I told a crimson bird the secrets of the dawn
It bedecked the eyes of wayward wanderers
thrashing in the night
Diamond crested brews splashing on the lawn
capsules for the faint of heart
three morning glories
Vegas' spark, Vegas is dark
Emerald curtains to be ***** and forlorn
tethered at the seams In a half-worn tone
Drizzle on his cheeks; bruises on his knees
speaking French like a malnourished disease
Trotting across Bay Bridge In a blue jean dreg
tattoos of limericks and the horns of a stag
Reading tarot cards and tinkering with thugs
Passing around potions and drawing lady-bugs
Upside-down In chlorine pools
to beseech tea-leaves In Autumn
Where the weather is not warm
and the postmodernism creeps sullen
Caffeine infested speak
cooing cockatrices from the windowsill
telling all the neighborhood kids tales
that began as blank pages of dribble
In the alleyway they stumble
back to hotels of metal
carrying letters with water stains and ribbon

and life is harder when you're not around
the water's levels climbing higher as i drown;
the air is cold and i cant feel my hands,
the knuckles on my right hand bleeds
oh so it tends;
and nights seem darker, sheltering more fright;
and days more dangerous, more burning feels the light;
like acid rains appears against my skin,
like spiderweb my armour but i take it on the chin.
and music- hopeless noise filled with vain screams
about being disappointed in what love just seems;
i scream along with them, empty my lungs;
and tears stream down my face,
i get the chance;
now all is calm, i ve had my break and let it go
im lying on the floor its dark and cold you know
and life's not needed when you're not around
that's why im lying buried deep, deep down

You ***** girl
You ***** girl
You ***** girl
You ***** girl
  
You're just a crackhead
You bust your back yeah
You're just a buzz-face
Another duck-face
  
You let your guard down
You found a cold heart
You ***** your lovers
All in a blue shirt
  
Why do you have to
All is destroyed
I know you don't need
The meaning of the words
Why do you have to
Live where you sleep
And half the time
You don't even sleep a wink

I poeticize, proselytize
Punctuate and pontificate.
I write couplets and rhymes
And I really do it all the time.
I exacerbate and exaggerate
With no desire to intimidate.
I make similes and metaphors
Indoors and even out of doors.

There’s cussing and discussion
And sharp literary impressions
Through diversions, conversions
Allusions as well as conclusions.
And with luck, no delusions.
Just syllabically deft fusions
Of some deferential references
With a deft touch of reverence.

I rhyme thyme with fresh lime
And cardamom with cinnamon.
Sweetbreads and shortbreads.
Chicken bones and licking scones.
Rhyming pumpkins with dumplings
And matching up filets with filberts
Just as cocoa goes well with Kona.
Marmalade can be a good marinade.

I rhyme chrome wheels and automobiles,
Freeway off-ramps and Tiffany lamps.
Cellophane and vintage airplanes.
Flapper vamps and streetwalking tramps.
Also Cinderella coaches and cockroaches,
Nothing is unfair game to a busy poet.
As well as RCA Victors and boa constrictors.
Since I’m a poet, everyone should know it.