Each day I ****, on a Whiskey bottle
As my life, also does **** on me
My worth on earth, about as much
As my **** is, to the sea

Inside this swashing jug, a raging sea
Sets me adrift, atop a cresting wave
Then pulls me under to such depths
That my soul, I can no longer save

With each gulp, I stir the bowels
Arouse the sediment and silt
And as it settles, I hope it hides
Or at least, obscures my gilt

Every mouthful, flays my throat
Like waves, they break into the rocks
Smashing, spraying, then dissipating
Where the Devil stands and mocks

I drink until, my mind goes blank
Then plunge into the floor
At last, a drunken blissful peace
Until I wake, once more

So as I lay here, on this deck
Inebriated, dying in this flask
I think of you and what we had
If forgiveness, I could only ask
BOEMS BY JA 614

So far the story goes
Miss Place keeps everyone on their toes.

For her finding things is not an easy thing
Most of her possessions invariably go missing
Nowhere to be found are objects of her use
And the ones she blames find some excuse
That she is unmindful and blatantly unfair
Her missing comb is there only in her hair
To her desperate hunt for an important file
She's told she's sitting on it all the while
When she lost an earring and was sulking morose
It so happened they said she wore it on her nose
She wonders why her family should at all blame her
If her car keys are found in the dickey of her car
and why on earth should the blame be all hers
when her money is in a book and not in her purse.

Miss Place thinks she knows the reason for such mess
others' gross negligence in putting things in place.

return the sun's rays catch a bucket of rain
be the sky for one minute
a cloud fleeting
be a squirrel in an oak tree
or a rose in some  garden
or  the  beach as the sea laps at me
be a star or the moon
be something
truer
more causal
more a part
of everything
take that bucket of rain and fly
above the desert
and cry forever
happy then

It is hard
on your soul
to admit
how often
you have
been full
of ****.

Her hair is buckwheat, straight,
hanging with the ease of
an assisted suicide.
And the smear, red and from
ear to ear, shows what she cannot:
that beauty is fluid and that we've forgot.

Sun-freckled and speckled
with cheap, off-brand gloss --
she is the monologue of
an anxious man across
the girl in the catalog, who
wore the Fall before the fall.

Do you know that the stars above
hang on a single strand of imagination?

And with every idea that falls from
the minds of innocence brightens there glow.

When we wish upon a star hanging before our
eyes, its a star that only burns bright for your sight.

The stars hang on the imaginations of all that wish
to see beyond ourselves looking in to the night.

Paint my future,
Erase my past,
Illuminate my presence.

I am neither empty nor full,
I am simply just a sparkling flame of truth
For your perception.

This mighty pen wields the power
To hunt through white space,
Crafting thought pattern containers of meaning,
Thus conveying concepts for reception.

This ceremony is a pleasure to engage in,
Whilst I bask in the throne of peace
I send messengers from the far East
To redirect the seams sown shut
In the fabric of obscenities.

Ask why and stay fast on your mission for truth,
For it is a timeless inescapable loop.

My heart is a vessel on waves of feelings,
that are turbulent beyond comprehension.

Swells encompass my being, sometimes I think
to release the lifeboat of emptiness.

But when all seems lost and unforgivable,
A gentle surge lifts upon my emotions.

I am a vessel on a ocean of conative affection
sailing upon the rough as well as the love.