I want
to work
my Vision.

Oh, I pretend
I remember,
'way
back when:

The day was
my expected
day of arrival.

It was so hard
to move around.

I didn't
want
to come out..

..I didn't
know
what was
out there,
and I guess
I had
enough
distractions
as it were.

-Brake-

Flash!
'dollars to donuts.

If I get
my feet
back on
solid ground,
or,
if you
ring
that
bell,
a mad
dog
will
come
a runnin',

and
you'd
wish
that you
could
motor
just a
little bit faster.


© 2013

Rest
in
peace
Herb.

It's
just
over
a year
now

since
you
delivered
that
'hot shot'.

Did
you
send
it
into
your
veins.

Or
did someone
overdose
you,

did
some
one
other
than
your
self
give
you
that
lethal
injection.

Maybe
some
pretty
little
lady
that
had
you
wrapped
around
her
finger
'cause
she
needed
a little
rock
and
roll.

The
day
after
this
had
happened,
I
found
myself
knocking
at your
door...


Funny
how
things
work
isn't
it..




I miss you herb.

© copyright 2012

When they say 'I got your back',
make sure they don't have
a knife in their hand.

It feels like I'm
just a dog and
I've only dug up
one more
bone of contention.

When I say
I'd like to
give you
a knuckle
sandwich,
I know it's
not for the best
even though
it's true,
in the end,
I'm like the robot
flying the drone
unmaned,
I've got ******
behind
these sunglasses,
so I  end up
throwing up
my arms
and settle with
pounding sand.

You ask; "What's your problem?"
While I stand among
the stars,
And I shout out,
"too many to mention."
I have bought
and sold
the Farm.


When I grew ill
and had to
leave my job,
you treated it like,
I was a lazy *******.

You had me
by the  *****,
yea,
that *** got stirred.

I was so
'on fire'
with anger.

You stood there
with a bellows
fanning
the flames.

I got your number,
I know your game.

After knowing you
more than a decade,
being there
to look after your kids
while you
went out and drank away
the money
I loaned you,
all the while trying
to get yourself laid.
Man I played the fool.

I miss the kids,
and the 'should of dids',
as for you, you can go to hell.

Like the carcus
of a rotting animal
you give off
such a strong sickening smell.

**** the "Glade",
**** the
keeping all the
doors and windows open.

I'm going out
to have a drink,
What a weight
off of my shoulders.

Get lost
because
just got paid,
I'll be dammed
if once again
I'll let myself
get made.

© 2013

Green and gold,
and a splash of red..

Took me hours to complete
and I can't take it with me
when I leave.


Two women,
I am close to
and I find myself
all alone.

They both
have a bone
to pick

and I'm bad at
saying I'm sorry.

'Today' is a new day,
and 'today' is the only response
to 'what's up', or 'what's new.'

Today is all that is new,
remember 'nothing new
under the sun'.

You can wait for miles
for that call
you're never going to get,
I changed my bank account
but it doesn't mean I've changed.

My car payment's
not due because I have
two feet and a heart beat,
let alone my bike.

Let's see,
maybe a spot of tea
and some breakie.

I know, a shrimp concoction!

There isn't any 'flying high'
with out some kind of 'crash'
back down to earth.

Time doesn't wait,
you wait while you
watch the paint dry.


© 2013

you are the
entire package,  
                  love,          
,a hooka bar..    ..the old ways.

  Unable eyes
     white Xmas,
Water, rough road.

                     Life is a fickle thing..
 Self portrate #1.. 
 
That 3 pm feeling
                    
                        easy vow,
                             right looked
                  
                                  left,­ right
                            left,
                         ­           was
                          right.

                         Left was      
                          right.
wasleftwasright         
                                 ­  rightwasleftwas.


end..


© 2012

I hold my cards
close to my chest
on this night that is
oh so close.

No fan
to blow
air into my face,
not that it would
matter anyway.

The air
would just
remind me
that it is hot
this summer night.

I am drinking beers
while the fruit flies
are sharing with me.
No sense
in picking them
out of the cup..
more will arrive.

