regardless, I took him. I usually do. Jennifer the pew.)

Straight up
No inclination
6 feet tall

Baller

****** Hornets

I have been feeling,
Of late ...
that the ****** Hornets have missed us by miles  
And they are sure shot  
Tangle with the most like daggers  
  
Leaving an Unkindness of Ravens  
Furrowed brow  
(If they’d had any)  
Over eyes  
Narrowed in on outlines in chalk  
  
But figments and scatter  
Shadow people  
Who stand and walk away  
Under the cover of bold sun  
  
It might just be okay.. ..  
  
The newspaper green at its memory  
When pages had fluttered from  
Martyr  
To  
Martyr  
  
Worst to worst  
  
Might the best reman?  
  
I feel of late it might have been  
A narrow miss  
An allegorical  
Cause and escape  
  
Whether the cage door pried?  
Weather  
It matters  
  
The Sunshine be bold on backs  
That once crawled and drew a curious flock  
Un shadowing arms
  
That once  held the hands of clocks

Silent Bell

I cannot feel here at all
No touch in this space
No sight sound
Or ability to taste remorse
...
When the roaring stops
Done God deafening
And the sine qua non silence
The after the moment
Moment
Of a crushing vacuum of pause
Pre denouement
The infinity felt in the silence
There
...
before fate arrives sure footed
Black boot stomp
And fortunes imprint
...
So deep this track
How many have laid it
...
And here is mine
It shows my drag and limp
Curving artfully in the mud
To be shown and traced by hands of the living curious being
That would care to escape palmistry
Cut out the hustler
the convict
the grifter
...
As they stoop to find the lines and ways
That history arch’s and would bend their bright future
...
It would be a tragedy
They think
Finger curled to unsmiling face
To flatly increase a pensive face
...
And so the hum and swoop
Of approaching infamy
This heady swirl
And no sound to its definitely draining source
And no horn to sound an end
No violent or shocking alarm
To herald what will happen
And stick
...
To yellowed pages filled with flowery stroke
Script that burns my name into useful algorithm
Or other words
More apropos

Snowdrop

Now is the globe shrunk tight
Round the mouse’s dulled wintering heart.
Weasel and crow, as if moulded in brass,
Move through an outer darkness
Not in their right minds,
With the other deaths. She, too, pursues her ends,
Brutal as the stars of this month,
Her pale head heavy as metal.

Ted Hughes—

I understand the space in the brass
Airless no contempt, or ability to hold it
Tightly, round spring coiled around nothing
The Yo yo ing purpose of mice, mouse
Pursuits of the steel wool cut, itchy
Red abrasions cover heaving chest, loose
In the leg, furthering no where special
Connecting the four corners of the Earth
Ill conceived screams, curling under sharp toothy, to punch holes in the can
Scurry the string through, running the telephone line
Hello’s dreams, fears
Echos of clay and thud
The moisture in the ground is mud

The moisture in the ground is mud

The pooling reflects no light
And gathers the snow drops
With the remorse of it
She will surely die there
If only a smiling face to make an impression

It was White

  A white ...    A white ...    I’m dreaming of a curtain of snow
  
                                                         falling from her shoulders.
  
Snow crackling against the window. Snow shredded
  
                                           with gunfire. Red sky.
  
Ocean Vuong
Aubade with Burning City  
  
      There lay war.    Tyranny’s serial  
Killer... heat abroad  
  
The moon was white  
                        Degrees of yellow
  
    White lines laced with bliss ... much ado without implication
  
He ate the meat as if
  
A canine without teeth ... and she  
            
              tossed her smile carelessly  
  
She held a sparrow in the palm of her gentle  
  
               White... and trembling hand...  
  
   White and trembling
  
  
She ate a plum and let the juices run...
  
           Ran down her chin upturned ...  
run down it  
And dripped red juices to the floor....  
  
Let it drip                and he lapped like a dog  
  
As on airways nostalgia comforted  
         On all fours he licked red drops  
  
And once over  
Melancholic  
  
            He would forever be.  
  
Reduced to that taste....  
         orgasmically  
                     And in torture....  
his mind in torture
  
  
  
Wind whips the sparrow lost...  
she mourns her seat  
                                       Of an un gloved  
  
Pearl white hand
  
  
Un gloved and so delicate there....  
  
The morning makes it hard to build a nest

Nation part 1

He was hound dawged  
Sweated  
Mud in his eye  
But red, similar the color of cherries  
  
His  load  
Delusions of grandeur -carried in a burlap sack  
eclipsed the threshold a Moon before his person  
  
Lumbering  
  
And foul  
  
Grunt and whiskeyed breath  
Enough to make a small one dizzy ...
  
Enough to clear the front of house with only a hint of his mood  
  
The Sioux boiled beneath his grip  
Mud like lava caked his expression  
  
The man had seen War  
But not enough  
  
Not enough  
  
Only a little..
A promise incomplete  
  
His War had been a nursery rhyme
Full of..  
  
