rubbing my chin
my mind takes me
takes from me

the ability
to be free
of the ego-maniacal

tyranny

*****-deep
in some fantasy
with some self-absorbed  

me


rather live a dream
than be 'woke'
and un-free


unholy


tears of fire
rain down
on me


thanks to those
who came before
and to those

that even the score

writhing words
snake eyes

a hissing tongue
a snake stomach

unhinged jaw
poisoned tooth

patience
ever patient.

I used to play this
game
with my second 
wife.
It was called,
guess the fruit.
We did it in
the morning,
that way, we had
breakfast and ***.
Succulent and sensual.

She would lie naked on
the bed-blindfolded.
I put a Miles Davis CD
on, then went to the
kitchen, and roughly chopped
various types of fruit:
Peaches, Pears, and Pomegranate.
Avocados were too messy.
I would grab a handful of
various types of berries, and
assemble them all on
a plate.

By the time I got back to
the bedroom, she was 
squirming around, and squealing 
like a squeaky toy.
I'd take a piece of fruit and
lightly rub it on her neck,
she would yell,
"Banana"
"Nope," Id' say.
I would dart it across
her lips, and work it
down her neck...
ease it across her pink
left ******.

She coos, "Peaches."
"No baby, but you are close."
I would make light stabs
down her belly to the top
of her golden mound.
By this time she
would softly moan.
"Fuckkkk...Blackberry."
"Yes! You got it."
Then I would pop it
in my mouth, savoring the
juice and the sweetness.

The game would continue
back and forth until
we finished the fruit.
By that time, we were more
than ready to make love.
We went at it like
dogs in heat.
the sweat and fruit juice
mingling on our bodies,
illuminated by the
morning sun, breaking
sad through the
window.

I am single now, and poor.
I can't afford fruit.
And even if I had a woman,
it would be hard
to play, guess the Mickey D's
dollar menu item.

Hangs on a hanger at Good Will
Among many others
Whose time has past
Out of fashion out of time
But their scent remains alive
The pheromones of their lives
The dopamine
The cortisol
The chemistry of our experience
The pleasures the stress their pains
remain & linger in the scents
A lifetime come & gone
Doesn't get much notice
We mostly pass it by
Though you may feel it in the air
from time to time emanating from
The dead man's suit on a hanger at Good Will.

In these first days of fall
the trees prepare for their journey into winter
summer’s green
yellowing.

Honey bees buzz the sage
enter its majestic green body
through the sweet portal
of its magenta blossoms
for one last deep drink
of nectar.

My winter approaches
may I imitate my brother bees
maximize what sweetness
there is in my small world
and pollenize
where I can.

And

So
                    Perhaps
Some day

Sun

Bored

Will draw a veil

And sit

                              Hidden
                                              Embroidering

Some
Sunny
Moon

...the meadow and the puddle
you wouldn't come out of

wild and simple joy

invisable to eyes, now...

I wander the meadow grass

the fields where the flowers glow
in early morning
sunlight

the fields you
only dream of
where your soul is always free...

and you come running
spectral through the mist,

I walk lonely fields