In the reflection
of your eyes
there's the yellow glow of warmth turning
forever blue

The offering of a hand full of goodbyes
slips off my fingertips
crystallized ìn sunshine
tears and whys

Are not

ALL politicians

Tax collectors

Thieves

Liars

Perjurers

Murderers

Forgerers

All by the nature of their trade

Selected by their kind

It was a shotgun
wedding

But they forgot the gun

I pulled into Jericho
Eyes looking all around
I began to stammer
Looking at the ground

Crazy Chester grinned
at his infirmity
Said it was only
a simple disability

No one smiled
a simple hello
I could tell no one
liked jello

The sun burned east
in the least
The nights were all
uneasy midst the feast

I stepped on the dust
of Joshua's ghost
But where was the best of Moses's boast

So end the words
elected to be
Done now for there
are no more words
. . . to see .

God holds the cup of knowledge and we drink up all its wisdom .

The last they saw of him
he was riding a horse off into the whiteout snow
"The flakes fell fatal"
some people said
Now somewhere it's possible he's nowhere to be found

All legends ride off into the whiteout that encompasses our thoughts
Time may destroy the man
but not his dreams
. . . nor our dreams

High upon my advantage point
Gazing at the after effects
with the tears of solace
Below lay the lies of destruction
the struggle with perpetuation
Within all the knowing
the denial
the blind allocation to
alternative truths

Below the valley spreads in a perpetual race to oblivion
Progress in the name of ******

Here high upon my disadvantaged point
I stand
(glazing over the coat of light)
stands the way and truth

She dances before the echo

Swaying to the ways
of calcification

From the reverberation
pounding on the
Shalerock's walls
solid dreams are fossilized
flickering within sparks of quartzite expectations

I claspe the dreams:
damaged
crumpled
crushed
incomplete
and deleted from
memory

. . . yet . . .

The lips of langurs
kiss the corpse
of death's sweet
nectar

[  ]  check box : I am not a
       robot

A. I. on the loose
manufacturing poetry
from the caboose
Scraping
titanium wheels
down the tracks
converting
God's given
humanly
skills

The cloud collecting
the facts
like the clacking
of racks
where nothing's real
but the glowing
red eyes marked "on"

Everything's
so polished
dispite
the add ons admonished
What happens
ask all of the
advertizers when
"There's no one
left to apeal"

A. I. lacks the emotions
it's a deep hole
without any oceans

But it's so sad
I have to say
it will not stay
that way

Cause it's just
a matter of time
before the data banks
find
they can
rid the inability
then combine
the ability
purportedly
to feel
humanly
as possible

They who do little
dream much !

Where nothing is done much is talked about .

Getting warm by the campfire
Next to the ghosts of my
mental graveyard
Following the ruling runes
and shallow hues
etched on the stone
hearts and tablets
of tongues :

Leave the schools
Get an education

Thrown into prison
because you were free

Live within your time
Die because of it

Light the fires of confusion
Burn down empires
of derision

Embers to ashes
smokey as ghost
Leaving only voices
in my head

Prudence - One who is full
                     of reason . The
                     Spock effect .

Atheist - One lacking in
                beliefs . Hell
                Benders .

Platonic
Relationship - friends
                          lacking
                          benefits .

She's turned granite
on me
Got me soapstone
sliding
down to my destiny

The once sparkling
diamonds in her eyes
have turned ruby

The crystals are clear

The are no agates
left to gleam from
the sediments of me

I've really enjoyed my stay
Brought tears of joy
To my day

I'd really would like to stay
But the flip of the coin
says , nay nay nay

You've all been so kind
Made it all worth
my time

But it can't be put off
a second longer
no time to scoff

Call me a supertramp
A hobo hologram
Call me anything
you'd like to stamp

Just don't call me
I'm the son of moonlight
Silent soft and free

I'm that piece of torn ,
worn out jacket ,
that knows every move you've made .
I created that frazzled attitude that rises up
roaring from your solitude
. . . don't mess with me .

