Life ******* heat, sweat dripping
from head to feet. trying my best to stay cool,
hoping I don't look like a fool
sitting here and starting to drool.
God bless America and the designer
of women's clothing everywear.
and yes that's wear with an E.A.R.
Stars and stripes forever, especially
when they cover so little skin.

Forgive me Father for I have sinned.
So much lust and not enough ******
I'm about to bust, don't think I can wait til' dusk.
That's when the real men busk, and they're
hoping to take home a little more than spare dollar bills.
Get your quills ready boys, cause nothing here is steady.

Hurtling across the horizon
inside the belly of a great ribbed
silver beast, barreling singlemindedly
down its prearranged tracks at speeds
previously unobtainable my mere mortal men.

Modern marvels of man-made comfort
surround us daily. So that we can exist without
need of fear or worry from our environment.
Our fight or flight responses are being systematically
removed, slowly, generation by generation.

Our dominance of the material world
and the animal kingdom is destroying the world
as we knew it. This world of ours that we now reside
within is entirely foreign to what existed before us.
We are the aliens of our own futures.

How do you know what time is right?
What is the appropriate time to let go,
to hold on, to linger. Leave the important
questions unasked, or go straight for the lips?

It's beginning to feel a whole lot easier
to live in my own skin. This place feels
like home, these friends just like family.

Shivers are still crawling down the trail
your finger took as you traced my flesh.
My body quivers, remembering the heat
of your breath as you whispered in my ear...

"I like your shirt", she said
"Where did You get it?"
Online I responded a one
day sale four weeks back
came in the mail today...
"cool", she said "I like it
a lot. Nice selections"
She held up my wine
and milk. "Thanks"
I said, "The milk is for
breakfast, the wine for
me and you, tonight.
You can't have one without
the other though." "Deal."
She muttered.

I am a poet, but you wouldn't know it
if you saw me on the street.You'd probably
see the backpack which I always carry around
and my torn up jeans with my graphic tee and think
college kid. Well you'd be right. That bag is not
filled with the things you'd think though. I have books
of course but not school books. I have novels, chap books,
magazines, and notebooks. You wouldn't think I was
a poet. Unless you saw me inspired, notebook in hand
pen to paper furiously scribbling, thoughts, capturing
moments, or maybe you'd know I'm a poet if you saw me
drunk on the T, gin in hand staring awestruck out the window,
pondering on what life has to offer.

It's 3AM and all of the streetlights are flashing,
Yellow, Yellow, YELLOW,
like they have the same fever I do.

I believe that streetlights are a subliminal form of messaging,
just letting me know, that all of the communist party members
of China are actually martians. But most nights they usually just
complain about how ***** they are. And as I pass underneath
I tap my accelerator in a sympathetic way, that says
I know man, I feel your pain, and I think,
he doesn't even have hands to help him out.

As the distance between us grows
I also long, for a companion to help
discharge my capacitor.

Sometimes I find myself on a train platform
not intending to go anyplace at all, but there
all the same, just because I need someplace
to think, alone, but surrounded by others.

I hate the smell of it, unless I am within
perfume scent distance of a beautiful girl.
But the sounds, the sounds are otherworldly.
The sound of cold steel thunder approaching.

Sometimes when trains approach from both sides,
I feel the earth shake, and I close my eyes imagining,
what the lightning would feel like.