The woman
who lives upstairs,
how can she ride her bike,
on such a summer night.

I hear her,
it's the sound
of rowing,
a creak-creak-creak.

88 Willow,
the building with eight dwellings.

Through the open window
I hear a dog barking,
maybe two, three blocks away.

This building that I live in,
where the walls
are so thin
you know that
they have ears.
Have ears to hear.

Creak-creak-creak..
the woman is rowing,
her rowing machine rows
out into a great big sea
of imagination,
where there
is every kind
of sea creature
that you can conjure  
up in your mind.

And her
boyfriend, a fine
painter and sculpture.
He wants to do the
cover of my next book..

And I think, like that's ever going to happen.

My good friend
was over tonight,
he told me a story about
how he proposed
to his 'maritime' woman.

She cried and she cried
after she saw the ring,
not because it was so small,
but because she was
beside herself
in joyful delight.

I envy what it is they have,
but what they have
requires work, hard work.
They have one tried and true
partnership.

We talked about
reaching out to extended family,
as well as brothers and sisters in blood.

Me, of my own,
my father is turning eighty.
Eight decades and I know him not.
He fought
in the Korean War
and I've yet to ask him
about it.
Not once in my life time
has he even smelled
the wartime memories
that I am sure waft up
on occasion.

Now back to 88 Willow.

There is a drunkard
living in a basement apartment.
His legs are going
from wet brain.

He only calls me when
he is drunk.

He has two drinks and
he starts fumbling worse
than a line backer
intercepting
a foreword lateral pass.

I don't want to move,
though I know I have to,
to keep on keeping on,
I've got to move,
I have to move.


© 2013

So ****** cold
and yet to hit deep freeze.

We love long Johns,
we love long Johns,
we love foot longs.

Have to use a pair of tweezers
to pull a hair out of
a hot bowl of soup;
when asked 'what are you doing with those,
I answer 'what do you think I'm doing,
they're pluckers,plucker'.

© copyright 2013

All Rights Reserved

I called a friend of mine,
you see I've always scratched her back
you know and she's scratched mine.

What makes me crazy is that
she's always one to take,
she's always on the make.

You gimmie and grab
and turn around and gouge
out my eyes,
you talk real ****,
you don't answer any of my whys.
My thousands of whys.

Well so long now,
sorry but I got to go...

Yes so long, it's been a slice,
shaking loose of you is like
putting down a vice.

Golden earrings and pretty bobbles
couldn't clean up your act.
You've walked barefoot across the floor, broken fragments of glass,
everywhere, and you were there,
but, oh so was I.
I was there too

I've given you my very best,
yes I've given you my very best,
and what do I get?
I get treated worse than all of them,
worse than all the rest.

I wish I could remember
if it was a movie or if
I  heard it in a dream.
It doesn't matter much now,
Because when
I see you coming
I just want to leave.

Just like Dylan said, "A whole lot of people dying tonight
from the disease of conceit."

I've tried taking you aside
and softly admonishing  you,
that ended in a stalemate,
what good did it  do..

You wore my Austrailian hat and battered it black and blue.
You took my painting and  threw away the frame,
I lend you money
and you drink it away.

I don't talk about drawing a line,
I just do it and
if you're in you're right mind
you won't cross it
unless you really want
the **** to hit the fan.

This conflict, I must confess,
well it can make me cry.
every time you
turn around
you're telling me another lie.

I feel a lot of ambivalence .
I don't want to hear you any more.
Some times I think I want silence,
some times I think I want to even the score.

Man, I am on
cloud nine,
look what anger does,
as if I'm in a fight.
I just get to average,
but by no means normal,
the only normal I have found
is the cycle on a  washing machine.

I'm not sinkin' in a hole
that was dug real deep by you,
thinking
this old world is all ****** up
and
you don't want to play the game,


You'd just end up leaving me,
so sad and feeling so full of shame.

Do you love me, let me count the ways,
it's not that I don't care,
it's not that I don't want to be there.

