kung fu
feng shui
wing nut
shang hai
chow mein
chop suey

fu manchu to you, too

On your throne,
legs crossed,
feminine fire,
open bar tonight,
look through me,
and show
my eyes
the mistress
of
night’s inadequate
tempting.

On your throne,
queen of queens,
keeper of the king,
crowned with a sigh,
breathy,
slave of youth
with the will of
a wanton gypsy.

On your throne,
I am your subject,
I have nowhere else
I want to serve.

She saw me break down
and watched me cry
and listened to me beg
but she had to
shoot me
point blank
and be done with it all

Such a pretty face
in a world of grimaced cheeks
with lips that speak
the language of kisses

The scent stays with me
sometimes
when I can almost feel
and taste
and touch you

My senses conspire
into thrilling sweat
and blood-rushing movements
that can almost feel
and taste
and touch you

I once dug a hole
all the way to China
and you'll never guess
who was there

I found a woman
beauty would blind ya
two eyes of jade
long golden hair

Rested on flowers
sunshine behind her
clouds like angels
were everywhere

She said I should know
where I could find her
there on the good earth
so precious and rare

I never could see
anyone finer
though I never went looking
I wouldn't dare

In the center of the fire
is red
a nucleus of the flame
a lifeform all its own

And the ripe apple
and the toy engine
and the toenail paint
and that part of the pupil where one sees the soul
and the stained-glass window
and the Native American
and the Fender bass
but most of all
the love that cannot be captured, caged or killed.

Shoulders smooth
lips glistening
words dismissed easily
as thoughts
shine, shine, shine
diva eyes
the face plays with
expressions like
an orchestra presents
Mozart

You see me rolling
on the floor
Mr Cool Drool
in a state of the union
your puppy
your mobster
your hit man
hitting on you

Her hair was red
then black
then a bit of both
and then the sun took over
and her face was like
a sculpture of Venus
and then her lips moved
and they kissed the words
who are you
and suddenly I was aware
she saw me

I have been thinking of
going back to California
because it seems far away from here
and it may be best to get
far away from here

California is the Foreign Legion
where one can go to forget
even if one has memories there

However ...

Maybe I don't need to forget
as much as I need to
be close to
something Spanish

The wind so strong it crushes bones
Through the ears it leads thoughts astray
None but the brave leave their homes
For fear it will blow them away

This is why my space is challenged
Shelter from the storm I seek
Every muscle works to keep me balanced
An loathes the state that renders me weak

To weather the storm and journey afar
Where you cringe in the arms of your tribe
How I yearn to struggle to get where you are
Yet return to my cave, alone, alive

Banish the thought you can see the light
That shines on a soul too beaten to be bright

She’s a touch away, generations behind
An enigma wrapped in mascara,
Cleopatra in mittens, Desdemona defined
With the sweet scent of Scarlett O’Hara

She strums some strings in tender tune
With a melody’s voice so gently
I crave to believe as I howl at the moon
When she sang of her love she meant me

My cartoon brain scribbles scenes in panels
Bubbled words floating over my head
While asleep she poses, dreaming in flannels
On a phantasmagorical bed

Longing to adore being desperately charmed
My impossible dream is eternally armed.

What formal madness need I study
To learn the love you cannot define?
What recipe is mixed so muddy
It’s neither blessed with blood nor wine?

So my remains, ashes of memory
Are the fates cast to the wind
And anything thought meant to be
Proves how thoroughly I have sinned

The echoes of your bitter words
So much louder than ringing in my ears
Bounce through gray skies like crippled birds
That perch and age through all these years

Hide from shelter, shiver from fate
It’s all been for naught and now it’s too late

My father was not a sailor
My mother was not a saint
Each one was just a failure
But what they were I ain't

Speckled, soiled and hurt
Their dying was long and hard
Each a droning but dull alert
Which still keeps me on guard

I am not a sailor
I don't believe in any saint
I am not a tailor
I'm a walking, talking complaint

If you see me on the street, shake your head
If you get no response, I'm already dead

It all went south.
The caring, the work it took
to care.
I had so much energy
and I toiled,
awoke early,
tried to accept a bad taste
here and there,
longing,
desire,
failure to satisfy
the meaningless sides
of it all.

