Leave me alone
I dont need your help

Leave me alone
I like it by myself

Curled up in darkness
Smiling at my demons

Dont leave me alone
Theyre trying to **** me

Dont leave me alone
They are taking my hand

They push it towards a new weapon

The blade isnt enough
They yell as i cry

I wish you wouldnt have left me
I say as i die

Of all the things I forget
Tell me everything thats bothered you
And we'll scorch it.
I want to make you feel better,
That's whats important.

A long whsispered monologue
Curling up in a ball
The fresh air of winter morning
Sleeping with the lights on
A first and final passionate kiss
Tip toeing down a hallway
Conversations at twilight
Eating chicken wings with nothing to clean your hands
Searching for lost treasure.
Waiting for the rain to come.
Watching a snowflake melt into water.
The first crop of the season.
When somebody hands your wallet in,
And the money still in it.
Reconnecting with old school friends.
Visiting foreign shore and ancient city's.
Building a business, building a brand.
A trip to the Tate national.
The Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan and Neil Young,
For starters.
When the night won't seem to end.
The sound of your voice in the morning.
Breakfast in bed, fresh coffee
In a wide open space.
*For all those times I took you for granted.

the perfect mistake
doesn't come into your life
as an ugly thing

oh darling, it's like
warm fire on a cold winter
heating up your skin

it's like finding this
oasis in the desert
quenching up your thirst

it even comes as
human presence on sadness
candle in the dark

the perfect mistake
never regrets hurting you
and will eat you whole

it's thought-consuming
like a passionate first kiss
creating daydreams

fulfilling wishes
like shooting stars in the sky
or is it your eyes?

comes as a surprise
the kind that leaves you breathless
filling the spaces

the perfect mistake
won't come with horns and tail but
as this boy you like

What I want
For Christmas is
Just the barest
Of necessities

All my teeth
Not just two
So when I eat
I can chew

A skip and jump
Back in my step
So each morning
I have some pep

A pair of glasses
Which self defrost
A set of keys
Which don’t get lost

All my hair
Put back in place
So I don’t have
That barren space

A pair of shoes
With self tie laces
So I don’t have to
Reach those places

A set of arteries
That don’t plug
A nice cold beer
Which I can chug

To have someone
My brain equip
With that new fangled
Memory chip

So it can tell me
My intent
When I stood up
And why I went

A bunch of prunes
Which are pre dated
To work just when
I’m constipated

A gizmo that will
So to speak
Turn off my wee wee’s
Little leak

So I don’t have
I’ll just be blunt
Those little dribbles
In the front

A cork that fits
My *** hole, please
So hemorrhoids don’t pop out
Whenever I sneeze

A longer arm
That would pass
Behind my back
To wipe my ***

On this I’ll end
My little list
I don’t want Santa
To get ******
BOEMS BY JA 103

waking
newly human
strange and soft;
pinpricks, feelings -
the crawlings around inside you
shiver as your skin becomes real

a nightlight for daytime sleeplessness
carry the seas inside yourself
like people:
walking barefoot
drinking sunstreams
and braving the dark red nights

hark, choir voices, still
slurring miss you discrepancies
howls in empty skies
wolves die

a misunderstanding of your insides
bones
more sand than rock
crumble at a press too hard

on this,
last day of your first life
hung on a boy’s fingers
the edge of a cliff
taste the water in your nerve endings dragging you home
you splinter,
and you rise -

when the bruise blooms, you shine

The year
1966.
Manson was on his spree
Hippies chilled the breeze.
Chicks dancing with rubies on hips.
Then came 1967
Hendrix wowed the crowd
Janis Joplins soul came out
Music splashed
Hallucinogenic heaven.
1968, patterns of clothing
Seemed to be from faraway.
It wasn't American to the main stream
Still wouldn't be today.
1969, Woodstock, the time
Of all togetherness, and weightless
Rockers heads filled with dust and buds.
Cities broke to riots
Gangbanging quiets over colors lust!
1970, met grandmammy
Touched the farmers scene.
Found the happy
In the sixties baby in me.
Today, now a mountain boy
On a machine that cuts down anything
In its way.
The farming hand
Making a living off of dirt and hay.
Spit and clay.