Barnyard animals  
****** with anthropomorphism  
Machete held  by pigs paw  
Rebel yells that quacked  
  
And so he entered the threshold  
(Sanctuary actually)  
Hulk and mass inescapable  
And indescribable in regards to appetite  
(Though I will try)  
  
As said ..
The Sioux boiled beneath his grip  
Exposing the ancestry beneath his skin Monks hood  
  
I think ..
Something lovely  
And deadly  
  
And I certainly feel..  
worthwhile

A deep affection for more

The woman sings:
“Don’t leave your little girl in the wild, the sky is turning black”
Of loves torture and trauma in an elliptical South
Of pale skin exposed to a hellish son
Once her heart was signed in blood ink across a dotted line
It hurt
And it stunned a permanent mark upon her face
And so she hoarded comforting words
Of lingering beauty and deep pools for eyes
Rations to nurture poorly a malnourished
and abused vanity
Her fingers found themselves
Grasping at tiny things
And disheveling all around her what she thought was neat
To tidy it back up again might tip up her chin
A story heard:
A cobbler fixed a question mark heel to an aristocratic boot so that the Man in question, could walk above other Men’s waste

She prays night and day for the perfect pair of Devil’s red stilettos

Here is one  
Come undone  
Mentality smitten  
By the lunacy of love  

Mixed nut  
Vibrations
(The good good)  
Take hold  
And smolder  
Until outer shell  
charred  
now breaks  
  
cracked and peeking  
Out the meaty inside  
meets bite  
And tongue dips in  
like salt lick  
The taste  
I come back for more  
I cannot help it  
please more  
  
Daddy ...  
We do play so  
  
this un sinning  
Frivolous stroking  
peels like skin  
Layers and layers  
To find grey matter  
And it's off kilter wiring  
Attached to  
****** psyche  
And big heart  
  
On  
(See what I did there)  
  
Tee hee  
  
now poking through  
my solemn face  
And a smiles pride  
The smirk creeps into  

(Total faced)

apples of cheeky  
Wise cracking  
And wide, wide  
Knowing grinning  
  
See how I'm understood!?  
How I understand  
This man  
His kind of pretty  
kind of ways  
And a so so  
Capable grasp  
Of what areas to  
  
work on...  
And over  
please...umm  
  
(You know the word here)  
  
But I would hate to go too far  
I lie to you  
I really wouldn't  
Call me  
all in Jen  
on top of this one  
And back  
And forth  
  
****, to the next verse  
stanza  
(Then bend me over)  
  
Please  
  
@#@@%  
  
Now he's come  
  
Un done

I have stroked my way
through great lengths
And currents    
Of uncertainty    
    
Come ripple    
Come shoot  
And it seems    
In this moment    
I did not miss  
    
It's pull  
Through doubt  
Through once devastating    
Remorse  
That had grabbed my ankles  
To tug me under  
    
To see my face    
In airless whisper  
Bubbles of scream    
I could not muster    
Rise  
And rise slowly    
And swallow into it  
    
Hollow panic    
I could not choke    
But only beg for wind  
Until I surfaced    
To the welcoming sun    
And beloved movement  
    
To float into    
Destination    
Would have been lovely  
To ride Christ like    
Down blue waters    
Seems choice    
However unattainable    
    
I can only imagine  
Caressing the ease and cool    
With fingers that did not curl    
With desperation  
    
But that was not my case  
Was not my stream    
Was not my river    
    
I imagine Congo bends  
And U shaped turns    
Of ambiguity and great confusion  
Or the dense and uncharted    
Regions of the Amazon    
And like minded    
Extreme    
Highly unpredictable    
Pourings  
    
And in them I would recognise    
My journey  
And feel kinship    
And great pride    
In spite of the struggle  
And uneven pace of my dig  
    
For every stroke has taken me    
to where I am  
And away from where I've been
  
I let the residuals  
Drip down my thigh
I finger them from my hair
And am reminded  
Of the hard motion  
And deep waters that cling
  
I sigh and watch them  
fall from my skin
And direct my gaze
And satisfaction  
Up and towards the sky

The Stone

I hold it
Hot hot
In my hand
My eyes shoot
In Axis Mundi
Ever opposite
It’s grounding source
However similar
It’s everlong
Time imprinted
Held snug
My eyes
To the stars
Like this diamond
Chrysalis
Of Chrystaline
Hot hot
In my hand
My eyes shoot
Im Axis Mundi
Beyond the heat
Axis of Petdition
.............,,,,,.

To see this highway,
And a vision beyond it
Beside it  .. running along like threads that hold the keep  
Dirt roads that come to the middle and end  
A front door open ,
And shut a thousand times and holding its secrets still..    
  
In my rear view ,  
And front.  
A haze of dust collected there  
  
My eyes are wide against rest.  
A yellow line will spin out hours ahead of me before they find comfort and closure against a pillow  
  
.And the moon and stars make work of my imagination.  
Residuals and lasting impressions dust my dreams.
  
Scorched coffee  (pause)
Sugared bites,  
And the road I travelled ,  
  
Well economies.    
  
Not glimpses into the usual, or typical  
Exactly,...  
but glances towards an American Gothic.  
    
Perhaps even the Abraham of the streets
  
(Long thoughtful pause and deep pull of a Redbull)

Would I stoop to consider these,
Remove myself from self titled Shaman of the Netherlands  ...
and dive deeeep into the Delta.

Musky scent of both decay and renewal,
Let it be heady.
Let it fly fast into downed windows through fingertips extended and waving through the wind.

