It's such a beautiful relationship
like birds cleaning crocodile teeth
feeding on what didn't make it to the stomach
these words rely on me
A vessel
and hopefully they don't
act like hermit *****
because without them
I would just be a ***
who drinks and smokes too much
But as long as I have the ability
to manipulate the world around me
in the chaotic rush
of my infinite mental expanses
and nooks and crannies
I can give them life
like a midwife
I bring them into the world
and name them poems
or stories
so that they might live forever
burned in the retinas of strangers
or etched on the wood of my desk
I hope we will always
need each other

Sunglasses hide me from the hurtful rays
and like a bandit mask conceal my identity
pull the bill of the cap down
until I look like a sleepwalking hobo
and though I'm a regular recognizable face
at that corporate coffee castle
nobody knows my name
Because If I keep them at a distance
then I don't feel as bad
when I do horrible things to them
in my writings
I keep myself anonymous
so that they can show me
their true selves
because nobody expects to be observed
by a sleepwalking hobo

there were always people staying with us
in that house
it was a real dump
too many transitory tourists
and drug induced lack of motivation
but there is Jake's girlfriend
frail and weak
like a *****
although she was mostly clean
she drank every now and then
but she was just sick
and she left
once Jake went to take the infinite sleep

And Martin never had trouble
bringing stray women back to the house
for days at a time
before he got bored
and went on to another
tossing the previous to the side
without a second thought
I stopped even trying to remember their names
those poor broken souls
like most girls who Martin coaxed into a world of loathing
frustrated self-destructive details
of a life headed no where

And Mia stayed for a while
a friend of mine
whose vices were klonopin, ***, and music
but she was far too smart
got out of there before the walls closed in
there was Sarah
just looking for truth
and love
but she never loved herself
and it was hard to love a pill head
who paraded her womanhood
to all of the drug dealers around town

There was Chris, smoking like a chimney
never sleeping
always running from his boyhood
we had to ask him to leave
when we found him
sailing the seas of golden brown

But these people
weren't built for this life
they are too easily destroyed by the ugliness
they haven't yet learned
how to shape them
into forms which are far more acceptable
so they flee in terror
from the glass house
their marks are marks of their impermanence

His bare arms wrapped
around her like seaweed,
pulling her further into
the deep dark blue lagoon.

Her soul was lost underneath
the crashing waves of the sea,
drowned in the deception
of his deep dark blue eyes.

thought i had a shot
in this wide wide place

all the arms closed around me
suffocating
not embracing

the needles slide precariously  
through my skin

never again
never again

"I am so unhappy."
I got four words.
Just four.
Four words to let the guilt seep in.
I bailed, I know.
For good intentions, yes.
But I still bailed.
How long did I think I could ******* keep this up.
I'm the moon, you're the ocean.
And I'll carve your name in the sand,
in the dunes,
in the roads we used to drive down.
religiously.

a, a, a, a, a, a, a, a. over and over, ocean ebbing at the curve.

would walk out of the city on Sunday afternoon after Sunday Mass
Dinner at noon was the custom. then the city would slip into  Sunday coma.
Mantovani, Acher Bilk, and the BBC wafted from the Television less homes we passed
on our way to the river.

Old chocolate men reclined on rickety old wooden porches smoking hand rolled
whatever as we strolled by giving us the lazy eye. All knowing , know nothings.
Sun beaten and calloused to lives of hard labor. every now and then one would just give a
jaundiced nod and look away/ Live to smoke another day.

Half paved tar and gravel roads simmered and writhed in the distance.
but our bare feet.
slapped in rhythm .cut off knee pants and skinny bare chest attested to sparse living but we
never knew it cause the mangrove jungle was minutes away and big
unwanted catfish to hook and throw away. Disdainful (Kiatto).

Off the simmering road now hopping toads. Johnny fiddler ***** for bait .
The canoe awaits us two small school boys in our natural state. One seven one eight.

Pelicans survey slowly above where the river meets the sea A small ripple and down he goes. He knows where school is in for mackerel and terrapin. Bone fish too.
We small boys with no fear . Innocence a pole and cork. One hook apiece is our gear.
Knee deep in mire as we push of and jump. A paddle apiece as we stroke against the tide to traverse the emerald river wide. The far bank. My Aunt Doris's shack.

Man over board to tie of the. Bow.

A snack of tortillas and beans then up the river no fear. Fun and the fish
Sun and the wish for an endless Sunday. We hate Monday. Back the priests and nuns.Slate writing board and times tables.
Let's fish.
Let us dream.
Tied off in the mangrove shade.
Swatting horse flies quietly. Quietly?

Like bird dogs we study the floating cork.
A wiggle, a bob. A bob. Set the hook and out comes the prize.
Then more. More flapping underfoot.we can hardly.walk. The glee
A bonanza.
All fried up and crisp.Catch and release. What madness. Catch and consume.

Day is done in the Carribean sun.
Home eastward. The pitch road is more forgiving on bare feet now
with the September sun at our backs. A leisurely stroll back to the
house. No worries,

A bath  and change for the Sunday evening show.
The Thief Of Baghdad or  maybe El Cid.
The Duke Audie Murphy in a double header.

The walk home along the moonlit seaside.
To start another Halcyon stream.
Another time and place rooted firmly in my memory.