I just don't know any more...
what's that sound
telling me I have fix it,
that I have to
put it right.
Now you're looking
to put me down,
always wanting
to start a fight.

You're acting so abstract,
while with me it's so 'as a matter of fact'.
Knowing no one has even half the answers.

Skin deep in her cold green sea,
a dark and gnarled sky above.
On the horizon a sign reads:
She believes in angels, but she can't believe in love.

Insane in her reverie, wings sewn cross stitch
all down the spine of her back,
rattling panes that the winds blow
are just a reminder of all that she lack.

Saw teeth across metal, this is music to her ear,
the shriek of a tea kettle brings insolent childhood fear.
Rude eyes shout; forget the devil, he has no bite.
She knows better though, she won't go down without a fight.

Her attempts to to speak of the things she has heard
are the sounds of the cat who has sprung on the bird.
To spread her wings is to spread her legs
and embrace to power the darkness has made.

Oh, the suffering of heart ache after heart's ache,
while pulling the wings off of flies.
She can make you laugh, she's pretty smart hey,
but it isn't the same as being wise.

Every bit of her life, it occurs to her.
Yes it does, it just occurs.
Now is that being selfish or just being blind,
if fooling people well is her way to unwind.


end


© copyright 2005

it sounds
and i am compelled to listen.

this is beautiful,
now that i've heard it

there is no turning back,
to the point of no return.

experience piles up,

the hold never dissipates.

at times it emmersis me and i remain motionless.

it sounds, squeezing ***
on its bonds with male
and female on fresh waves..

© copyright 2013

All Rights Reserved

Trust, flung
to the ground
by the horse
Riddled Doubt
with its broken leg...
They shoot horses don't they?... not really...

Cobra's breath
through yard iron teeth,
sullen swank and sway.

Shan't no man stand
where WILL be loosed,
'till gait and gravity
sound pounding shoe.

With in no glass wall
to splinter and fly
'till distant point
not seen with thine eye,

pass behind
to settle in cell,
being recalled of fear
or a rainy day,
casting visions
of a cruelest Hell
of infinite symbol,
sound and smell..

© 2005

In the underground city
where they march
to the stoplight
going nowhere fast.

***** mounted set
swings or the everlasting.
A tone to set mood,
to change that very thing.

brisk room to move,
speeding the set,
not letting us settle,
only a brush and we're off.

Sleeping under the sheets
of a hot, hot desert sun,
that cold is gone
but for this evening.

Undertow ***** silvery light
down to the underground.
Kisses of light sent to and fro
in a dull foreboding march.

rolling and holding
onto a used to be,
always unfolding
across a jealous sea.

your Father's scolding is
whipped waves roaring,
a howling wind that tore
the sound from
Hell's aching bell.

your Father's smile, bliss,
graceful, gentle, wide.
when it falls down
you can't hide.

rolling and holding
onto a used to be,
always unfolding
across a jealous sea.

© 1998

All Rights Reserved

Evening's long shadow
lay peaceful between
a walk in the neighbor hood,
where the windows are looked at,
not through.
And the air is
not shattered with alarm.

Behind
the church doors
in the pews: a congregation
is dead.
I take them downstairs
to be buried.

The preacher is undisturbed.
"Where the dead lay
the crows will gather."

This game
played between the ears.
My own arm
beating my own head.
the cry of the small fry,
so the bull bellies up,
filling his hole.
Always in need of more.

Behind an ancient well,
with stillness,
and under a dark sky
with diamonds,
there is no natural,
nor is there any contrived

© 2005

no new is good news
just as long as I'm lying here with you,
and though we're fools,
still I went just to hold you.

in my mind are these rolling hills,
and these green green fields,
the fog is everywhere
and I'll always remember
because you were there.

terra-cotta woman
my celtic queen,
you work with clay
giving form its birth.
to shape this day
you have turned to the earth.
terra-cotta woman,
my celtic queen.

and when I get home,
I want to unplug the phone,
turn the lamp down low.
because no new is good news
just as long as I am staying here with you.
and though we're fools,
still I want to hold you.

terra-cotta woman
my celtic queen,
you work with clay
giving form its bearth.
to shape this day,
you have turned to the earth.
terra- cotta woman
my celtic queen.