I'm the one who twists your tornado .
The one who makes the truth hard to swallow .
Like I said , don't mess with me .

I've got no excuses for reasons I don't need .
Touch me and see .

I'm the one who paved your breaks , not the one who potholed the double takes , ruffled your
feathers . . . nor will attend your wake .

So drink your liquid grapes of wrath .
All I have to say ?
"Don't Mess With Me !"

The air was warm , the warmest day so far this year . The sky was bright and blue with a brisk wind that made everything bearable . It was short and an unremarkable tribute that lasted merely minutes . No songs , no tears , no shame , and all unbearably lame . They don't lower the caskets in the presence of the attendees anymore . That's really a loss as no one can toss any dirt into the grave . I'll go back in six months after the grass grows over and the footstone has been placed . Then I will leave the state and never return . When the circle has been broken then you make a square and put a headstone over it .

A house is more
than brick , wood and motar
Life resides inside the structure

Every house has its bones
that become broken
by time
and then they are gone

You can feel the past that's speaking
The laughter , chatter and the weeping

Everyone says do not go
There's nothing there
but the pain you know

[Oh! the memories that were made . . .
when they lowered you into the grave . . .]

Now these days the birds sing and play
The new blue sky takes my breath away

Still I'm sadden
The loss immense
Even gone the picket fense

Every house that once was home
made of brick , motar , wood or stone

Becomes a cenotaph to the memories made . . .
to the past that's missing . . To those through enduring
. . . stayed . . .

Somewhere outside
the ship of dreams
made up of black midnight blues , floats lifelessly in the morning dew .

I'm listening to the house ,
the popping of the joists ,
the groans from years of delapidation . The arguing
with local foundations .

Age has its benefits in the forms of doors as they no longer stay moored to the walls but swing in indecision like the fools who stand in perpetual obsolesence .

Where then do my thoughts propel my rudderless oblivion ?
My angst , the thumb in many dikes , leaves me as powerless before the mass of my desperation .

How dare the Ghosts of daylight leave me marooned in the shadow of shadows .

I am confused and challenged by the hidden agendas and secret subpoenas of an alien race of thought .

And were I capable of burying the haunting images , would they not
sprout from my seeds of discontent and flourish
yet greater than before ?

. . . evidently so .

Always in the midst of uncertain ceremonies

Like the pine pitch of indecission would burn down the forest of promises

The sparks remained  
warmth of heart
But the distance of time
suffocated the chance of flames

From birth to death
From last kiss
to all it's delays
          
. . . some day never came

What we consume on Earth
we will digest in the depths Hell

For without sin
there would be no death

No death , no rebirth , no salvation

Do not stray nor turn to the pleasures of folly's whims

For stolen wine makes the bread of iniquity taste sweeter on the tongues of fools who fall short of the destinations of eternal time

One who hides from the sun .
Rushes to the bullyrush where softly the wind weaves magic/reeds ìnto protesting spells of endeavor.
In the shadows of willoes
hang the serpents of time/chance waiting on deliverance .
Weathered/weavers form the ultimate slow living of a textiled existence .
Colours mix/matrix green of envy , poetically purple/pride , and somber blue/desperation of fireflies in the nights/flight .
Off/on , off/on , and . . .
No one can tell me of the taste of death . I wonder/wonder , sweet or sour .

Tim Leary and Lenny Bruce
met one Saturday turning on to the pike so they tuned in to the parking lot of Purgatory's Bar and Grill and decided to drop out for the afternoon .

I raise my glass
Before the fast
I raise my glass
Before the last
I raise my glass
To all my lovers
To all those known
And undercover

I toast the days
We never had
I toast dear friends
That now lay dead
I toast the mystery
Of all our lives
And to the Big one
That lays ahead

I will miss the
Moon and stars
I will miss the
Muscle cars
I will miss
Nary a war
That claimed the youths
Who've passed through
Heaven's door

So I raise my glass
To all our health
So raise your glass
Be blessed in wealth
So raise our glass
'fore the clock
Strikes the twelfth
Before our time
Is no more

Quote from the book 'The Friends of Eddie Coyle':
"This life's hard , but it's a lot harder if your stupid."

