Exploded like
a roar bursting forth from
a lion's enormous mouth--
he's trippin' on shrooms and
blasting off to a Saturnalia party on the moon Titan
with bits of dangling zebra meat
on his teeth; full
from luxurious **** a few days ago.
And since I'm just making things up,
let's say this big hip cat is wearing a rastacap
and has tye-dyed nails.

But as the month
wore on; closing out--
this same lion became frightened
of his own shadow--
listening for the winning lottery numbers in a conch shell
because he forgot about the oatmeal in his kitchen.
But since he's staying on Titan, that's
someone else's problem now.
He'd rather just sleep in an uncomfortable
wooden bed that's too low the ground
and lick his ***** between naps.

Where do you go
when I look at you?
Feels like floatin through space
suffocating on life’s
little
hang-ups—

Like a starvin' artist
tryin to paint portraits on the metro.
Like a hero who’s
forgotten courage sticking their head in a lion’s mouth oh

When your mind is turnin'
your eyes seem to scream your heart is hurtin' for something more.
At least that’s what it seems to me
as I wonder  

Where do you go
when I look at you?
Feels like floatin’ through space
suffocating on life’s
little
hang-ups—

Like when you try explainin' to me
that are but we aren’t and we gotta wait and see.
Like when we’re sittin’ at the shihsa bar
and you look at me despite not knowing what we are…

But when your mind is turnin’
I’m intent on learnin’ how to understand
until one day you looked at me and said

Where do you go
when I look at you?
Feels like floatin’ through space
suffocating on life’s
little
hang-ups
Keep it in the moment bang-a-rang with your fist up
in the air let it be let be let it be in the air
like Rumi said love calls everywhere and
always
always
always!
Love calls everywhere and always!

You want to be near me
but also have your space.
Fiercely independent spending days in bed
gives way to the shisha hangout.

                              In one moment, an ecstatic smile
                              is murdered by your melancholy eyes.  

You're confidence surges when you're straddling me;
a tiger ready for the passionate bite
yet you cry like a sick kitten at your own reflection.

                              You don't mind holding hands, kissing my forehead  
                              but then tell me you've just been pretending.

You tell me "I love you,"
but then "I don't know what love means."

                               You feel something is missing
                               yet are most comfortable laying next to me.

And yet I don't mind all of these contradictions...
for some reason I still want to be in your presence
because I have faith and hope that one day
you will see how much mental anguish
emotional confusion yet pure white-hot
right from the sun warmth you've given to me.
And I hope and have faith that one day
you will see what I mean when I speak
I LOVE YOU
into your heart and soul.

We are children animals
singing
on the island palace
dipping our toes into the Nile River.

Birds  incessantly chirp
along with the rhythm of my pen
and the echo of your voice
we share the same simulacra--

        The music sways our bodies
   like a candelabra--
            We are dancing children,
                  solid ripples.

Smoke breath
       under palm trees
     the music cradles the shisha
      into blissful oblivion
      as we donate part of ourselves
      to the space AUM.

We sing peach energy
surrounded by history
and vibrant banana yellow
and pink lemonade foliage.
We dance with the wind
between our bodies
pull us closer
until the sunlight disappears.    

We are children animals
singing
on the island palace
dipping our toes into the Nile River.

We're following the full moon
Morrison crooning "LA Woman"
dancing around the burning fire pit
remembering a prehistoric time when
we helped share light with the tribe
through heavy exhales
the lung-piercing smoke signals
sashay toward the midnight stage in the sky.

As we dance around the fire
orange embers laugh crackling
illuminating the dark midnight
all are thankful for brief moments
of smoke blanket warmth on our backs
waiting to be tucked in by the glowing moon.

Too soon do we trapse back to reality
smashing glass bottles
to satisfy some primal urge
for ancient chaos screaming energy echoed
in caves and canyons years before the pyramids were even an idea.

Crack-- creek--snap!

WINGS explode from my back
learning to fly is a *****
but my third-eye antennae
                is reading a world atlas
                            ready to traverse....

Crack-- creek--snap!

Waking up to a trashed apartment
my mind insists everything must go!
That includes the world's most comfortable sofa
in that ugly pea soup olive green where I've probably spent too much time *******.

Crack-- creek--snap!

When I meditate in the shower
                    everything is dark.
          The closest thing to sensory depravation.
I travel to realms of talking green lions
            and electric purple snakes that sway
                      and I crave to stay in the emerald caves
       with the copulating mind flowers.
But I'm learning to fly now.  