Learn  by feeling and leaving  ...
experience.
But no intent on living there.

Un careful placed tongues    
Slipping knot poetry    
To be sure      
To swing      
And unable to hit      
      
Like a falling dream      
A dream where you fall    
Brace for it..    
But you wake in the middle      
The bottom      
It stays in the distance    
      
No bottom of it      
Of words      
Sliding out from under you      
Slipping from desperate grasp      
      
White knuckles curl the syllables      
The meaning of them      
Clenched in its palm      
Full of the map      
The born in tree      
      
Knowledge      
Intuitive like      
      
But wrapped tightly      
By the struggle      
By pride      
By counterintuitive impulse      
The likes of it      
Unholy      
      
(To most)    
    
Few would condone it      
Many would do it      
      
I often feel like saying it      
Often it enters my body like blasphemy      
      
And it rock shocks      
Grabs warm places      
Digs and I buck    
And then    
And then...  
      
I want to ****      
Like a kicking mule      
And a gone bad woman      
      
On the edge      
Sitting pink on the verge      
Of clamped tight      
Spasm      
And its lie awake at night      
........ rocket      
      
Rocket      
      
Rocket....  
  
Phew...  
      
I breathe heavy      
Like a time lapse photo      
Of an obscure      
Underwater creature      
Whose movements ****      
In reds      
And shocking      
Bright      
Neon blue      
      
Pulse    ....
..... ..  
      
And ads plenty      
To dark depths      
Of uncharted territories      
The Mariana Trench      
And ungodly bottomless holes      
Found right smack      
In the middle      
Of a desert      
      
Right smack in the middle      
Like a      
........rocket      
      
Shoot...

You pace
Ubiquitous loitering  
Like beggars hands holding a sign
Invading my cool condition  
Like the denim  
I’m worn and wearing
A white cotton T shirt and sly smile  
  
I see  
  
Black boots In the center of my floor
Tossed carelessly  
Soft whispers that want to rub  
Pleading eyes that would lay me down
Lay me down  
Until ******* find a place to hook themselves
Eager finger
Or corner of the chair
  
I really do not care  
  
The getting there would be triage  
To one part desire
One part anticipation  
(I can hold it in my hand and feel the heartbeat of its urgency)  
One part lonely walking  
Circling to running  
And skinned knees
  
Your breath on my youth and delivers me
My eyelash flutters
And the warm wind on my bare shoulder curves my pout
  
See my shirt as she shakes loose of my breast
My rib expands to take you in
I imagine your eye tracing the curve of your intake  
And down to the crux  
Of pink and tender
Warm and pulsing
To sip and suckle what I’ve left you
For you
  
It will be there
  
When finger slip
The ridge of white cotton  
(Gasp)  
As you trespass  
And find yourself in my wilds
Marked places  
Behind my eyes with memories  
Of a man that hunted there before you
I pray he lets loose that dominion
  
I know that the thought of your pace in my world  
Has me begging to be set free
It is a solemn pass when sovereign ghosts refuse to let go
  
Again
  
My little eye spies your boots  
On my floor  
I welcome the dirt and debris
I have been living in such sterile conditions  
I could use a little *****
  
Boy

Like salted wet
And slipping through the grass
Between thighs spread
Parted clouds of white
And peeking sun
The shine
The welcome
And brilliant effects
On shining face

of the sea
Of rocking
of the moon
Dazzling the shell
its pink to pearl
By your bit of sand

From pooling stillness
tidal build will find its heights
It comes
Announced by a cry of God
And your name only
And it will smack down upon you

Flesh soakened
And seared
My stamp put on your neck
By ankle kisses
Below each cheek
Poseidon’s blush
A fever of rush
And sweet urge

The clover
Scent you cut
By each turn of phrase
And hidden glance towards me
By every revolution of your tongue
And nuance
Not so subtly imposed

It turns towards the sky and breathes freely
Shouts itself into the breeze
With the abandon
Of the dandelion
Where once she sheltered herself
By yellowed residue
On fumbling fingers

A tree

I was once God smacked by a Sunset
Who’s fingertips dripped orange and pinks into the inky tips of evergreens
A master work of feeling
And blue ball empathy

The longing displayed in nature

A supernatural as I gazed onward
And understood

Phenomenon
Phenomenally

I waltz and dance and tip toe underneath a shine gone spastic
Stars that would scatter all for me
And would shed their light upon a face
Curving lips over a strong chin that held ...

The ever promise of a kiss
The furlong promise of a No

I doubled down on this.

Hot and miss as I danced into the spray ..
on my face and **** and tummy

More I cried for his sunset
Into the ink of my evergreen
Pinks and oranges puddled onto

The tap root of my Forrest

Eve's daughter in apron and wide skirt Hides apple bottom            
And her most delicious dish              
              
Bow tied behind slim waist              
Waits primly for her sweet meats              
And man              
              
Greets him              
Drink in hand              
An expert mixologist              
              
Creates the perfect coctail              
For her perfect ****              
              
2 parts Grand Marnier              
2 parts Ginger beer              
Splash of lime juice              
Garnish with:              
Very secret ingredient              
Sugar n salt rim stuck by oooey gooey vaginal slick              
              
Classy Dark 'n stormy              
And her mood              
              
🐍 Little does Eve's child know, her ***** duties are being watched and glasses are being raised, celebrating her desires and place in the world. A nightly gathering of would be saints and angels fallen in with sin raise their glasses and cheer "Salute!". Her *** inspired recipe's collected and kept dear in their hearts and hard ons. An **** like feast of delicacies are ravished,  savoring each bite, flavour like no other foods on Earth or in the heaven's. Key ingredient, the succulent female juices coaxed by fruits and the fruits of man.

