My poems
Are like clothes
That don't fit me
Soon, I will stand untied and naked
Like a poet without his poems
Bare-faced and brave

She's as sweet as Tupelo Honey
He's the boy from Tupelo

Emmylou true asks the King
I too sing Michelangelo

              Oooooooooooooh!

Cinco de Mayo
Mexico defeats France

I'm livin' Lord Shiva loca
Would you like to dance?

You are tea,
serene in your surroundings.

                                                               ­                                        I am coffee,
                                                                ­           attention always bounding.

Your colour milkish pale,
creamy optimism.

                                                               ­                              I am taken black,
                                                                ­                                bitter cynicism.


Two sugars,
to match your disposition.

                                                               ­                                     None for me,
                                                             ­       I'll maintain my grim affliction.


                                               We differ so much,
                                                     it's obscene.
                                                  
     ­                                              But in the end
                                               we're both caffeine.

seeing the passing lanes
not where the players
              now are
but rather where they
               will be


              patience

Most of what I believe in
Many others don't think are real

God, First Love, my Muse, aliens
Racial commonweal

I write from Imagination
But also this world of place

Yes, I keep on thinking
Of discoveries in Space

Not sure where I'm going
The Road goes on ahead

Will I be remembered
After I am dead?

A gift? A freak? A failure?
What will she have said?

My sins no doubt scarlet
My blues poetry still read?

My letters quite confessional
Vulnerable I bled

                          Confessions
                         Like my meds

I admit my desperation
Writing is reaching out

Despite my religious obsessions
I'm mostly about doubt

I need the Feminine
But struggle so with women

Solitude, such solitude
The end is the beginnin'

Close to suicidal
Why continue on?

But not good for my boys
I once taught at St. John's

Called her crying and crying
Later told her why

I know I must let go
But probably only when I die

Now my veggie burrito
And a blue and silent sky

So hard, so hard, so hard
To truly say goodbye