walk silent

far away not tomorrow
survive thirsty
cactus sought in the deserts

need to whistle
for desolate

start moving
with the train screamings
like a wake-up alarm

there is a fire in my chest at the moment
it's my anger as it flares up
burning away any love I have for you
the smoke from the fire
wafts out of my mouth
along with the hateful words, I spit
you try to calm me
you try to douse the fire with freezing cold water
but my fire isn't that simple
it's electric
bright and full of passion
water cannot put it out
I have a feeling it'll burn forever
or maybe itll turn to ash with me
on my last day

Thinking it's always a Wednesday somewhere
but there's a place that I'd rather be and that's a Friday.

( and we all know about Crusoe, don't we )

early because I'm going to be strangled, there'll be no help from the wannabe crew, work ****** work, but what else can I do?
and anyway it keeps me occupied.

This carriage that carries me on the Jubilee is exceedingly quiet today, there's only the squeals from the knackered old wheels  
and the occasional whoosh from the doors.

I'm not complaining
( that'd be a first )

There's a tic-toc man with a beer in a can and a Timex on his wrist,
slightly ****** and it's only 05:39.

And a Harry Secombe lookalike who looks just like Harry Secombe.

Is it time to go home yet?

It's always nearly isn't it?
never fully.

the wisdom of your eyesight

begins with you legs that turn the body’s odyssey
away, sort of, in the general right direction

but thou stiff neck person, yet still turns away
from what the eyesight will see when the eye shadows lift

thine eyes cast down still seek escape, with last minute haste,
but my pointer finger rests easygoing beneath thy chin

where the finger meets, lifts, thy softened chin tissue,
to look directly at your proffered savior, an electric election circuitry

this head-on-collision of two pair, beat by a full house,
when the combined wisdom of caring lifts two up,
ah, the best writ we ever scripted,
the best hand we ever played

if your eyes should cloud,
upon reading this,
this is too, a kind of wisdom,
wisdomkind


for S.B.

first I smell myself.

the deep bass tonality of my musk,
hot, creamy, sweetness unique, of coffee and creamy,
my owned sweat oiled secretions massaged into her skin
emplaced by vigorous parts rubbing and tongue caressing,
under the fading shadows of my glancing, desirous admirings


then I smell herself.

sinking sunset glimpses of last nights parfume parfait,
scattered in random strategic locations architecturally planned,
some flavors come over me like modest waves,
others spelunking found in crevices, cracks and caves,
where humans tread in guileless search of guiltless pleasure

then I smell our sharings.

lemon and thyme, paprika, sea salt and pepper,
a basted rub laid upon animal skin consuming, and consumed,
the vinaigrette balsamic and California yellow raisins, pine nuts,
decorating leaves of red soil spinach and spicy arugula,
word salads, so miraculously ingenious, you swear off eating flesh

then I smell our combinations.

the air conditioned atmosphere that blends us properly chilled,
the olive oils pressed from two colored differing skins,
the mortal and pestle finely grinding our own fresh crumbled dirt,
appearing in places where dirt is wet panko crumbs encrusting us,
our combined liquidity, shaken and stirred, drying in martini tandem

it is 8:17am and this recipe of reciprocity,
at its most pungent peaking,
for soon raining waterfalls of potable city water
and the sophistry of French soap,
the pseudoscience of modern chemical shampoo,
together erasing, scrubbing away this poems aromatherapy tapestry,
your perplexed complexing nostrils will mock you once more,
for ever disbelieving, thinking you could no longer write of
only love poetry that crested high above the trite


Friday, March 29 2019

I dream of Paris
I dream of France
I dream of white wine gripped by your soft hands
The view behind you is breathtaking
But not enough to distract me
Buildings of stone catch my eye
Maybe thats why your heart ran me dry
But I’m not one to complain
Especially about you
Et je suis adonné à tu
Ça va
Ça va
Seulement
Avec toi

when a bunch of  old Senate men
and some intimidated women
voted to heave

     an accused ******
     and proven liar with an alcohol problem
     given to irascible outbursts, fits of self-pity
     and insulting comments on women

into a lifelong seat on the highest court in the nation
     against voluminous evidence of his lacking qualifications
the statue of the Goddess of Justice
     whom a former attorney general
      had all covered up in blue cloth
dropped her sword and scales
tore off her blindfold
and covered her naked ******* in shame

The world takes a turn for the worst
and it’s a little less safe
and that is to say
the danger that was there yesterday
grew a little stronger today

how many more lies
will fools swallow
before the find their own little girl
not a little girl anymore
but a ghost of who could have been
nothing more than a broken thing

broken by a boy just being a boy
who will grow into a man
believing he can take
whatever he wants
when ever he wants it
and that no
somehow always means yes

that being drunk
is a good enough excuse
for any one
with the right kind of money
and the right kind of name
the kind that comes
from being born
in the right kind of skin

the kind that believes
its culture is a good culture
a good culture
where boys will be boys
who grow into men who are men
who are nothing
but cruel monsters
pretending to be human