Pre administered microphoned speak
Speaking to the gambler and his misgivings
Chips placed in precarious
.... stacks
A pro placed bet
............shoved red ridged
..................circles shifting to the edge
..............................Comes the blue round O’r

worth less shrieks the minister
fat cheeks filled
free guacamole and taco chips
spittled to green felt table

In the gamblers hands
Red eyed queen and a wink
One weekend free cable
One lovely ****** ironically called Babe

Dip in the pool later
To calm the quivering
A fat man
Blue suited blubbering
Creates BIG splash
With the turquoise laidies
And their baubled tans

plastic palm tree reef
fiberglass coral majesty
a porpoise in life
decorated pink walls

Flying Elvi graceland the sky
The sky is falling heartbreak hotel
Thrusting crotches and dazzling sequins
In sequence
A paramount event
A paramount event
A paramount event
Parrots the crowd

A drive towards the desert
Flagged down by neon cowboy
Waving cactus
Like spikey *****
Two doors down
Brothel boasting
The red lid of Venus
Gamblers ***** might never be the same

Two slicks of the drip
Cry hell to the strip
That ***** was not Venus
But a villain
Fast to Walgreens for a lil white pill
Called penicillin

jet fueled finished
narrow yellow arrowed
lane of no return the same
feels 747 roar of lift
and grand departure of
pre vaca postcard capture
a life called normalcy’s
purgatoried
fate

Silhouette

You breathe through the air. Its jacket fits snugly. Its jacket is pale grey blue, and gripping.

It feels, a Forrest surrounds you. The blackening etch of your nature against cold tile like elephant ivory.

The ink seeps into the spread of age. It is blue dark. The picture blurs.

The only sound has been captured within the trumpet. The brass bulges, and begins to fracture.

What escapes; weeping. A low moan and the gurgle of a man drowning. Slowly.
His toes pointed downwards.

To the bottom like a dart. The silhouette of a body freeing itself of the hangman’s noosed.

Until it fins itself violently to the left, an eruptive detour created with the force of a whales tale. If only its lungs to breathe.

And free yourself of this jacket. Of its sterile color and similar embrace.

Behind Bandana and Cloak

Where it holds value
Like ampoules of placebo
But sugar and water and hope
Driven in
An intoxicating swoosh
****** in, currents
That run down the American dream

A big brawny man with spike and hammer
Pounds determination into steel
With breathe heaving spit
Electrolytes draining from brow
Below the furrow a face the shape
Of white molten mud
Labor belts harmony with his spike

Ping
Ping
The placebo takes the rhythm of faith
Ping
Until the morning grace ....

An affluent nature would give him no title
Only stock in trade
The worth of his back
And it is broad

But where it holds value ..
might and vigorously hoping
And these you know,
Are the important things
What we reach for
Beyond capability

Behind the red fade
Of cotton hand me down things
Before time drops forgotten
From the hems of pockets riddled with holes

Ping and
Ping
The mend

In his bounty
Amen
Amen

Jack White and other Spiritual matters

Prior to yesterday I fasted from Jack White for 8 days. Cause: One screwy morning while making my bed, neatly spreading the head of my ****** Mary blanket newly bought on sale at Walmart, I looked up at the print of Jack White my mother bought me and winked at him and said:  
“Love you Jack, we got this.”
I was Godsmacked. Thrown back violently into a moment where I had stared into a Golden boys centerfold in the pages of Teen Beat, pledged my undying love, straight into his turquoise eyes, and was crushed when he did not swear it back.  
  
I got down on my knees and prayed: “Dear lord, help. I will give up Jack if I need to... but I really, really don’t want to...soooo.”  
His answer: “Chill out Jennifer, just take a break.”
  
I did, and yesterday morning I picked Jack back up in full force. After praying, I played Icky Thump so loud in my headphones I thought my ears would bleed.  
Afterwards I paused.. prayed again, and here is what that prayer revealed:
  
.....  
  
I sat, hands on knees. Alive with both the Holy Spirit, and the sticky feel of White’s signature guitar riffing. I allowed the buzz to settle and awareness lift. I became aware that my experience with the song was every bit as good or perhaps even better than the first time.  
  
This was certainly not true concerning my lifelong wrestling match with drugs and alcohol. No drink or use after, would ever match the Nirvana I reached in my first. Though I would chase that feeling like thunder scared livestock up until a bout a year and a half ago when the 12 steps of AA brought me to a higher power.  
  
This morning, that same higher power was revealing something to me during meditation concerning Rock n Roll, music and art in general.  
  
