that's it
the this of now is where
I am gonna hang my cap hat my
toupee

Then there was when
that day I had long hair
and a goatee
always wet

vigorous , in a way
no doubts no second thoughts
my way or
nothing at all

had two ***** then
now I have three
they sag down lower then
my knees

I dont care anymore
wrinkles around every curve my biceps
turned into droopy triceps
my lower eyelids
into nose bags
my ears into forests
my chin into three of em

that is the way
I live work  hard
party when not working and
it took a toll
I just wish the mirror had a mute button
It has started laughing at me

after watching
the videos of children and humans
striving for a breath
their bodies limp
from a saran attack
I would strap my *** to
a cruise missile
after getting a tattoo
all over my body saying
Assad
this is for you!
It was sickening
beastlike satanic
and I cried
my stomach wretched
I shuddered
here this world is
in the 21st century
and  some of us
are still barbarians
I pray
we listen to the
little girl some
call the  Syrian
Anne Frank
my heart breaks
again

My three daughters and I
Spot, Blue and sweet Timex,
live within the walls
of this Verona like  apartment,
Missy, the Black Lab who played nursemaid
to these three I believe, aided and abetted
sweet Timex's foray.
I, a Capulet, truly love my daughters
but easily fly into rages,
wishing a fair and providing man for them,
not the hell of the Montague clan,
namely bighead. Bighead roams the streets the alleys the back woods
no earnings or propriety,
no means to his unmatted fur,
his wild houls in the night, testament.
The nurse then, on a late night, asked to go out.
I tired, got complacent and out timex flied!
She returned a week later,
not the young kitten, playful,
but a Cat, with hunger in her eyes.
Spot and Blue, still are eager to discover the outsides,
Probably filled in on all that is there,
by Timex. And she no longer plays.
She even meows different now,
seems to meow
O Bighead, wherefore art thou Bighead!

If I were a watch man
I'd grab the moon and
put it in my pocket, man
take it out every now and then
and ask him O moon
is it time yet to give up
the ghost of my past loves
whose paths I've long crossed
lost and missed my chance
since the crows have danced
and left tracks with their feet
cut deep into my cheekbones
but I've never owned a watch
it's true (believe it or not)
or cared to know the time
and the moon looks just fine
shining up there in the sky
such a scene to be seen
instead of stuck in a pocket
of my old gray faded jeans.

A beginning made from
all things sweet and simple
...divine, magical

Time raised that vibration
up, just enough to burn dust
from the binds that kept us
alone, and scared

Passion poured from thoughts
turned to words until breathless
gasps seized our contentment

Reality met at the door...chained
from there all had been had
all had been felt and all
had been done

Forcibly my senses were invaded
with a slight blush on pearl
...aching for more

Good-bye was never an option
will never be...yet you force me
into silence

add my name to that inner circle thing
where newsletters about the most heartfelt go
the e-mails and spam about
worthy people nearly saints
singing praises in God's name hand
out bread loaves
and fish

keep my name off charities
that claim for twenty five cents a day
you can adopt: a child in Africa; an elephant;
send books to the Nile River flooded
refugees; the latest Syrian gassed.

I get my kicks, sunshine,
above the waist, (**** i stole
hell outta that line)
and I lied about that too,
some my best kicks, etc.....

well, giving seems to be a
rich someone ******* in America
in a mansion. Send me , count me in,
when charities help some
*******.

I've been down out, seen ten million others
the same desperate way, ain't seen or heard
one thank the United Way