I've been down in the Sticks
yes, I do, from time to time
I'm not slow, but not that quick
a place of vice, and crime
A Skull of little virtue
bones hard, and ultimate, inured
long out, past the curfew
things I'm unable, to procure
Searching self, peering through
knowing deep, in heart and soul
not all the things I thought, or knew
only all the feelings, of an absorbed, and selfish.....fool
Every ring needs a leader
He's not a "con man" just a cheater
Every junkie needs a pusher
She's a lover not a hooker
As these gutters open wide
Feel the lust, you're still alive
Allow his words upon bare flesh
Close your eyes and hold your breath
Open up and let it out
Hum, moan, scream or shout
That's what living's all about
Every ring needs it's leader
He's a Poet with a one track meter
A poet's hand
No more words
Shall take the stage
upon the page
He'll not increase
the wick again
Nor call upon
His sleepy pen
The ink will keep
While they each
In his den
A soft breeze
I The Music
My soul has been clinking
Like glass bottles in the wind
Hung on some worn out strings.
They create music by only colliding .
On the verge of breaking
The loudest I sing.
II The Contents
From afar you would look through them past
Hardly making out their curved edges,
They appear empty,
But haven't they swallowed
All that breathes behind them.
Tearing apart the light from the sky
And swallowing the clouds.
The whole world poured into me
By merely being empty.
Even before I felt the pull of your arms
you had tangled me
in the urgency of your embrace
and abruptly my mouth knew
it had to siphon away
your blues from you
Your lips answered mine in a reciprocal throng
drawing off from the depth of my core
a tumultuous molten red
that I’d held inside for eons.
Our conduits of give and take
your cable, my slot, data exchanged
Each drawing in the other’s poison
through an osmosis of permeable membranes
Some of your blues flowed into me
You swallowed a bit of my red
Red into blue,
Blue into red.
Drained, we both sleep.
The bedspread is stained...
The most royal of colors.
Evening has subsided with a whisper in the west.
It chased the sunset's final rays as she prepared for rest.
Night has dropped her curtain but the moon has come to play.
The overture begins, as lonely crickets have their way.
The breeze begins to soften and the grass is standing still.
The leaves no longer beckon in the trees upon the hill.
I huddle in the darkness and await the rising wind.
A prayer is formed upon my lips, in homage to a friend.
And there ... I feel the sweet caress, a hand upon my cheek
A breeze that comes from someone ... from the passing soul, I seek.
And as I watch the lingering stars and hear the rustling leaves
I know that she has left this world and heavenward, she weaves.
I bid farewell to one, who loved this life, and all it gave
I dedicate this poem to her and toward the moon, I wave.
If you were my sheets, and at my beck and call
fulfilling all my fantasies, into you, I would fall.
You'd cradle me so gently, and massage me everywhere
releasing all my juices, and all my stress, and cares.
In splendor we'd heat up the room, and I'd crinkle every sheet
and when we were apart, I'd rejoice, every time we meet.
Pillows would cradling my face and head, where jasmine scented rests
blending of our fluids as our bodies, orgasmically attest.
We'd fall asleep together, and spoon throughout the night
and in the morning waking, to unimaginable delights.
Your hands of silken sheets caressing, exciting every nerve
giving me all the pleasures, and climaxes, in you, I am immersed!