Somewhere around 4000 years ago a change happened in mankind. The Neolithic revolution. (This coincides with the time biblical scholars date the Genesis story of Adam and Eve)  
During this time, we see man beginning not only to plant and harvest literal fruits, but spiritual fruits as well. A natural or innate need for God manifests, into practice and worship. A knowledge thereof ... In this same transforming  period of growth we find the birth of Art and musical instruments.  
  
One can peruse the Artwork of man created thousands of years ago, and see he had a need and talent to create that was God given not unlike Da Vinci. One could play a flute  made back then with the same tonality of Amazing Grace. ... or Icky Thump.  
  
I came to the conclusion, that my music, is a spiritual matter, even in secular form. That Art is a spiritual matter to me, in whatever form.    
  
....,
  
My spirituality matters to me. More than that, it’s condition determines whether I can call myself sober today. With, or without a drink.  
  
With or without  Jack White?  
Gods answer: with. As long as I know to get down on my knees and ask him to help me reel it in the next time I look at a photo of a “rock God” tell him I love him, and say we got this.

Hillbilly Girl

She took the cake
Fat bottomed
Momma slip dressed no shoes
Whiskey’d breathe
(enough to make a cow dizzy)
To her the simple life
Had been a religious pilgrimage
One heavy hillbilly who loved a good bargain
Her Guru Man
(between her thighs he’d lie)
Placing bets with tobacco juices
The piney scent of chainsaw remnant
His perfume
A heady mixture to inhale
For this tiny girl
Her rear had plumped practically overnight
For his poison
Her bottom lip had found
A permanent place to shove itself
(and still her spirit had not taken a hit)
To the hilt she took to the woods
Birthing babies in the holller
(consecutively named after him)
1
2
3
They dropped and rolled into their own
Her bottom got fatter
Her ******* remained high
(one never snubbing the other)
And though her book
Threatened to become a dusty one
It was leather bound
A valuable artifact in her eyes
(no other God would thumb through its pages)
But to the end her Guru Man
Would see it as very well
And so the stones she gathered from living.
Would build her a palace in this backwoods place
Fat bottomed lil Momma
She took the cake

She is in the dark.

But in his eyes.....

Blood around her head like a halo.
Eyes, cold marble
Blue and blurry
Streaked
They roll

Turned away from him
His chivalry,
A long thin hand
Outstretched
And shaking

He has had no drink for hours
The days unwind collectively
In his stoop
In his demeanor
In his recollection

She.

Once long haired
And laughter like wings
Then he ..

And moth turned to flame
Charcoaling the tips
Curling future and promise
Red lipped youth
Paling to ashen
Grey

Let’s get down to the nitty gritty
Bare ***** and its industry
(Fast results with a whimper and grunt)
Un cult swept mind and cellophaned
Rap
The straight Dope
Shoots
Entered in and parsing syntax
... dot dot dot
And sequence flumox
(It would be comfy to hide in its safe design like euphemism discourage)
The algorithm
Betrayed by my feminine wiles
(Only gloves off intuition and sweet logic)
My smile speaks your truth
A parsed pout
Divulged your bulge
And whispered into your ear

“I would like to know you too Sir”

And it came down like madness
The water over her naked self
Spilling over budding dreads of *****
Neglect
Where it pooled in oil and the dust of long hellish roads
This sacrament refused to mix readily or give easy absolution
For the residuals of long journeyed sins
Hard living had taken its toll
And close to completely
What was left of her mind, muddy
"Of cloudless climbs and starry skies"
She had once known all the words
By heart and mirrored affinity
But sometime in that great distance
Of then to now
It had all become very, very
Ugly
So now, there stood
A shivering and hunched Liesel Priest
Wearing nothing but goosefleshed compromise
In durressed state of highly undressed
Urges, the natural kind
Of flight or flight, quite respectable and by right
Well all those fine urges, they flung like daggers
Until, almighty at last
Her head rocked back and sunk into wet soapy shoulders
Her jaw slacked slightly open
And she let the ministering of scalding water pass her lips
Until she rocked compliance
And uttered "forgive me father, how I've sinned."

The Charmers of Hupomeno

Mankind and his ambition  
Might have thought  
To take slowly from the pile
  
But he seems to heave and throw
Eager to watch it burn
Eyeing the cinder
The ember his eye
Puff and pride swelling his chest
  
What destruction  
And brought tempest
The storm placed  
  
And mankind grins  
Believing it echoed a rain dance
Barking snake oil  
To crowds huddled  
Shaking hands  
To chuck the bottle
  
They lick their lips of its placebo
And stoke the fire  
With sticks of ivory
***** charcoal  
And remnants of nature  
And its source
  
The tapping of singed fingers
Plays a tune  
To impromptu a soft shoe  
Buffaloes time step
And the cake walk shows white teeth
Bared and dinged
And shuf shuf shuffles off
  
Mankind and his cane
To beat the rock  
With the bones of holy ancestry
They drink  
But cannot further the tribe  
Dancing does nothing for distance
Endurance withers  
In the heat furnaced and fueled  
  
Mankind procreated
Whip in hand and behind her like a dog
He has raised a son
And named him Meribah
The Great Entertainer
Watch him twirl the torches
Gasp as they burn
  
The soul at siege  
Will rush the plank  
Will caress the sky from falling
Will scald his flesh  
To prevent the stage on fire
But dismantle it piece by piece
And find a fortress in his stronghold
  