Crack-- creek--snap!

and all the children.

Do the you you want to do
Be the being cause that being's you!
You are you
and only you.
But if you're
an *******,
go **** yourself.

We're very much alike.

Poetry is our inspiration,
we were born writers.
People call us BBQ sauce snobs
wine connoisseurs
and brothers.

But he likes to dance
at night--
in the headlights
when the air pierces the skin.
His deep dark pockets
are an oblivion of cigarettes
and full minis of Jack.
Remind's me of Harpo.

He walks like a snake slithers--
body swaying
and a gleaming mischievous twinkle
in his eye.

We both enjoy crisp, autumn days,
but he prefers them cloudy--
dark.
He says it brings out the color
in the reds and orange leaves jumping off the trees to twist in the breeze.
Listening to stand-up is our solace,
though he says Hicks is god.
I say Carlin

His shadow reminds me of a demon--
the long lost son of Medusa.  

He's not afraid to say what he thinks,
cause he knows he's right.
Sometimes I believe him--
he speaks with such nonchalant confidence.
There's always a needle on his words
swiftly flitting and flickering
like a flame he's flicking off his tongue.
And if his words hurt breaking the skin?
"Don't be such a *****" he'll snarl
before turning the charm back on
with a giggle and ironic wink.

He likes to collect
the faults in others
cause his thinks his **** don't stink.
He keeps reminding me of mine.
He enjoys needling
people.

We've known each other
for a long while.
Seems like longer....
but that's cause my roommate is me.

Questions are often asked
about my optimistic smile,
the happy-go-lucky personality
and unwavering confidence.

The most common question:
How do you know
these things?

I don't ******* know.
I know nothing.
I have no ******* idea
where 73% of my thoughts, words and ideas come from.
I don't even feel like it's "me"
speaking/typing most of the time.

Sometimes I have no idea
that i'm telling you
It's going to be alright
because the words just
charge out of my mouth.
But I'm saying what is inside my brain.
I don't think about it.
That's my reaction.

Confused yet?

In the end
it's all going to be alright
cause we'll be dead.
Either our conscious ceases
or we are reconnected to all things--
that complete warm one-with-all feeling
some call god or heaven or nirvana
but we're going to forget all this stupid **** anyway.

I have no clue what I do or don't know,
between your volatility of perception
and society trying to hypnotize me
into complacency while it slowly burns away,
I'm lucky to know my own ******* name.

If you want answers to life's questions,
stay away from me.
Ask someone shrewd enough
who pretends to know.
Personally, I don't think there are any answers
because they are whatever each person
wishes them to be.
I can only tell you
what I feel and see in each moment
as it's happening.

Ask allah, preachers, Zen, astrophysicists, philosophers, Reikis, dictionary writers, lawyers, mathematicians, astrologists, Buddha, Industrial engineers, the ******* guy who delivers your food (or anyone really) for answers
and more than likely you will have different kinds of **** answers.

But if you ask yourself,
you will find truth.

She brought me to the devil—
swept the leaves off my brain
& we jumped in the pile.
After rolling a few
& burning
we bathed in wine
washing our minds
with chicken soup for the soul.

He appeared in the stars
& we smiled—
absorbing his card
through a lovely osmosis
supposing the black roses
hiding behind his back
were cut by a queen of swords.

We skipped roped
w/ a noose
cuttin’ loose our useless
baggage by tossing them over
a stony cliff.
As the devil lit a cigarette s/he mumbled
something about a conscious shift.

The devil gave us a gift—
It was a skull
inside a prince’s disk
shaped discus change purse.
“I bring you death as a parting
gift to show where to put the change.”

We laughed & giggled
as we played with plasma—
that’s liked fire cubed.

Mind pierces time
like a javeline through
a one-hundred dollar bill!

I can calmly explain
all I want
how I see
what I see.

But until our time
catches up to you
the words you just read
have evaporated from the page.

It's the moment you realize
our lives are constantly flashing before our eyes
as we're always a second closer to dying.
It's why we can see so far into the night
for those willing to traverse the harsh--
frigid cave of ancient words frozen in ice.

Tiresome
barriers
separate.

Man labels
to escape
a moment.

