There is ink spilled
on white worn linen
well scrubbed wood
railings smooth and worn
tremolo sounds across baseboards
and cabinetry of cypress

These grains in wood speak
as if they were twirled
on a song and open smile
and i wonder what isn't
twirled across time and faces
nothing

I know you're a bunch of fukin poets
I know you're broken fukin hearted
I know you're questin fukin evrythn
I know you're  'bout fukin sure of something
if we'd just listen

what fukin what then eh
we listened we read we cried
ah my life has changed thank you

maybe we even became crude
a suspicious word i say
an opinion and all those are
useless except the playful ones

Pounding out my time
Jumping in my hand
Wanging side to side
in my head
Where has this lead

you have read
yourself into something new
that no longer fits
inside the accepted you
along with this line

i don't have the lyrical
beauty you seek here
I have sawing lines
hewing rhymes
sharpened tines

One more poem to bedtime i say
just one more spluge of me salty
or sweet depending on smoothness
and ruthlessness we all love to be
without ruth and i knew her husband
who was smitten and smiling in her presence

Forgive this reaching this breaching
of etiquette I can't write lines
you cannot smite
i don't care if they are
really there in your eyes
i entered the arena
i threw down my gauntlet
threw up

These things that we gather about
these fornicating scribbles of art
scimitars of sense and sound bubbling
rejections spelt like blood running out
ululations of spirit and other certainties
bleeding hopefully read and deeply felt
I'll take a coffee and a sandwich of meaning

yes yes you are right you are beautiful yes
this sound bathes your nerves and raws
those things that connect you to time's killers
seconds slaughtered here in honor of your fear
what about what about what about what they say
shame rules your day blame rules your way
something is running out something is running
forward about to run right out of my skin right
aside to your reading here with your judgmental
ear skinning my hearts work like small snacks
ick you say ick this isn't to my taste this isn't
my cup of tea i don't take it filled with blood
this was a day in my robe this was a day

with a finger in my ear a song in my art
i am pulled along bumbling grinning
awkward in the slip stream keeping me off
really
are you still there are you still curious
if this has meaning if this has beauty
if this has some understanding that will
ease the up-welling of annnngst and anger
or click the box of right and let you smile
just smile

What *** are you after
drop into raucous sound
and then emerge in silence
this universe is intended
for mature audiences
this universe is intended
is a false statement
wrapped in something
that isn't ever true
this intent slips within
the lies that comfort us
of understanding and
certainty while we roll
under the wave of now
i need to move forward
i get to breathe here

I am open to some web
some web of energy
and being
that scares me
I think it will
swamp me