I tried to tell him
but he wouldn’t listen,
keeps on missing
the common sense
we were all given.

He’s got a big mouth
and thick fists
matched by his dim wits,
so, pretty boy ***** is
too big for his lacey britches.

Ruffled some rough feathers
now the big birds are chirping
ready to put a hurt on
this **** that keeps skirting
certain responsibilities.

He can talk a big game,
float lazily on a name,
but when the gang
comes back around again;

He won’t be taking a swim
with his shimmering
salmon friends,
or be fitted for
the new cement style
on the ocean floor.

In fact, he will be lucky if
those redwood chips
aren’t made red with
crimson drips,

and I might try to save him
but I am seriously starting
to prefer avoiding
the whole human herd.

I wake up
with a cup
of caffeine,
and I’m greeted
by a beautiful
boot up screen.

There is a message online
from the one that I find
has stimulated my mind.

We talk for the day.
What a wonderful way
to create a new
relationship.

I move out to move in
as we become
more than just friends.

Time marches on
as old friends pass on,
but the hope that
I hold is not gone.

She becomes my wife ‘
at this late stage in life.
And though I am shocked
the new gift that I get
is a baby girl.

Later in life
my wife dies,
and my little girl goes
and grows up
to moves away.

She makes a family
of her own,
gets her own home,
and visits me
a couple times a year.

But then I wake up
and realize
that my wonderful life
was a bunch of lies.

It was just a dream.

What a lovely night
with just the right
amount of light
to illuminate
my fellow poet.

A little heft
below his chest;

A smile left.
I take several breaths
as he speaks
to me
spiritually.

Brother of
diverging
philosophies,

sweet words spoken,
given as a token
of his scholarly
artistry.

I listen,
grateful
for my grateful dead
looking
gentle ginger
gentile jesus.

The wolves stepped from the wood
Padfoot, quickstep, under ****** moon
Their mouths agape and yawning
Tongues lolling to steam the air
Eyes yellow and gold
The first wolf that had ever walked
Swallowed a portion of the sun
And they have been hoarding fire
Inside them ever since
And these wolves, from the darkening wood
With their misted fur backs
Twitching ears and slow careful steps
They lift their heads in one drawn-out moment
Speak with one voice
A voice that echoes like man
That lilts with arrogance not of wolf
To say that the world was raining blood.
The sun
The moon
They heard the wrongness of that voice
Saw the guns pointed at weeping muzzles
And they heeded
Noise shattered the ever-night
Sunlight averts her eyes
A moon crimson and shameful
The sky exploded in death
The woods grew darker

Your running in
a golden club,
while the rest of us
our just
flecks of dust,
plus ashes
from all the
burnt corpses
you brush off,
as the innocent
choke and cough
paying the cost
of your corrupt
corporate response.

What a screecher,
matinee double feature
of those dark creatures
that chase a female
cause they
plan to eat her.

Some secret
armored ghost
from Jupiter,
or sea beast
from 20 leagues
further below
the oceanic flow.

Not too costly
to see those grossly
violent films.

Those hacked up teen dreams,
those queens of scream,
poor things,
what bad luck
to get stuck
in those movies.

Would have been
so groovy for them
if they could have been in
a romantic comedy,
or family drama.

Would have been safe
cause nobody would have
chased them
and one hour to two
equals a happy ending
for the whole world to view.

Too bad they got put in
a terrible slasher sequel.

Little operator,
She brought
all the lost
thoughts
and painful
pressure
back in
to my life.

Took me
from peaceful easy
to anxious
and *****
in seconds flat.

Made my mind muddled,
like an old man
severely befuddled
by modern devices,
the queen of my queer vices
seems to like it
when I struggle.

She knows I
would do anything
for the love she brings
and still my hornet queen
stings.

I guess it is a woman’s work
to repay the ages of hurt
my brethren have bestowed
upon her sexes’ fairer graces.
So, she brings tears
to my face
as she moves away,
fluttering fancies
that constantly change.

One minute
I’m in it.
Her heart
the treasure
that brings me pleasure
inches from my grasp

Then in my final gasps
I realize at last
she was just a
shimmering mirage,

a sweet lie
that got me through
these endless nights
to the end of my life.

Oh well.

He is the god of lust,
ten thousand hours
spent observing
the herding of the hurting,
blood spurting,
and still he seeks
to feed a deep need.

He is the professor
of pain
professing his name
begging the same
from some sweet
unknown dame.

He is a soul seeker,
deep truth speaker,
devourer and needer
of sensual things.

Whilst the horde
of ***** human beings
keep ******* rutting
like squalid pigs in a sty
he is searching
for the truth inside,
his inner light
sense of pride
so that someday
he will find
a parallel passion
on the otherside.

It is a hunger,
a lifetime of starvation
he has been facing
whilst racing towards
a brutal end.

Love will not mend
those wounds,
but it would be nice
to have a life
softened by
similar passions,
even if they are just
two boats passing
on a foggy night.