Tangible
barriers
manifest

keeping us
from learning
the moment.

to be peaceful and not wage war
instead of fighting everyone
for limited blood oil
use unlimited resources like the sun

It just makes sense
when we work together
there's a lot more we can get done
to be present and listen
is the start of real conversation

It just makes sense
to talk & toss things out
cause all we know for sure
is that we walk here now

It just makes sense
to dissolve fear & love
into one cause that's what we are
from start to end

Thoughts evolve--
some harden
it's not a restart--
--it's a re-tuneup
like a mitochondrion blast to the brain
unchained and unburdened
burping out old patterns
with unhinged words orbiting
Saturn's Rings
the Summer Breeze
keeps teaching me
and I to her
with burning clarity.

It's feeling silly slinging
cyclical prisons off mental cliffs
singing Hallelujah 'till New Year
in our own time
flying through space in her eyes
electrifying each other when I
sometimes understand arabic.  

There's a shift in the desert sands--
feeling rain as I dance on my mind's eye
like waking up from a hallucination
as the water reignites my earthy veins
burning brightly off my tongue
breathing fresh air upon
entering another vertical 27th dimension in space
cause our smiles done gone crazy  
like an azurite lightning strike to the brain!

The name whispered in my mind
by the Summer Breeze
cause I cool things down with ease
with my spiraling cyclical George Carlin cynical
thoughts marchin' causing revolution
within ourselves beating hearts bleeding art
singing blues getting lost in the dawn light sun
sparkling in our smiles smoking like a peace pipe
being passed around a campfire.

A conscious choice we transform
into a subconscious impulse.

Closed my heart for a moment
to open my eyes
& mind,
didn't realize
I was nakedly dancing
with some reprobate snakes  
because I was trying to make them smile
like a stripper searching for tips.

I liked the way they rattled
through life, their *****
thoughts synced
up to diff'rent
drums 'till I felt the venom
in my veins they claimed were
love bites, despite the paralyzation
of my intuition and warmth.

I was seeking out the snake's smile
if only for a little while
cause I thought my heart could help.
But snakes can't crack a smile,
no, snakes can't crack a smile.

Big whack stack
of monetary memories
catalogued in dream states
vibrating at different subconscious frequencies....

With the headphones in I listen
to the past and future collide
into a cosmic harmonious kaleidoscope
of the present moment--
piercing through my perception
of right/left conscious thought
moving so molten fast
wielding each side together seamlessly.

to define love.
You'll be baffled
bewildered & broken by the end.

The cynical ones
will laugh,
say it's dead,
overused and cliche.
Why try write what Whitman, Dickinson, Frost & Shakespeare
have already covered?

The romantic ones
will wax on for hours
describing inner & outer beauty
compared to anything that strikes their eye.
Why can't you see it's everywhere?

The hip ones
will scare you,
take a ****
& describe some detailed carnal fantasy
involving tapioca & a talking *****
named Pony.

Ask a lawyer,
they could tell you the legal definition.

Ask your parents,
they will tell you something trite about seeing it through.

Ask little kids
for an adorably wise response.

Ask a dog
as it's ******* your leg.

Ask a scientist,
they will describe the chemical reactions in the brain.

Ask a prisoner,
they will tell you it's something they miss.

But never ask a poet
to define love.
Your brain will hurt,
half your day gone
& you'll be left heart broken
by the end.

Fluctuating; evolving.

1) Difficult to attain, easy to wield.
2) Knowing when not to use it.

Sometimes you just gotta smash
your laptop against the wall
Tear and gnash your your canvas,
burn your pens and paintbrush
into a colorful tye-dye fire
**** on the kitchen floor
and smash the whisky bottle
across the glass wine rack
kick a hole in that guitar
spinning with lighted matches
spinning with a numb-reckless-abandon
toppling over bookshelves
laughing like a monkey
tossing the toaster
into the bathtub
break the mirror with a head-but
and take a 2x4 to the porch light outside
smiling like a python
stomping on the oven door
taking a knife to the floor
because carpet angels are totally in

Mona.
Lisa.
Lee-ah
nardo
how do
YOU know
my mom.

I remember having
pizza
with ya the other night,
we watched
the "Da Vinci Code"
after we had that fight,
about Montauk
hotdog tripe flavored ice cream.

Even the audience
doesn't think that's yummy!

You taught,
me how to knit
chocolate and wish
upon the sun.

Did you mom?
Am I your son?
I'd prefer pecon pie.
No-body likes
pecans in my family.
Did Leo
like legumes ?
******,
I may always
be cursed
with writing words
that make reference to obscure
astrology.
My apologies to his
groupies who think he's
the best ******* art-east
since slice bread.
But how would it
feel to had some dude who
painted your mom
and it was
the big-gust
most successful
commercial success
through out
time?