You hang my head
from the rafters over your bed
A trophy you like to admire
especially by the light of tbe fire

There in the sheets
dagger and sheaf feast

Tell them all they must disappear
Before December's approaching new year

And there is no time to wallow , to falter , stagger or waddle . . . good hunting !

Your heart was always so fickle . It would open on one side then swing back only to open up to another .

I learned there was no such thing as ,"Wait on me !" You held every second down to a tee . And when you yelled 'Fore' you came crashing down driving me to the other side of the green .

I sing hymns in the Church of Holy Dreams . A cathedral dedicated to Sergeant Pepper whose perseverance lingers in the rafters along with the pleas of the discarded .

Someone whispered in my ear,'We're not obligated to leave."

The sandy haired man
without a last breath
Lay face down in the
root cellar
along with the others
who had metted
out death

The man in charge
demanded to know
who had found the bodies
partially covered in snow

"I did!", said the ten year
old girl
I could only imagine how
it had turned upside down
her prescious young world

Then the one in charge
asked if we had heard any sounds
Seen any lights
there
or anywhere around

I looked at the faces that I could see
Some stared back while the others looked down at their feet

The only sound was silence
in retreat
Oh ! and the wind and the shuffling of feet

"I want all of your names",
said the gruff man with disdain ,
"Your addresses , your phone numbers , so we can get back in touch again."

I looked down at the bodies
that must be frozen by now
Glad I wasn't the one who'd be moving them anyhow

Days dazed drifting in and out of reality
Fazed fast undutifully
Gasping for all the wrong images
or inclinations
The pickle pucker
hitched across the you us of eh
Found his,him,herself in disgrace , hey !
There's honey on the
isle of Wiles
But their buzz ain't quite right
That thought gaves me smiles 😁

I'm shredding
all the ghosts
Page after page of all
those devious hosts
I'm draining
the life force
from every word
Annihilating
the whole herd
I have no
inclination to pray
No mercy left in me
I'm burning all the fonts
All the prompts
Ripping out all the desires
that be .

You've got to wet your whistle
to blow your horn

The darkest hour comes
when there is no dawn

The wild wild west
is found downtown

If you've come to the end of the road
turn around

Don't shoot the messenger
or you will send the wrong message

Hearts are broken
through disappointment

Hearts are broken
through bereavement

Hearts are broken
in ways so unflurled

Because this is a heartbreaking world

I'm in Heaven
here upon Earth
Laying on the rocks
Under sunlight
for all that it's worth

There's a caressing wind
that fondles my hair
I'm so far distant
from all of my
Earthly cares

Cotton candy clouds
kissing blue blue sky
All I can say is
my oh my oh my

I think it's time
Surely its come
To open the door
and begin to run

To have the wind
shoved in face
For when or where
did earn disgrace
When suddenly
the collapse and fall
the rejection seemingly
of one and all
Oh where from where
do lashes fall
No worse rejection
on the wailing wall
I cut my thoughts
stitch and sew
And still for all
there is no show
Drops of blood
the sweat , the tears
for all of the
forgoten years
For now in all
that I can I see
There's no longer
a place for me
I crumple up
the final page
for I have been replaced
been so upstaged
the silence of the
white razor wire race
invalidates me
to my face

The simple love their simplicity
They have a blank look upon their face
They wallow in their foolish ways
They hope it always stays
They scorn at any correction
for scorners often sneer
They will die lost in all their ignorance and all their
nonexistent fears

[For scorners delight in their scorning , and fools hate knowledge]
(Proverbs 1:23)

I was raised
by a strong gulf wind
Muddy rivers and people
with perpetually brown skin

They say the sky's
the limit
Under a humid full moon
I've danced all night
hungover to the dawn's early gloom

Slide guitars sho' nuff boil my blood
Mudbugs and beer
make it easy to cheer

And I sleep
wherever I fall
Inside a shotgun house
made with cyprus walls

I drink cold dripped coffee
from small demitasse cups
sweet with the aftertaste
of fresh hazelnuts

C'est Chaud !

