Rousseau lingers in the souls of lethargy. "I know
that [civilized men] do nothing but boast incessantly
of the peace and repose they enjoy in their chains..."

Efficiency is a masquerade for same old,
same old; undaunted herds recycle cud,
new food demands passion.

Allegories of independent thought
paint extravagant ethereal world portraits
in many shades of one color.

Legends are born in feebleness - dilitary hammers
riddle red cap gun ribbons sparking
outrage insufficient enough to make a statement

Let them cry muted cries
in one act plays to empty seats, as they
preen unripe scabs to detour unresolved issues

Yearning is vacant, yea, absent, as an
occasional yeoman's hail song is heard
in the distance milking a lily for a reason to go on

?s are the only things that exist
in reality. No one knows who they are
in the bell tower...they simply ring the bell.

"You're insane!" she screamed, the darkness emphasizing the exclamation point on a two lane country road with the headlights turned off. At 60 miles an hour, the moon mocked her hysteria illuminating only white lines on the asphalt resembling heart beats on a hospital monitor. If the blips stopped, so did our lives.

I laughed believing no one can die at 21. The difference between terror and confidence is a little circle. There is unjustifiable bravery if you hold the wheel in your hands. Begging was followed by crying (which was usually my role on earlier dates) where somehow I found joy in the cruelty. I had driven the road a hundred times before and knew the "Humpty Dumpty" **** and when to hit the gas to make her stomach leave her mouth. Each curve had its own reward and unforgiving consequence. I was sure I smelled ***, but that was okay. It was her car.

Years have past and those memoires had been filed away until I spoke to her the other day.
"When are you going to take me for a ride?"
I should have been torn for a meaning. I'm sure she meant both.
"Lights on or lights off?" I quipped.
"Surprise me."

Lights off.

She screamed twice.

It was a small book
he gave me
full of empty pages
and promises.
Like dads who pull quarters
from behind their childrens'
ears
a son
hopes there is magic
in a blank book.
So, I drip letters
from my pen
stacking them
like dragons
or a
firetruck
or a
memory that smells like
the honeysuckle we drank
on bicycle rides.
I pray he finds
a quiet place
where he can hold these thoughts
as firmly as held
his Ninja Turtle sword.

she twinkles over meadows
at the dusk of the day.
she mesmerises sweethearts in the dark.
her light is captured treasure
sought for mason jar displays.
i ran to catch her warm endearing spark.

among the other glowers
in the field of the dance,
her light shines always brighter than the rest.
with pure and whole intentions
i pursued in true romance
til i trapped her love inside my bottled quest.

i held her as possession,
admiring as a prize,
a crystal trophy worshiped at my whim.
she smiled a forced conviction
always giving through those eyes,
but her light, possessed, began to slowly dim.

some light is made for holding,
some light is made to stay,
but she was made for freedom like a lark.
i loosed her o'er the meadows
at the dusk of the day
to luminate more lovers in the dark.

You cannot make me love you
      but you can make me
wish that I always should have.

The moon
has been divided
by poets so often
that there is scarcely enough left
to make a cheese sandwich.
Let us not be so astronomical
in our dreams that
we disregard the world
right in front of us.

On a wood slat bench near City Park Lake,
I blew dusk into darkness on clouds of an exhausted Cohiba.
Dry, starless, midwestern summer shadows
sound like one-handed applause wrapped
in padded outrage. A rogue drake stirs unseen behind
nearly visible bushes at the water’s edge.
The rest of the tacet brood turn
condescending beaks at his faux pas.

It is the silence of trespassing,
disregarding closing time,
defying petty ordinance
to the tune of two frogs and windsong.
The empty side of my lips
curl in half a smile.
The appall in a proper rent-a-cop
would be irreverently rewarding.

Life doesn’t get any better than this…
At least it feels so now in the dizzy,
near fainting, larger-than-normal ****
on a larger-than-normal cigar. Regardless,
it’s a fine moment in time.

When I dream
I can taste her
running down my face
warm in afterthoughts
full of joy
tinged with fear
that I'll never get enough
or be enough
but I cannot stop wanting her
warm in afterthoughts
running down my face
when I dream.

If I was as good as I remembered I was
My records would never be broken
The women would sing of my legacy
And my name be religiously spoken.

If I was as good as I remembered I was
My sainthood would be secure
For my charity and humility
In a heart, great strong and pure.

If I was as good as I remembered I was
I’d be praised by all my fans.
If I was as good as I remembered I was
I’d have been another man.

The Poet says,
"It is easy being a painter.
You only paint what you see."

                                                                              The Painter says,
                                                                              "It is simple being a poet.
                                                                              You only write what you feel."

                                    God says,
                                     "Poet, if you are not a painter,
                                      And Painter, you are not a poet,


Then you are neither."

You take them for granted,
But your dog never does.

Where do you go when you're lost?
Is it a purgatory
Way back in your chest
Behind your heart
In the corner of a shadow
With your ams wrapped around your knees
Hoping that an angel with a map
Delivers a way out?
Find me when you get here.

When heaven has closed its doors
in shame
When only the smoke from the barrel
lingers
When law and lawless carpet the
streets
Will anyone remain to point a
finger.

She speaks truths like
a politician
with agenda.