It's the little things in life that can change the way you feel,
like a kiss on the cheek, a flower in your hair or going for a meal
They say money makes the world go round, and money can buy you some amazing things
but it only takes a smile to wake me up in the winter mornings
Like a ladybird cautious to land,
eventually it will flutter down and reach for your hand
Let it guide you through the woods,
stone and prickle and wolves in hoods.
Till at last you taste the sun,
you need not worry about what's to come.
Its the simple things in life that matter the most,
sugar in your tea, jam and butter on your toast
Don't be afraid to take a chance,
Show yourself to me, laugh and dance
Be free to dream, love and kiss
There isn't a single part of you that I would want to miss.

running, laughter, heart break, suicide, born again, hopped up, multiply, try to fly, freak of nature, loved one, skinned knee, bold as che, blood on it all, can't stop the fall, rock bottom, ocean floor, math class , chocolate girl, stumbling, feelings hurt, crying alone, worthless drone, time to go,wipe it away, skipping, flying, sleeping, hugging, yelling, screaming, thumping, stupid thoughts, drunken tears, eternal lovers, cut down trees, life, darkness, dumb stuff, broken soul, god help us all.

Red makes the color of love,
White is the wings of a dove.

Orange is the color of Halloween,
When Black joins in they make quite a team.

Green covers the peel of a lime,
And Silver is what coats the shell of a dime.

Gold is why there's a shine in a ring,
And the Yellow of the sun is what makes birds sing.

Purple fills the midnight sky,
And Blue is the color of tears when you cry.

Pink is quite a girlie shade,
And Teal is the color of ocean waves.

These are some colors of the rainbow,
This is only a few, how many do you know?

It began with National
     Geographic
and those pictures
     of nearly naked
African women
as I lay on the floor
     of the hall
and from there
     it became
being ****** by a dog
     in the bathroom
to twenty second ***
     with a girl
who said I was impotent
     to becoming
aware that my *****
     was too small
to a statutory case
     where I didn't
     get caught
to a time in bed
     with a girl
who said
     "How much longer
     is this going to go"
to a grandmother
     who put me to work
and the love-making
     was just like that
     some of the time
to a one-night stand
     with an overweight girl
which was the best time
to me thinking
     "I haven't done too well
     with the ladies,
     maybe I should try
     the men"
and then doing so
     and deciding I didn't
     like it
to a few unforgettable
     moments which were
     forgettable
to an illicit affair
     with a married woman
     in motel rooms
to a woman who picked me up
     and said, "Let's be friends"
     and as she was going
     up the stairs
     she said, "OK, let's get
     this over with"
     and I ran outside
     to get out of there
then to twenty-one years
     of celibacy
when I realized
     that my best ***
     was with myself
and so I married him.

     THE END

He looks like a kabuki dragon
acid trip, only on his left half.
After ordering some coffee,
this man, of intimidating height
continues his conversation with the blonde.

The green ink covers his face,
and slowly meanders to the left of his body.
Hairless, the glasses and earring
make his exterior look like a pearl.
As he talks with his hands,
the green moves like leaves in a jungle
that swallowed the gem.

In a single swipe,
his paws could crush mountains.
Both hands envelope the coffee cup
as if it were a tiny kitten he is leaning in to kiss.
Despite his brutish appearance,
I can tell he is a gentle creature.

His deep voice is soothing,
as each sentence hums  
though it causes the coffee shop to shake.
I wonder if gods sound like that
or if all the smoke this dragon man exhales
has deepened his chords.

I’m nervous this living mythical figure
will catch me staring,
though I’m sure it wouldn’t be the second time
he’s had to ignore it.
I’m envious, knowing his journeys
and personality are etched into his skin
for the world to see.
But only he knows the translations.

So bold,
so confidant to wear not just love
but pain and life-lessons on his skin.
Perhaps I’m drawn or inked to him
because I could never be that open,
and honest without saying a single word to anyone.

Some are almost shattered.

They’re pieces,       scratching         tearing  grinding 

     wearing 
down.
You can tell something       isn't
       right.


Like a ceramic         vase         dragged      across                 gravel. 


Their moods are brief flashes 
of—           mommy's hugs

and strangers—kicking the **** 
      out  of     their bowels. 


They aren't even w  h  o  l   e,

merely p i e c e s         of ceramic and clay.

Some are smooth, held in a gentle hand.


But others are jagged reminders of being hurled into a wall.


I often wonder if it's my responsibility to mend these pieces,
or just let them be
as I've grown to admire the individuality
of these shattered personalities.

a liar in love
a crow in the cold
beginnings ascend
from the carcass of folly
what remains is the will
what survives is what
was there all along
courage is knowing

A blank slate, nothing.
Can it exist?
Point to it please.
The best I can do is
make something
from something.

A blank piece of paper
a fold just there,
another just here
Became a swan.
Paper origami.

From nothing came something
But how I wonder?
Minds greater than mine
play with this puzzle.

A blank piece of nothing
a fold just there,
another just here
Became a universe
Stellar origami.

This computer acts
as a drug to me
and so does the TV
and my vitamins
and my exercises
and my cigarettes
and my posture
and the light in this room
and the roomscape of sound
so the electro-magnetic bio-chemical man
is constantly ******.

Rachel’s hair, black as ink,
splatters my blank skin.
It’s a rewrite for bad readers,
a stroll for quick-to screamers,
a phone call at 3 a.m., and
a sickening high that just won’t end.


Rachel’s teeth, sharp/jagged like littered glass shards,
dig into my aged, faintly seasoned flesh.
It’s a feast for lazy vultures,
an eyesore for devout heathens,
a dusty revolver on a Sunday, and
a lone drunk at a flybuzz wedding.

Rachel’s soul, battering ram/sputtering mad,
dilutes toxic mine, leaves only the rind.
It’s a constant reminder for dangerous nostalgia,
a blanket smoldering in fire within winter-without-end,
a handshake and a heart attack for closest kin,
an elevation, a joyous atomic cloud, and
a sky crying elative confetti tears of future me.