© copyright 2000

Vegans are from Venus
Meat eaters are from Mars,
Vegetarians sit around the
breakfast nook light years
from Polaris, knee deep
in far away stars.
All the bread eaters are
closet bakers in disguise.
Those who lunch out
of dumpsters
spend their days
pulling the wings off of flies..
Nobody knows the
troubles they have seen,
and the apathy of the
middle class, well that
is nothing short of obscene.
The protein shake pumpers
sneer at  old time
Bible thumpers.
While the yoga
young collectibles
leave a good portion
of the day largely unsung,
knowing full well they
have nothing worthy
to kiss off the tip
of their tongue.

driving on an electric highway,
it shoots to be the
monkey on the back.
white, green in a bottle or a machine.
foul breath creams
out words that i hold dear.

holding up a candle
by its burning wick
while a sea breeze slaps me
with a salty sting.

fumbling through an atmosphere
joined tongue and groove,
from the first breath to the last,
the artichoke heart pumps out a beat.

one foot in front of the other,
another swing, the pinata breaks,
raining down lies to be gathered up
and taken home,
to be stretched out and hung
along side of the truths.

© 2005

lonesome for the country
i need to get outta town,
with this city
in for a penny
in for a pound.
i need to get back to my roots
i wanna fill my boots
with some hallowed cuntry sound.

a skate board flys by
clack-clack on every side walk crack,
same rhythm same rhyme
as that lonsome long snake
rollin' down the line.
movin' up the steel to a muddy sky.

a pedal steel wails as a cop goes by,
72 chev malibou sails through a red light.
on every corner you have to look left,
you have to look right,
you can't go lookin' up the steel to a muddy sky.

this city she has her shades of blue,
a man on the corner with a national,
two hands poundin' out a delta groove..
head tilts back sings you godda move,
you godda move,
movin' up the steel to a muddy, muddy sky.


© 2005

For the price is high
and the burden is heavy,

look this way to find
a broken stream that

tells of a high price.

look that way to see
only cement wall that

tells of a heavy burden.

All this fresh and driven
headlong into the heart.

No spilling the beans
in sight of the hungry.

What gifts the poor are given
though there is no tarry,

no time to enjoy.

Living breath taken lightly,
with out giving it a thought,

go around and take it in
that Jesus had his doubts.

Must make haste in the
making of waste for

the time has gone when
to look for busy really is any thing.



Al Rights Reserved @2005

Hidden in the shadow
of the Soul owner,

born in the body
while the whole is hidden.

No worldly value
can be attached to this.

The magic of Life
is not theirs to claim.

They drag the cross
painless, not fearless.

Their way, it
pulls at me,

it burns my lips.
My fingertips stretch

to touch the Heirs overflow.
Fears cloud my eyes

as I watch
time tic loudly.

© 1986

There was a time
when you could move mountains
with your smile, and the earth
was such a beautiful bridge.
Now Ursa dips deeply into
the dark well of sky while
little sister plays hide and seek,
perishing thoughts that ride down in bitter cool.

How can you or I claim innocence
when we have both been here before,
shall we cast down our glance in shame
having lied through eyes of stolen charm.
Our birth is breached
as we cling tight to earlier yearnings,
and the wailing wall sounds
a whisper to the cry in my mind.

Those times when in spirit,
our fingertips would brace,
prying open closed hearts
that had been slammed shut
by a life swung hard.
What fear brings this memory,
doesn't every tree stand alone
until you look below the ground.

All Rights Reserved.

on the other hand is a peace symbol,
              on the other hand is my fist.
on the other hand is seasons greetings,
              on the other hand you're on my
                                         naughty list.
on the other hand is love sweet love,
              on the other hand is hatred with
                                                 a twist.
on the other hand is a blanketing darkness,
              on the other hand, in sunlight I'll
               bargain your soul in a will-o'-the-wisp

colder than
the well diggers *****
off the brass monkey(on my back).

crouching over like an old man
taking the shape of a question mark.

can't wait for spring at break(my) neck speed,
if i was in the possession of an ulcer,
it would stand up in protest
and begin to bleed.