Ain't nobody notices you-
'till the spot-light's on...

A smokey 'gray sigh- up
since three-in-the morn...

A stiff whisky breakfast-
stench lingers forth

and when, you, open-ya mouth-
the cold, pain'a the world, come rowlin' out.

And when, your, voice-'sprays that sound-
rattlin' round our ears like a chain.

Ya' seem old as dirt, man--
but hurt worse than your infant

***, after ya'daddy branded it--
w/ the knuck's a his backhand.

understandable why-
ya' wanna get higher,
than the fumes of ya' sapphire water.

This is all 'ya got left
'till death, comes an grants ya warmth.

and you're, all, lone till the demons
soar forth from 'ya soul.

Don't cry in the whisky baby
I am an alcoholic highlight reel
mostly made from concentrated
      words--
I'll quit when I'm ready
for all kinds of art
vibrating love venom,
and words like love--
         I can't seem to agree with authority.
My ankle indicates some sprain or tweak.

There's plenty of beer in the fridge,
I am not going to *** my pants ever again
like a **** and bottle of bourbon.
            Thanks, I'm full
but parents never cared.
The road is litered--
the marrow ****** from their veins everyday
and the gypsy whisper of "why are we?"
is in my heartbeat.
There it went, frolicking through the midnight sky
like a car wreck,
haunting, like the song "Scarborough Fair."

Today I don't believe
in love at first sight.
It's been replaced by lust;
a look of stalking prey
without any real understanding of "who"
but rather "want."

I must have believed in it
when I met you
millions of years ago--
our eyes synced together,
and for only a passing moment
we must have grokked each other--
forging an early link in the chain
called our timeline
through the fire within our molten third eyes,
binding our spirits together in the metal with lightning
from our hearts
and a hammer of certainty
as we saw each new life
we were to live had us meeting
all over the world, from Denmark to ancient Mexico
to Egypt to The Light past the darkest parts of outer space.

That's the only explanation
that makes sense,
why I don't believe in it today,
because it's already happened ages ago.

Four people walk into a bar--
and let it all hang out.
      Everyone is spitting out some demons.
We knew we were at the right place
when the band started playing "Last Dance with Mary Jane."
My best friend made my neighbor cry,
but she needed it,
she's bottled up so much.
He wasn't mean,
just hit her with truth.

I let it known I have poor taste
in the woman I date.

                 No ***** were given,
we're all emotionally volatile
when sober.
We shared each other
along with drinks.

I jumped off my balcony.

The next morning
I cried--
what a release  last night was
for us.
Then I threw up.

I see an image—
breeze, they dance time.
River breeze,
the ideas worth sharing
GROW
like fish floating in a trail
of the lightning whipping
across the sun with
the dancing moon.
Ripples—
I see an image of a way
across the midnight surface,
the sky tip toes
at the edge of celestial festivals.
The thunder is envious
of a starry night.
But you seem so far away,
across the water there is no bridge to meet.
Shine like the reflection cast in pale deception,
only kinder.

If you try looking out for the well-being of yourself
you're not looking out for the well-being of others.
                                                                ­                         
                                       If you're looking out for the well-being others,
                                       you're not looking out for the well-being yourself.

I can          h ea r
a      dream,
( ( (vibrating) ) )
through my third e y e

      echoes   dan c e
from the walls,
a    l i g h t   passes
through   the prism
that         encases--
      the heart.

                              \i|o|u/
                            he tells me
                     yet I expect nothing.
                more of the same patterns

Every thing       is
a good omen,
so whispers the air
outside a bar of Narnia.

             The banana bread beer flows
              through
                      our glasses like an amber
                 whirlpool tsunami glistening in the afternoon light.
                  a pleased smile rests on a face,
             comfort,
        relaxation and a
      full mind.

Deep sleep
for a while.
Contentment is *exhaled.

after writing this poem
out of a trance
was hypnotized by your tongue--
the words dripping off
like a wolf eying its prey.

     You smile, confident.

Your mischievous eyes dance
with mine,
we wink like serpents.
The sound of our heartbeats
pierce each other's third eye
as we approach,
our brains separated
by seconds
our noses a quick inch apart--
our thoughts are spiritually carnal.
We move like Zui Quan**
and we touch like the wind
tickling every crevice of our skin.
Our lips shotgun smoke--
I want to breathe poetry
inside of you.

My first thought was you

after writing this poem
out of a trance
was hypnotized by your tongue--
the words dripping off
like a wolf eying its prey....