The temple of man
Made of skin
And three rings announce a master of ceremonies  
He is loathe to crack the lions
But had intended them lambs

It is dawn
  
I watch the dusty tilt and splinter
Of morning sun's soft emissions
I weave my fingers through them
And let them hold my need
  
My ache for the evenings before
when I bathed you  
And knew your body
And could smell your scent  
Strong and musky
where it was kept upon our bathroom shelf
  
My ache
she is strong
she remembers when
  
When comfort and care
And your arms were ever ready  
To pull around me
Wrapped carelessly  
  
Ghosts of you still wrap tight
  
You hold and squeeze  
And the twilight in that embrace
distorts the early sun
  
I feel torn
  
With the need to battle this obscurity
And with a shaking need  
to collect and keep it
  
My body urges me
It remembers when
  
So I often beg for it  
when it fades some
I had been crippled by my begging so
  
I believe it had crippled you as well
I must believe that to stay in this light
  
My posture dips
It remembers when  
  
I would get on my knees  
And would swallow you whole
My eyes on your desperate desire for release  
All the while
  
Now my eyes on this new day
Finding beauty on my fingertips
And pain in the memories that flutter it
  
My being wants to bend in that pain
It would feel natural
I think....
  
And i do again
  
But it would be a swallow
I could not choke
To watch your eye  
And it's ecstasy in release
  
A crushing blow  
It would keep me on my knees
  
so I rise
With this sun
And each day forward
To live and be gentle with it
To pray on these knees
I do not stay in this existence
In your evening  
And remembering
When
  
(I have known serenity in my stand. The next time I mean to keep it. That is my promise, to the next dawn and it's tilt again.)

There is a light on..
if it is a lamp
I decrease by lessening shades of ever night
If it is a being,
I retreat
From vapor sting
Of foul breaths to eyes

My camouflage none
But naked self and instinct

And into the deep holes
And crevasse
Of a land rich
With nothing sovereign
It’s only King
Cruelty and self

My pallor is shot
This atmosphere has left thick residue
(Ash and grey)
I have morphed into a refugee
I wear the cloak of ruggedness
I own the heart of fear

I consider my last moments here ..
what memories might come to mind?
Thoughts of home ..
a distance so heartbreaking to travel
My family ...
faces like ghosts
It moves my insanity so
that I cannot remember their touch

Chambers:
I am moving blood
And dust
Pumping one ..
to put off the other

I find no need for sacrifice
The little goat would do me no good
It’s bleating a cry out to nothing
It’s slaughter would do me no good
But to lend fat to my skin and bones
And forward my march
Into another day

One I might be too weary to exist in
If it were not the fear
Of the pain that will carry me into death

In a Bucket

What have I brought ..?
Havoc
Love...
carried in a bucket
Cancered by holes
And spilled along my path
Squeaky handle
Rusted parts
My shoulders shirking my burden
And the responsibility

With stars in my eyes I had asked:
Where should we go to dinner?
Do you like my dress?
What color are my eyes...
right this very second?
Would you get a load of me and this ******* twinkle!

It was so bright he could not stand the view.

Along the path:
A scenic overlook
Down below it ...
way down nestled prettily amongst tall Oak
And pale Sycamore
A brown river I had once daintily dipped my toes in,
in front of him..
And had cannonballed in naked
While hollering like a banshee
Behind him

It is unfortunate he did not witness the show...
so grand
it had uprooted the rookery

So grand ..
Even today the bird stands
Talk smoke and grey
On watch
And hoping to catch it again

Such were the stars in my eyes...
such were the stars in my eyes.

Blue and wetted vision occurred
Morning after morning
As I woke to his posture looming
Over my sleepy face
And his remark:
You look so beautiful,
So peaceful

But the look on his face.....

Another hole in the bucket.
My load lighter,
My boots muddied

It has been, such a long time since him.

It’s as if these hills hold a second sight  
The sycamores when still and silent  
Ghostly white and they weep for the empty rookery  

The heron
Just as pale and blue  
Stand an apparition on the banks  
Lonely for the colony and its need  
He is smoke to my water  
The current moves me through his gaze  
Holds me there through the bend  
And then I drift beyond it  
  
He remains  
like my history  
And its fog of memory  
To keep the edge  
To eye the flow  
Dig capable whistled leg  
Into pale hues of fossils  
And time placed compression  
Impressions of my used to be  
  
The prowlers with yellow eyes  
Curve and sweep  
The startling screech  
Cries fear  
Into the calm of all this  
Beauty  
But often eerie  
And foreshadowing quiet  
Brushy tails shiver my good sense  
  
I will go to the river  
And strip down to nothing  
But the peach of me  
And the wonder in my regard  
Of all of this  
And its spiritual entry into my being  
Dive in and feel my soul float  
Out of the cool caress of my skin  
  
The night and its moon  
Will color me an *******  
But pale mood  
To suit the atmosphere  
And its esoteric tastes  
I will be a mystic here  
And chant my name to the stars