© copyright 2012


All Rights Reserved

What shade has come over me
to leave such a trail of steel,
this thing I live is a runaway train.

I feel so obliged to follow it,
dragging me, kicking and screaming,
didn't I once engineer this life gone insane.

Pulled along behind, face hid in forearms,
ka-knock-knock- knocking my head on every railway tie.
What shade is this that has split bean's brain.

By the wrist I am chained to this runaway train,
with traits of a hell-hound out of control,
nothing to push to stop from being pulled.

Bound to lose faith at the very least,
though risk of life and limb be the final price.
What shade is this film that I have cast myself in,
what shade is this play that won't go away.

Took a long drive down
To jawbone corner where
A flashing red light
Acts like four-way
I'm with my girl, her driving
Me delivering foreplay

Down in the Valley where
You can be at rest or you can be at play
Newly- weds and nearly-deads
Draft dodgers from Yankey-ville
And my family lives there still

Apple blossoms with
Their assault to the senses
All kinds of distractions
Too many to mention

A Sunday drive that lasts all day
Blomidon stands oh so tall
And you can forget about it all
As you coast in to town
And lay your money down
At the local pub checking it all out
To see in the way of fun
Just what can be found.


© 2012

It was ten years ago to the day
that his wife died. He was going to retire
but the lighthouse needed his care.

There was a ghost in his basement
or was that just a trick of the light.
If it was it just wasn't fair.

The deepness of the foghorns call
kept him from missing a single soul.
When someone stopped in to visit, he'd only sit and stare.

Many people came and asked  him to leave
but he stood his ground, he just held tight,
you see, to leave would be more than he could bear.

It was ten years ago to the day
that his wife died. he was going to retire
but the lighthouse need his care.

One thing that he never knew
was that he was that ghost in the basement.
He was the ghost down there sitting in that chair.



AllRights Rerserved@2009

I cough up
your menstrual blood
when I hear his voice.
His fuckn words fall
with a thud.
I don't listen 'cause
I have that choice.
He's a weasel
wheelin' around
to push his ware.
When you want him
he can't be found,
he ain't nowhere.
I cough up
your menstrual blood
and that's no lie.
He ain't a missle
he's a dud,
the farthest thing from dope,
'way too far from fly.
The moral of the story is...
if you can be free from Scott
you can be scott-free.

© 2012

close to
being something
so far.

in the end
closer,

not always
better.

four become
two become
one,
closer.

love doesn't
matter
about anything.

you just
hold on
remembering
it is always
better.

© 1999

the first thing
that I noticed
was the child's beauty.

then again,
I realized how
I can judge a book
by its binding.

the linking of
these bony fingers,
while the back
of my mind
rests in the palm
of my hands.
a sign
of my threadbare body,
barely old      barely able.

there she was,
waving her habitual bliss
like a carrot
on the end of a stick.

while a silent psalm
surrounds a starry angel's glow.

Standing in a field
with big sky
while rain threatens
the children in the playground.

Swiftly thoughts
charging from here to there
and back yet again.
It isn't a matter of relax.

Slow poke in the ribs
that knocks the wind
across the open grass,
moving towards the horizon.

Play is an unforgotten
movement that pushes me,
and who is to say
what is or isn't play.

Fantasy of a family,
not seeing that
we already were
and always would be.

Spontaneous,
starry eyed,
you drew and drew
bring your hold
to bar none.

Baby's blush brings
energy to communicate
symbol in mind, in ears,
eyes and fingertips.
Nothing doing
holding anything back.

Wound around with cable
I put my boxes
into the hole that I have dug.
Each box wrapped
with aluminum foil.
How long do you
protect a time capsule.

Spitting out time,
a twisted trunk
sequestering
a child's bear and rabbit.
Why would it hold
when not of flesh and blood.