I could not sustain
the chores,
my heart was too
open, unguarded.
When she left I knew
nothing would ever be
the same. But when I
saw your smile,
no matter how you hid
your pain,
I knew I could make it
without her,
without
direction.

Sometimes, late at night
I look at a photo of her
sitting there with her back to me
after a shower
and I can see down her spine
to the point where there is a
hint of her backside
and all I want to do is
run my fingers up and down
and down and up
and down
and up
and down
and feel the smooth rhythm
like a jazz improvisation
dig it
with a tempo
and a beat
that keeps my heart in time
with love.

My apple and pear trees cast obese shadows over the blades of uneven grass.

I was left in a tent
by the mother who bore me
and the thieves came to
take me away.

I grew up in a circus
and loved the clowns
who made me laugh all day.

I went to trial
by a jury of twelve,
not one who took my side.

I fell in love
on a day like this
but she ran away to hide.

Whatever happens will happen
now quickly and divine.
It could have all been different
If ever you were mine.

When you aren’t in the room with me,
the walls cry

I was born in a city
Moved to other cities
Lived on both coasts
Hung with celebs
Loved and lost

Almost died a few times
Moved to the country
Generations of fowl
Sons born dogs died
Lost her love
Tears in the fields
Almost died a few times
Saw your face
Awoke to light
Followed the dream
Met you
Will never die

Everyone can see you
but no one looks at you
the way I do

Everyone may think
this or that
but no one thinks of you
the way I do

Everyone may feel
you are special
but no one sees your fireworks
the way I do

Everyone doesn’t know
about you
the way I do
but you do

I need another hand
I will take your hand
Leaving you one to wander
while three work to fill the well

with souls

Nothing is going to last forever
except this

Things will corrode and crack
and crumble
not this

Rain will sweep away
the shores and drown the sand
and the shape of things will change
but this won’t

The planet will get hotter
and maybe colder
and things will burn to cinders
or freeze solid and still
not affect this in the least

This is something bigger
than the both of us
or the wind and the earth
or the eternity between
the galaxies

And once we are fully
aware of this
nothing will keep us apart.

I am the tree that falls in the woods
that no one is around to hear.
But you hear me.

The light from yonder window breaking
is not the sun shone through
The dawn of what lay waste of me
reflects into the blue
My bones are light an hollow now
no matter the time of day
So what, so there, so left to crack
so near, so far away

Fk Charles Bukowski
harder than he fked himself.

Look at me with a
teacher’s stare through
glasses and I see you
want to teach me
but I want to teach you,
too, because I have withstood
more pain than I hope you will
never feel …

Your smile is cordial
but I know you crave the
arms of desire
and you want to learn
that fire does not have to
singe the soul
and one kiss could be
more valuable than
a million brigades of
Hannibal’s elephants …

I am polite, I look and listen,
but I want to take these beaten
hands and slide the
glasses off,
I want to see your eyes
remain open as I lean in
and gently kiss you,
whispering,
”Everything will be all right.”

Count all your fingers
twenty times
turn your head to the left
take a deep breath
exhale
taste your lips
open your eyes
close your eyes
pull your shoulders
back so your clavicles
are defined
flex a thigh muscle
gently touch your cheek
with your index finger
arch your back
smile
there I am.

Yellow striped apron
drapes her flesh
as the meat sizzles in the pan
My senses huddle
the view from behind
more appetizing a meal

Yellow striped apron
is a nightgown
made in Spain
in the heat of the afternoon
making siesta impossible
if she is the cook

Oh Jesus I drool
I thirst I crave
I want I yearn
for
the ingredients behind
Yellow striped apron

There is a color
in the sky
late in the afternoon
that would escape
the eye of Picasso.

There is comfort
in that color
and I need it to
embrace me
and make me strong
so I can become
that color.
You.