that trendy ******(e) addiction
becomes you- and your fiction

goes well with the pale
-skinned thin western booted
blue-eyed shooter
riding sidesaddle
on your scooter

does she kiss like me
and bring you coffee?

i could lay you both down
in the in-betweens
and make heaven-

til hell is heavy as a monday
track day in albuquerque
while she sells your jewelry
in sante fe where it's trendy

-i'll be waiting
on the blue mesa.

r ~  9/19/14

This is the Field Marshall, tall and grand,
Who bellowed at Generals beneath his command,
Who shouted at Brigadiers in fine attire,
Who hollered at Colonels to make them jump higher,
Who screeched at the Majors and caused them to shake,
Who yelled at the Captains to keep them awake,
Who squawked at Lieutenants to keep them in line,
Who wailed at the Sergeants in double quick time,
Who shrieked at the Corporals and made them feel small,
Who screamed at the Privates worth nothing at all,
Who stood in the trenches and will never forget,
When they ran a man through with a fixed bayonet,
And held his hands tightly, as watching him die,
They whispered to no one, *"Oh why, but oh why?"

She uses the F-word to
Emphasize the L-word

When pausing from her
Whatever to text me,

And I pause from my
Whatever to focus on

Grander aspects of the
Whateveryday. How puzzled it

Makes a young man to cross
Paths with a young woman and

Find vacuum the same shape
As his own calling out for

Substance. I give up some other
Whatever, like someone opening

A door that refuses to
Stay shut; welcoming

The rain inside. Whatever. *It's
All wet now, anyway.

Yes, I may get sour, even  
Angry, at things where my
Reaction has effects.

Caring little about spending
Myself on distant affairs,
I am an ambassador of common

Decency. Not some moral police,
But a surrenderer of seat
To an elder standing in the

Aisle. I'll find the owner of that
Dog left out in the rain. You may
Be a brother to me; still

I'll ask you to keep your
Voice down if I see
That it bothers

Others. I've been that guy myself.
A thirty-something-year-old acting
Fifteen, making others change tables,

Or even leave the premises.
I've taken up more space than I
Require. I don't wish that

Retrospective shame and regret
On any of my friends.
I'll not throw a stone at a sinner,

That I haven't already
Flung at a
Mirror.

There will always be bad days and sad days and blue days
there will always be lonely too little of you days
there will always be dull days with nothing to do
but the best days are always spent dreaming of you.

There will always be love hiding just out of sight
There will always be searching for meaning and light
There will always be moonlight and lone whistle cries
but I'd trade all these wonders for one of your smiles

There will always be longing for far distant lands
There will always be words flowing out through these hands
There will always be friendship both steadfast and true
There will always be me, may there always be you.

When admitting own flaws
Rather than pointing out
Those of the other,
Compromise paves the road
To shared progress;
Forgiveness goes
Four ways.

The gun, gleaming in the darkness of subconscious
a phallus, stiff and red with frustration.
Then, this hallucination suddenly erupts
in the crowded netherworld, dark interiors:
a doubt, whether those thrusting *******
and pouty lips tempt onlookers to make up their minds?
Are there daggers hidden in those eyes, that confront?

Hold back the wanton gun and thought that stray;
be guarded when handling those, demons
breathe deeply, wait a minute, bring sanity back in position,
learn the essentials of gun control, if you want
undisturbed sleep in your bed, all nights
Love thyself, aware of the bindings of love, the light, smiles.