Idling too fast,
but why move
for the sake of movement.

I pet my head
and shuffle my feet,
doing something
that doesn't need doing.

Quite loss to the
end of the day,
a group of
rusty nights
spreading their togetherness.

My bed waits,
it doesn't call,
knowing I will
take it up and walk
into a play
that feels so much
like a life
otherwise not had.

Jack in trades
master of none,
been fighting slaves
and the demons won.

Switched on darkness
to shut out light,
revolution is real,
rolling far from sight.

To hold the universe
he left his mind,
The edge of spirit
was the boundary line.

Wind down experience,
symbolic in clock,
a falter or stall
in every step of the walk.

Life is short that says it all still you're going to find that it's a long hard crawl.
Magical the myriad of visions that pass moon beams,
hopeful my heart grasps the spark within these wakeful dreams.
The hours of fitful slumber waning fast like the death of night,
my mind wonders to and fro like a pedulum on my sight.
Dreams that seams like nothing now at all not big or so small.
My relentless wake devours me now, for I am always dreaming anyhow.

sitting
in the
  executive
   boardroom
    the c. e. o.   on
      speaker phone                                                            ­              
       it's all fun and games                                                            ­          
        until someone loosens a tie                                                              ­          
                                                      ­                            
                   down at                                                               ­   
                      the local                                                            ­          
                         watering hole                                                             ­           
                            enjoying a                                                                ­        
                              round of darts  
                                it's all fun and games
                                   until someone loses
                                         an eye
                                  
                                                                ­       an eye.. end

canada and america are different all the way from eh to zee

kinda
like an
eccentric

living his life

with
three
cats

waking up
in
the middle

of the
night

pinching
a flea off
his *****

When my baby's web of Whispers
                                  screams I love you in my ear,
    it echos through  grey matted cranium
                                  sending messages ear to ear.

My synapse snapping,
           and gravity collapsing,
    a host to the sensual, 
            muti-dimentional..
                    no such word as fear.

                                It really slays me
                                when I see it disappear.

When we make love my ego burns in effigy sending naked stars to fall.
                                 there is nowhere I'd rather be,
                                  it's a natural born lover's ball.

Candles kissing the air, flickering flame of release, total estacy,  
it's not just *** to me, a forgiving rush of peace,
                                         I stand in wait, waiting for your call,
                                         oh will the feeling never cease...
                                    No four-way flashing, not only fore-play happening,
                                                      ­       no yield sign to stop me now.
                                      Like a gold mine, she'll be tappin' me,
                                                     yes, right in the kisser    pow!
      
                                         My baby is drama free... if anyone creates confusion    that would be me.
                                                             ­                                                                 ­        
                                
                    Everything is oh so fine,
                                yes, I'm hers and she's mine.
                                                   It is one slipping
                                                      shift on into the sublime. 
                                         That's the way i want it
                                      not exactly every ones cup of tea
                                                           still, she brings it on for me. 
                                

                     © 2013

Left to my own, he bit his bone and smirked.
One of those skeletons not in the closet.
Bony, he was being
dragged, kicking and screaming
and biting his bone.

He told me one morning
after a second cup
of a so black and hot
it took an hour to drink.

Two right hands are the answer,
your left hand will never know.
Two right hands are the answer.

I don't care if you hate me,
usually good does hate evil.
you know when I'm in that closet
I'll step out to visit like an old ghost,
and you may be powerless
and I may have my way.

Then he stopped pushing
and started biting my bone.
I was standing on thin air.
That's what they want, they want you to fight.

Go sit up all night,
go sit up on the Arm's wall.

Take it all in,
think about it all.

The sails on the Arm
are coming to no harm...

Moonlight on the water
striking me in the eye.

Mighty blue heron
under intermittent sky.

Wild duck knocking back shellfish,
fueling up for the flight into fall.

I sit quite on a stone,
so glad to be on the Arm's wall.

If you're going to shoot from the hip make sure you're not firing blanks.

i cry out
in pain
and joy,
you do too.

