Dear Reader,

If your winter becomes unbearably colder,
your summer a little less hot,
If your spring lacks flowers and colors,
and your next autumn full of drought,

remember that it's summer all year here,
yet my nights are colder since you left.
But I'll be waiting until you're back or near,
to go where or do what,
we'll just have to wonder and guess...

bamboo butterflies drifting
across the Sea of Cortez
with windmill drifting
through fresh eyes
while chanting from
the Book of Songs
underneath the
soprano blue sky

I know I dreamed of you

so shoot me
bury me in an unmarked grave

and in a 1,000 years
archeologists will dig me up
only to discover
a dusty pitcher of margaritas
still cold

the ashes
of a half smoke cuban cigar

and the picture of you.

heavy rain from a darkening sky
and buildings  fall

no one knows what will be left
running down the nowhere
where dreams die
on a metal tray
at the hospital morgue

trouser leg pushed up
the search for black ink
and a child's name
begins

perhaps the arm
the hip

the back?

and the children plead,
lie to me,
tell me,
i won't die,
today

and the silent screams
are left in an eternity of why?

foul and bitter hearts
will prevail
on both sides,
this is the poetry of death

I'll be rocking out in obscurity.
After all, eccentric
is just the polite way
to call somebody crazy.
Ambivalence is man's best friend.
Because nothing really matters.