The visceral glides,
High above the whiskey falls--
I'm in the barrel.

These are lines
Without thought—
I simply choose to be.

I will embrace you,
I will not ignore pain.

I am a human being.
I am no human doing.

I’m found on the mountaintop
Welcoming the sun—

In the valley,
Trudging the over and done.

I take in the present,
Dance with the stimuli.

I vibrate—HUM—
My frequency tuned to
The Music of the Spheres!

I dance into God’s throne room
And absorb the Cosmic Gong!

I touch the face of God,
Relax, and belong.

The dream is large and
Hard to hug.
The work-a-days are long
And seem to get longer.

Heading home from work spent
On one of these days,
I see these words—
“Remember who you are”.

Remember who you are.

I, we, are:
Poets
Engineers
Architects
Scientists
Mathematicians
Enterta­iners,

Working the daily as:

Baristas
Bartenders
Forklift operators
Custodians
Truck drivers
Grocery store clerks—all noble
Honest posts, every one.

Daily I meander this mid-size burg
In a cranky van as a courier,
Acting as grease to lubricate
Said burg’s school district cogs.

I wonder…
I wonder how many work at these
Worthy and square occupations and
Either do not recognize or
Ignore the fire burning deepest
In their heart’s furnace.

I jaunt about remembering,
Always observing,
Always knowing the fire will
Spit out the next poem.

Remember who you are.
Remember it is a choice.

There was Winter's cold,
But I was with YOU my LOVE!!
Grand hibernation!!!

Life is way too short to worry about Lengthening it.

Hello Smoke Woman.
O ye of beauty unrecognized.
Winsome vapor roaming lonely night,
Seductive puff dust-deviling in my corner sight.

Barely perceptible.
You have a texture,
A scent,
A glint of your wafting dance,
Of your healing haze,
Of your silvery lips enameling my ear...

Whispering, ever whispering,
That your love is constant near.

O Smoke Woman!
Ye etheric vagabond
Who drifts in and out of my dreams,
Who in my nightly cosmic time speaks
With voice so rakish husky,
Ratt'ling off daring poetry
Plucked wet from Eden's streams.

Born in the Springtime--
My LOVE, my Springfawn sublime!!
She cloaks me with warmth...

The deliberate suitor raps upon
Another parlor door.

The rocky trail has bested him
As his heel is bruised and sore.

But he feels the pain is worth it
He’s so full of love yet to outpour…

But he’s nothing specific--
She seeks the professional sort,
He’s a man miscellaneous--
He has nothing to offer...

It’s supposed that his future lay in his brains.
He’s so **** restless though,
He can only hop the trains.
He’s a miscellaneous!

The idea of his conforming to a niche
Would be a concept he could never
Comprehend...

He can’t see himself,
Though into 10,000 mirrors
He’s had to of gazed--

The jack of all trades and master of none.
This is the man miscellaneous--
Let me show you the fellow who has
Slipped through all the cracks...

The women can’t take him.
The bosses reprimand him.
The preachers like to brand him.
And society likes to use his head
For its excrement.

Like Atlas, he bears the weight.
The weight of his sin; the weight of his hate.
The whole world’s **** of useless information,
Fed to him by wires and pages--

He’s become a man miscellaneous--
Nothing specific,
Just a wavy form upon the horizon.

My chest, the pillow
My arm, the cradling vessel
Solace in OUR love

I’m bucking trends—
Tendencies—
I’m going against
The flow of the universe.

It’s what I’ve always done,
Really,
What I’ve always preferred.

In the case of the you and I,
The cosmos seems to speak
Quite clear—
However, I’ve been just too stubborn
To lend it my
Practical ear.

Where you stand, you’re
The queen of my dreams,
Fair or no—
Propelling me against the
Astronomic flow.

And so the sublime
Converges with the
Common,
Emerging under the
Street lamp
Encased in
Unlikely cocoons—

Heady and heavy
Conversation
Under the beams
Of many keen suns
And riveted moons
Encompass the universes of
The obvious and the obscure—

The subject matter
Of the ages,
Yes, the *******
Around the corner.