" IT is like there are these two Dogs
that I hold inside of me.
One wants to sit in my lap and lick the hand
and play and dance and go for long walks.

THEN there is the other, it wants to grimace and growl
and bare its teeth
and rip off the face of this world
and of everything that it sees."

HERE,
in the mechanics of the mind, as it matters,
halfway from heaven, half way from hell,

SOME just aren't mechanically inclined,
and while most move forward
others get left behind.

A BOOK talks about this big war of Spirit
an its stress is that it is no game,
no politics physical or not can steer it,
there will be no passing of the buck,
no pointing the finger in blame.

NO LONGER
am I walking with my head
up in the stars,
my feet are  flat  right  on  the  ground.

I PUT MY EAR
to the track and hear
that heavy chunk of metal
with its painfully mournful sound,

THAT
painful whistle
with
its mournful sound.

I AM
walking on earth, that half way place,

I AM
being tugged

AND I
don't want to dig a hole,
I don't want to go back down.

I TELL YOU WELL,
the universe is saying
in no uncertain terms
that I had better hold back,
that I had better take heed,
it isn't just me that gets cut,
no it isn't, no, all others bleed.

ALL those **** good loving deeds
that hath spawned better life
and don't know that I don't know about!

WHAT ABOUT
all those hurtfully hostile things,
those things
that gave Hell for many to carry,
Those things that gave Hell for many to tell.

THEN
a breeze broke the solid heat
and quelled the sweat
and quenched the thirst,
you can toast the twisted souls
or you can have them cursed.

MY MINDS EYE,
for one brief moment,
no longer enveloped and inflamed,
nor will I ever see things quite the same.

NEVER
is it one cause, one reaction,
and Oh
my thoughts and my actions,
my
shame that comes
in fractions of degrees.

I CAN say there are other planes,
I can think that if I please,
though with every breath that I breathe
I'd rather announce to the world
that I'm not out just to feed.

BUT THEN
there is that sleeping dog,
that one sick soul,

AND
out of some emotional need
to make it better,
some need to make it easy,

LIKE it had some pain or purpose,
or a point of some need
of something that just had to be said.

THAT dog that you kicked
only had a snack of grass
before he laid himself down to take his bed.

YOU have been nudging him
with your boot and now he is awake
and he is going to open his yap
and ***** on you shoes
before he commences to growl

AND that godawful hell... will be back
and its going to extract

ONE BLOOD CURDLING HOWL.

You may as well just throw in the towel
because it can't be tamed, no your mind is trained,
this devil goes by so many names.

end


Al Rights Reserved@1997

If anyone's going to put their foot in my mouth I want it to be me.

sift through
     all that crap
and check my direction,
where the ****'s my compass..
oh god, tell me this
                         ain't going to last,
shoot me under the wire
right before those cubes are cast.

Baby blow on them dice
   and kiss the guy to your right.

that's it,         kiss him on the lip,
      
       what a trip,                   what a slip

showing your      colours like that,

playin' those juicy chords,

            playin'    hard     on that strat.




All Rights Reserved @2012

you be


                   a             surrealistic

      bird          

                     mister green.



           did i

smoke                         it?


                                                                  no    
                                                                             i
                                                                                 took          it



effin                                ******.

Bring out the noise makers
and kneel at the alter.
Blow your kisses to the breeze
and let midnight fall.

Charity mesmerizes me,
comforts me and brings me around.

The people are dying
and soldiers bullets are flying.

Old Mother Earth
tells it like it is.

No terrorist threat,
just slam the coast
one time,
slam the coast two time.

Blow those noisemakers
and throw your kisses to the breeze,
kneel at the alter
and let midnight fall.

Heightened awareness
Full deep breath
A lilt in my voice
Palm shadow
Across the bridge
Of my nose
Blue veins
Blue eyes meeting
Clear blue skies.

"Don't be
disgruntled."

He said to the foreman.

"So what if the building
is going to be late."

"Often buildings
are late and they
don't have any offspring."