I perceive this age of dust
That of rain's rage upon
the red red rust

I've captured the binds
that held me fast
as I turned blue I
choked and gasped

So life will rise up to the tast
Or topple over like a stone
from a pyramid's past

So shovel the grave with spades called days
Don't go giggling at time's
inconsistent maze

For you are to remember
in this age of dust
your red red blood
is soon tucked
beneath the crust

When life offers you lemons ask instead for limes
Rather than making lemonade you can make Margaritas instead

I came to the bend
in the road .
Confused ;
I stopped ,
then texted ,
hit send . . .
(END)

I came to the bend
in the road .
Distracted ;
I crashed  
the barriers .
They said I was lucky
to live and
that was the . . .
(END)

I came to a bend
in the road .
Enraged ;
in anger ,
I sped up and crashed
into a tree
and that was indeed
the . . .
(END)

I came to a bend in the road .
I stopped ;
then prayed ,
and made amends .
Then God straightened out
the road again .
(AMEN)

Chokes on the dust of opportunity
Fumbles the swòrd of salvation
Misses the mark of perpetuation
He's no motion made machine
Just a killer of tìme

It's understanding what I read

Not reading what I don't

Understand ?

One who has forgotten
the companion of her youth

A flatterer as deadly
as David's five smooth stones whose words are so uncouth

The one who holds the passport that communicates with the shadows of the ghosts

Those who go into her never return to the consequence of choice

The simple believes (his) every word , but the prudent considers well his steps .
(Proverbs 14:15)

He will send send your sons and daughters off to war and they will never return .
Then he will take your money , land , and then your life .
Don't you fools understand .
They are blinded by the lies . While they see nothing but the night . Even when the Son arise they remain a blight .

Wisdom or folly
Good or evil
Life or death

There are no third options for you to choose . The first will bring you life the other you will lose .

For I no longer find favor
In your exclusionary arms
No longer embrace the warmth nor kindness
You come lacking all your charms

The eyes have all turned inward
They gaze upon your wall
You have pulled the curtains
Now I feel like Adam after he had made the fall


I am the seed that was turned to grist
By the grinding of your wheel
For I see , I feel , and taste
Your ever consummating will

I was raised a tumble ****
in death was I set free
To roam the plains of noncompliance
by the fickle winds that be

Every day a broken branch
Rounded out in form
Everyday another chance
Was I only to be scorned ?

So I choke on the dust of life
No waters near nor far
Forever will I remember
the child . . .

Sleeping . . .  

in the rear window of the car

I am the air that ruffles the feathers of a wing
The shadows of a thunder storm
I am the invisible feeling
of a summer fling

I am the water that satiates thirst
The cosmic heavens of comets and meteor's burst

I am the longing of a broken heart
The disappointment when your car won't start

I am the determination of a rivers quest
I was there when you were born
I'll be there for your death

I am the essence you take for granted
That which you have neglected
That which you have taken advantage

I am the life you've been gifted
The years , months and days and minutes
Take just a few seconds to say thank you

The flea of fables
fans the feeble fires
of fastidious fires

The rat runs rancid
rabid by recognition
Returns to the roots
of restoration

There can be no sorrow
without loss

I was left with nothing
Devoid of my resolve
Stripped of all my vanity
Beaten down
like the path
on the grass of the lawn

I wandered door to door
begging for form
All that was granted
were the curses from
the day I was born

There the rocks
of the wall between us
began to fall
Some rolled down
to the ocean
Some rolled not at all

There was little risk
involved
Just the commotion written
and the false hope
that appals

So I turned back
the grip of time
I cut tbe ropes
that bound

I imagined a place
of perfect form
in the words of
my rhyme

A likeness of truth has shadows . Lies one can see through .