He wears an open mind
Like barbed wire
Thoughts pricked
Circling
A championship stance ready
Out waiting the gait  
To un click and spring open
Hurled and pounced
Flat and broken  
Mind bugging slaughter house failure
**** boy twisted  
And gangsta leaned
New swaggering fueled
Ill intent  
Trades mind set
For black heart  
Clank
Downed iron walls  
Downed time  
And street apprenticeship  
All bared bones  
And ivory closure
All turkey and no jive
Calls himself sweet feet  
In the canteen line
Mood fine seemingly  
But in the letter
An I miss you baby
Hold me down he begs
The phone line is long
But hear me calling
I never did  
She fails to see
The barbed wire  
Had sealed his fate
Thorny sting  
And a Mother gone
To too much  
His life had been never enough
But excess  
Of pseudo freedom
Piles of postcards  
And unused stamps  
Delivered
No where special
Days and days of trailer park revival  
And pressing a bunk
calamity’s currency  
Provides peanuts for clamshells  
Steamy art
And shadowed textures
The tattoo gun sting
Provides your name  
On his ***
And whipped into fury  
By slow trickled tepid shower
Regret slowly smirks his frown
His assault on liberty  
Bloodies his fist
Full contact sport
With solid walls  
Exhausted by the effort  
No strike will un loose them
He has lost so much
To permanent hold

The drip  
And delicacy of my eye
You imagine
It holds pity
You imagine  
It holds your favor  
And that I intuitively reach  
For your nerve
  
Some nerve
  
In all my resolve
A posture built of stone
And the stalwart mortar
Experience  
My wisdom sticky with it
  
Even against the Great Wall  
You helped lay
From cornerstone  
To turret and my stare from it
Even against this  
You blow
  
Silly fragile fragments
You expect  
To crumble tumble down  
  
And long gold locks  
Like the hair
I used to wear
You believe might spill over
Return to your pull
Of grooming  
Tight plaited  
Twisted curving
Insecurity  
  
Inebriated wit
Calculated curiosities  
Woven tightly  
Into my thought process  
When puberty
Hit with urge
  
Remorse
That I had left certain things behind
  
Laughter with you
Inside jokes
And shared knowledge  
A privilege meant
Only for us
  
An isolationist  
In your measure
Your way with me
You had  
But not quite  
proved  
Cold calculating  
Alienation
  
But oh father  
How I’ve sinned against  
The nature of things
  
In my head
To my knees  
With private mournful  
Accusations  
With the need for  
absolution from it
  
But with absolve  
I dissolve
  
So return to my eye
The drip she shines
When let loose
That shine  
She is not pity
And she is not for you
  
To my knees
With other things
  
A world who’s axis  
Is not you
A prayer to a God  
Who’s strangest angels
Do not sing  
In your tonality
  
A hallelujah chorus rise
Over your horn
And its shrill  
Efforts  
My walls
They hold

Hand

It is placed in a small hand
Small palm
A cup
To be held

(thoughts leave ligature stains)

To be violently kept
And dig deep
Down the red seams
Called fortune
That rise like trees
But uproot themselves
At the wrist

One so pale and daggered
One limp yet meaningful
One’s soul might forget it extends

One sparrow
One stone
One star to find me

(a comets score would burn a smaller space)

The World had turned within a tinier spot
How long could we keep the world turning
Under my thumb

It is placed in a small hand
Small palm
A cup

(the chalice had filled with spray)
Grey matter and lust
The clear pink of a dark red
the moment just before

Brutal
(elementary momentum)
Brutal
The moment just before


..........

He had paused and looked and let out a clear headed scream and his eyes were gashes the color of nickel and stone his heart was stone cold his voice was deep his voice was high pitched uncontrollably so his eyes were thrown wide his head was foggy he only wailed and moaned he wailed he wailed he wailed on a head no longer clear....

So deep and dark was his soul

..
..
..

It is paced in a small hand
Small palm
A cup

And it’s weight in iron
Would sink the worl

My face in histrionics  
Then bourboned to  
Applesauce  
A soft veiling  
Of *******  
And an insufficient reach
To grip the railing  
A catastrophic climb  
To my depths  
And I pour.....  
  
Another night  
Laced by stars
And swat team tactics  
He had gaslighted my dimensions  
I was scattered  
And covered the ground
Little shiny pebbles  
Poking bare feet ...  
  
That night I tossed and turned  
Under the covers of my smile  
My eyes sunk  
Closed and creases
Nostalgia played the drive in  
And a small girl sat on the bench
At the park across the way
Watching the others swing...  
  
It has been four years since then,  
And I ...  
  
Feel very strongly about that day  
That had fed itself into the night  
In such a primitive  
Primal manner ...  
that I had sworn I might lose my fist in its bite
  
I should still avert my gaze  
From morbid reflection  
And not dwell
(Stand)  
The pebbles so sharp beneath my toes

Foxhole of fishes

Like the beautiful  
And the breaking
Find a saltwater underground  
Swirl into deep pearlescent  
Holes become worlds  
With the bellies of fish
That swish and shine like stars
And the dark and deep blue  
Becomes covering  
Safe night
And a sovereign space  
To sleep walk through
  
But agitated in our kingdom  
Of separate from the grass  
And hard wired  
Dirt and unplowed fields
The scarecrow watches
Transforms and dives in
To do what the scarecrow is want  
To do
  
