The blues and the greens all swirl and become one another.
Like a painting done by an artist whose palate  be our sky.

Lost and lonely drift wood rides the surf onto the shore.
No one can keep drifting wood from drifting.

The girls lay soaked in magical oils with large black sunglasses and tiny string bikinis.Never dreaming beyond today.

Laughing dolphins slice through blue green oceans chasing big eyed tuna from sea to dying sea. All the while laughing ,laughing at the fact we can not see.

Bottled up love letters and egg packed turtles find their way onto the shore.

Keepsakes and wedding bands, car keys and time pieces all forever lost within the depths of a sandy beach.

Like the crowd at the theater on an opening night we line the shores along the edge of the world and await that final show the setting sun always brings.

May the cares I had for this day pass  burn themselves with the colors of a breaking sky slapped across with pastel pinks and soft tinted blues.

May I stand among the crowds,paint my face as dull as theirs.
Shade the knowledge from my eyes while we watch the sun move on.

May the crowds not see my satisfying grin as the sun gives way for dark and gives light to the land beyond the ice.
The land we can not see.

Her tears fell
heavy,
weighted down
by the sodden
sobs of
frustration.

Her throne
was cold
and often
smelled of
*****.

Her problem
was
never getting
enough of it
or always
running
out of it.

She warned all
who attempted
to get close to
her that
her soul was
not to be
shared.

This morning
she awoke
alone already
feeling the
gripping
anxiety slowly
tearing from
her insides.

A third of
her life
spent chasing,
a third of
her chance
spent numb.

After all
she recklessly,
threw away,
after all the
plans aborted.

Everything
worth anyhting had
long ago found its
way into
the hands
of those who had
what she needed
in that moment.

The only
thing of worth
she had left was  
what drew the lonely
men into her lonely'
room.

The barter cost
someone their flesh.

She had what she
needed but still
struggled
to find
the line beneath
her skin.

When I hugged
her I'd always hold
on for a second
too long.

When I made love
to her
I'd take my time,
slowly moving over
every inch of her body,
taking in all she
had to give.

Every kiss and
every smile.
Each time she
made me laugh
or made me sigh with
pleasure was
carefully stowed away
deep within the
cracks
of my memory.

Hidden like
buried treasure
are the
memories I run
to when the
hopelessness
sets in.

She always did her
hair while still *******
in the morning.
We'd part ways
on the porch,
her off to work
and I back onto
the streets.

 I was sure to create good
memories everyday
and to forget the bad
every night.
All this in preparation
for the day when all of the
bad I've done caught up to
me and I'd never be able
to be with her again.

Everything I did
with her I did a little
extra.
When she would sleep
I'd stay up a
little longer,
I'd get high in
the other room
and come back
in and watch her.

That's how life
is lived once
they've reached into
that space that are the
years of a young
mans life.
And ****** them
out like weeds
by the year.

There were good
times.

Sharing all we had
on a hotel bed,
the taste of her lipstick
as we drank warm
Schnapps straight from
the bottle.

I remember
watching her
watching me,
and my not
feeling the need
to flee.
And
my not feeling
so Dam alone.

I wore  
a camouflaged
T-shirt
for the first
7 years of
my life.

I couldn't have
been no more
than 5 or 6
when my father
first put a Mini14
into my small eager
young hands.

I had been raised
on the Ruger and the
20 Gauge.
Both of
which I had
mastered
long before
my ABC's.

He felt I
was ready
and somehow
I knew I was too.

I learned how
to shoot from
the shoulder
before I could
ride a bicycle.
I was dismantling
assault rifles
around the time I
learned how
to swim.



"You're shooting too high"
he'd  say near my face.
That familiar scent of
spearmint  chewing gum
and gunpowder still
lingers along the halls
of my memory.

Where some seen danger
or violence
I found an escape from the
foolish games
I never excelled at as
a short stammering ,
toothless little
boy.

Out here in the open
desert spaces
I am the master of my
weapon, the hunter and
the protector
of these wastelands.

When I take my time
and remember to breath .
The way he taught me to do,
my aim will always ring true.

And this makes him happy.
He praises my skill before
always giving me another lesson
even after I surpassed
his own.

Who would have thought those
steal and paper targets,the clay
pigeons and the
left behind beer bottles
would all one day led up
to all of the choices
that have become.

I was never an
athlete,
never liked sports.
Still don't.
When they cheer over
some ball chasers so
called achievement.
I can't help
but think of
the fact that I
could have hit
that ball in mid
air.
Just like the clay
pigeons I've shattered
by the thousands
as a boy.

Leave me locked
in the loneliness I
don't mind the cold.

Let these years away
and my own
troublesome ways
wear at my bones.

Like cold ,
black mountain
runoff as it
shapes and wears
over ancient
river stones.

I don't allow the
love laced thoughts or the
hollow haunting depression
to pull me from the task at hand.

I'm moving through the
sad crowds and the
clueless children like
a sharp pain chasing the
comfort of your life away.

They hold out for
love and end up longing
for something more
once the love wears thin.

I formed a kinship
with Death.
A promise so true
the Devil now
waits on me.

As I wait
on something close to
Love to pass me
by again.

I'm weighed down.
A **** may soon appear,
for the burden of knowledge
is heavy.

I got teeth falling
out.
Some by force
others from rot,
for the taste of
evil is always sweet
to the mouth.

I've carried years worth
of a lazy monkeys issues.
Spent those dark
years chasing the
Dragon away
like a blurred and tired
vision of the night.

I knew she died
in the
spring time but
I wasn't free enough
to mourn her
until the summers sun
burned little of the
pain away.

I've fallen behind.
Shadows grow taller
as my mind drifts
deeper within.

I'm without a compass,
a wind to sail,
a course to set.
Guided only by these
words that fall.

I've yet to be
silenced by the
darkness nor drowned
by the
tears or the hard falling
rain.

I've turned times alone
into times that stay
with you.

When my heart is
like stone.
And when I'm locked away in
someplace that's nobodies home.
That's when the  
magic decides to appear.
The magic that
sometimes ends up here.

All of which
only comes to be
by turning my heavy hand,
heavy with the weight of me.
Far from the bottle the needle and all
that I choose to use against me.
And gently on
to this.