Pen and paper,
touching
sensual for some,
words sure,
where were you,
when is what was too
young,
oh words, oh words,
how do you form
the shape of my
unkissed lips,
we have missed
our time
our chance to
embrace,
nakedness of
meeting
face to face,
you are more than;
a muse to me,
a fantasy,
a touch screen away,
but it is a lie,

past due
what are you doing
in 2016?
lips are numb,
must be drunk
writing free,
rhyme or prose,
do it all,
Even with ugly toes,
verse is free, heart
rock solid,
torrid,
turbulent,
life is *****,
when write is wrong.

If flight of fancy brings me near,
to perfect prose, may we meet,,
it is way past due...

The day does not change
the night does not stain
the light does not pane
of tempered glass break;

the black cloud
talks too loud
as there's a crowd
of everyone proud
of how she is now,

so come on dear
tomorrow appear
like today, no fear,
in thirty days, tears
or no the depression,
will be willed away!

If only IT were that easy,
If only IT did not queasy,
her so, masks fit easily,
slide on and off as easily,
as pills swallowed whole.

Wake dearest, wake,
unrested, get up,
you wrestled with,
alligators twisted,
in bed sheets, sorry,
I was not there, to you,
defend, I have no excuse,
even if sleep won out in
the end.

Darkness, the darkness, your darkness,
waits for me to rest, catches you off-
guard, does not God know, it is hard
on you, ******* us, and makes living
life seem an eternity, of pain, of sor-
row?

These are just black and white letters, not
some checkered flag saying the race is over,
even if the Victory is already, won, will you
place, or finish the run, black cloud over
your eyes blotting out the Son.

You talk trash like a doorman,
who treats others like doormats,
thinking you have that right, cause,
you fired first!

did you get lost on your way to a poetry
slam, and so you have no where to compete?

as self appointed (shr)editor,
you stir the *** and leave the room,
leaving your P.I.E.D. in plain sight,
just waiting for it to go off.

do you unto others as you would have do unto you,
somehow you forgot it is true, and I am sorry,
but no worry, I have even liked some of your
real
poetry,

What Was I Thinking?,

Observe life and report in rhyme or prose,
But rhyme with hurtful slime, uglier than my
ugliest of toes, might be poetry but stirs woe in me,
dress it up in classic forms,
who let you create a standard of norms?

take us on fanciful journeys, tell us of loves lost
and loves won, but instead you
load your keyboard with angry
words, waiting for the sound you like,
the sound of your own voice, PULL!

to achieve release...

who died and left you in charge,
or are you sitting sad and alone,
on one of the google barges?

cute trick to hide in hash tags,
not very original, gotta hand it
to you,............................................... you are the best dressed word
bully around. linguistically pure,
of that I am sure, for no human,
would c\ut a/nother's .............................artistic creation
down, unless perfection was in the D.N.A.

what did the others word-
hunters go on vacation and
you got stuck taking turns?
What a way to waste a holiday?
So be a good gourmand, and
get back to excessive feasting,
on food, and
not people's
works.

KTWK

wire coils with evenly spaced teeth,
shredded the clothing from beneath,
experience is a teacher, tangled and torn,

out,

getting no where, so no point to seethe,
fabric strips draped on a concertina wreath,
technique is a quality, better used and worn-

out!

lost!, lose!, loose!, free the beast, free the beast!,
into the rabble, into the pen of fractured plates,
***** the grey, matters not, just find that ten per-

cent!

wounded heart, bent aging knees, cannot rise,
to run away uphill against the wind, no surprise
no one will answer, the silent cry, or the loud sh-

out!

empty places, empty faces, reflected sour silhouettes,
every fifth bullet traces and arcs in the night sky,
why can't violence be allowed the right to die

out-

right? Left, right left, get in step with techno sounds,
dance all night, while the para-military do the rounds,
around the wire obstacles, to keep her away, keep her

out!

tension like a hydro line
swallow to feel...
anything at all.

penchant for less meta for
typing with a ball point...
spaces white like pills.

drink this description, you
may need to take in small
sips, as it burns the lips
if spoken out loud.

drowning like loneliness,
shares silent despair,
resistance is futile
in the liquid.

pins and
razors, catch
but awaken
even the cold
scars on
nerves who
only want
to be numb.

see me dumb me
pound the chest
to thump the heart,
no button no restart.

Leave the words
swallow the spaces
shave ice chips,
poke pin holes
into the swollen
bloated body of a
work of self-unction.

Hey wait, I am still under
the water, seeing the surface
under construction, from the
bottom up,
read them all to know
me,
meet you on the bottom.

Poems about me may be therapy,
Poems about you may mean I love you,
(even if we have not met face to face)
there is so little poetry
that the will in me is to write more,
about poetic things for sure,
so in 2015, I will leave myself out
more often,
                    than in any year before,
let me diminish so the prose will grow,
let me become invisible when the time is rhyme
for the picking,
and if this writer does err,
and if this poet is still there,
where he does not belong,
among his own words,
                                         share him among your friends,
                                         because truthfully he is not alone,
                                          in this prescription write, right?

Time to get honest,
salmon pink stucco walls,
see through the reflection,
white window framed images,
of this silhouette and a Christmas tree,
refracted lights truthfully adorn,
what the four eyes see, honestly.