His new being
With the tentacles  
Of monsters  
That sweep  
Closed eyes
And bother lips  
To want suction
And oxygen rich cells
  
And the fish bellies flash lightning  
Fast  
Such scatter and it’s shine
Like comets calling  
Unpresidented paradigm
We hide from its shift
And nose and dig  
Deeper into our breathless dimension  
  
Give us breathe oh lord
In heaving chest
It is locked  
And chained
And sinks  
  
Ever
Deeper  
  
With the weight of iron
And one might die  
In this violent struggle
And the epithet  
Would read  
Of a madman  
Wearing blue lips
And startled gaze upwards
Chrystals holding  
The last minute reflection  
Of pseudo comets  
In solemn iris
  
Gripped hand clutching  
The trident of a false king
And the scarecrow  
With it’s new skin  
Scaling saltwater trenched  
Evolution  
Would have been missed  
And it’s words  
Of reach back
And wake
Unheard
  
But marry the two while living
But dream and drown only a moment
Or two
And swim and walk  
Ploughing and knowing  
The purpose
Of the lunatic that hangs on the cross
And stargaze
Into a true night
Under his spread and warning
With the eyes of a child
And the wonder of the deep
An ocean among us
But not our casket  
Never mind the longing to
Never mind the pearly stomached
Fish  
And calming sink

When seeing Red

Had I possessed
An astrologer’s poetic vagueness
Along with a mind bent
Like the ******* of Saints
A slow cautionary peace
Dubious to react
When prodded and poked
By eyes direct
And boasting a manly strength

Had I possessed this
And had not preferred the sound
Of crack a bone whip and snap
The cold breaking sound
Of meaty
And violent reckoning
With those who concerned me
With a complacent idiocy
And question piled upon question
Some fragile corroded brick
So brittle I might blow them down

Had I possessed
Arms gathering awareness
Like gentle summer storms
Pulling up grey and billowing clouds
Only to empty
And replenish
A kind and fruitful way to turn
Would be destruction

My heart then..
she would not hurt so
When my mind wanders through my castle built
Of selfish walls held tight by a mortar worth its weight in only gold
Gold holds no value in the heavens

....
  
These strongholds
like legs
It is like I could not walk without them
As if with all my might
I could not breathe without them

They split my middle
Of love and hate
And on one side I could not win
And with the other
I am unfamiliar

Of the stars and nights
Circling into
Yellow and circular more
Twist roll out to blues
That twist the black hope
And steeple
Of the people
That would shudder to think

He walked among them
And would dream this
And see it into stroke

Deliver the back break
And gold fields
Of wheat
To the edging black wings
They edge the pickers
They weigh their burden
And carry into
Sudden night

To see a man
As he sees himself
And cannot hear
the left of himself
Or see the right of it

And a red haired madman
Holds our discomfort
And the utter
Beauty of it
Bristles through
With raving disclosures
Bristles splayed blue and black

Much as if the bruises to
An unowned sanity
And his fear of going unnoticed
But oh the irony
Of the insane existence
Of genius
And it’s departure

Of color
And it’s carry on
Through spirit
And inspiration
Wherever it is found
It has been proven
More formidable than death
A formidable opponent

Indeed

Iced In

I am almost certain this house is shrinking  
I have begun to watch heavy mouth breathers as if they were mine canaries  
And have duct taped down the stove tops  
so that no Cabbage or Salmon or other viscous pungency invades what’s left of my senses  
  
Last night I slept on the couch for a change of scenery in which to dream  
My dreams have become complacent  
I wish they contained urges like mine  
I feel they hold to investment in my desires  
  
My longings are being held hostage by a man in a boring brown suit who would never dare try and pull off a black fedora  
He can only move me  
By a rope and pulley system  
  
It feels unnatural  
Without the odd pleasures of the surreal  
  
This environment suffocates my ability to self stimulate  
My imagination bounces off of four grey walls who’s ugliness is approaching like a step sister  
She creeps towards me and scuffs her shoes  
She breathes heavily and I eyeball her impending fall  

Surely this storm will be the bounce house death of me
By body splayed out in an un natural position to chalk around on rainbow colored parachute fabric
I hope I allow the look on my face to say it  all

Burning through
Archaic sentiment
.....But burning
And an appreciation
An appropriate passion
For what is not gold
But the tint of Calx
rusted root
Or the rust of a tin can
Planted in soil
For generations
And the dangerous space
That leads the Copperhead
Ahead of Chevron tiled slither
A scent of foreboding fortune mixed with feces and intent
But comes to some
The smell of cucumbers
To some plain foul
As flared and frightened nostrils
Take it in
And exhale no art
Poetry
Music
Stroke
Of mimic
The raw colors of the world
The value of salt
As it adds to the human condition
Or reflects
Truly the grimy
And honest
Often *******
Often Jesus Christ
Cornerstone, of humanity
The weary and brutal
Sidewalks
Filled with ******* seekers
Rattling keychains
That hang from pockets
Spilling Velcro unicorns
In colorful plastic

Burning through ..
and these things around me
Spill
A pilgrimage of sorts
To the Buk
And his awareness :
....Need to find art ...
To seek it in the ally’s
Or the eye of the convict
Where some might see
Only concrete and grey