-

Held beyond oblivion,
shackles cut the flow,
chains of rusted memories
wrapped tightly
around my windmill brain
Squeezing life, in or out,
pooling on a jagged earth
Grimacing contorted gestures
and pointed fingers heckle
as I am dragged through the streets
of my misshapen thoughts
Over cobblestone alleys,
dark lonely walls splattered in
pig blood graffiti
spelling my name wrong
Dripping slowly, staining brick
and off color facades
changing by the day,
exposing expressions
of those shunned
in the face of popularity

Timmy Ray, poor boy from Kentucky.
Football scholarship.
Degree in Business Administration.
Respectable job, bored.
Enlists with best friend in Marines as a macho trip.
Vietnam, what a crock.
This ain’t football. And it ain’t fair.
Schemes to get out,
ignores an order to go out on patrol,
******* mission, but the friend goes,
gets shot up bad.
Timmy Ray runs out to help the friend, is shot.
It’s all blood and mud, man, blood and mud.
Friend paralyzed, Timmy Ray okay.
Court-martial for Timmy Ray, discharge.
The friend takes an overdose.
“No moral here,” Timmy Ray says. “My
war story. That’s all.”

Timmy Ray makes sculptures, big metal things.
No people.
“The human body’s been done,” he says.
Downtown Detroit in front of an office
he welds a pile of globes,
names it “Love” so he’ll get paid
but he says it’s really “Moose Brain.”
These days, Timmy Ray’s hand
trembles. He volunteers at a suicide
hot line. No moral there,
either. Moose brain.

i am the door...
that you leave slightly ajar
in your comings and goings
in an effort to find out who you are

i am the wall...
feel free to stare at me blankly
or if you have greater need
you're more than welcome to climb me

i am the table...
for you to lay it all out
or if you prefer to wine and dine
in this riddle of doubt

i am the drawer...
you hold all your secrets in
your poetry and diary
of who you now are and who you have been

i am the bed...
your afraid to peek underneath
but still with enough comfort
to give you your much needed sleep

i am the window...
that opens into your soul
telling you what you want
and what you don't want to know

i am the floor...
where it all gets swept
into that lonely corner
with the rest of your mess

If I want my gypsy life,
My solitary dream
It does require a sacrifice,
More than I can exprime.

Car dans ma vie bohémienne,
Je dois me tenir seule
Même si mes sentiments m’amènent
À vouloir être en deux.

Je sais que dans ce jeu de rime
Je râte ; quand-même, j’essais
Car sûr mon cœur tes yeux s’impriment :
La lumière that day.

The candlelight that twirled and danced
And lit up eyes and hair
As deep inside something woke, pranced
And breathed a fresh, new air.

This was something I'd never had:
Un sentiment profond
Regretfully I leave, though sad;
Mais l'route gitane, c'est longue !