Wild woman of
The wilderness
Not giving into
The Wiles of my
Past. Ravenous
For multicolor
Glass, to see
Through the
Kaleidoscope
Of endearment.
Attachment I
Feel it, as
materfamilias
Of  the most
Extreme commitment
Where amor is the door
You take in and out.

Say we'll dance with gypsies,
Even if its a lie
Tell me that we'll stand on a river bank,
And watch the otters play by

Say we'll lay in a golden hay field,
In the spring month of May
Whispering sweet sonnets,
Till our voices fade away

Tell me that someday we'll parachute,
Out of a soaring plane
Say you'll love me always,
Till the universe goes insane

Tell me someday we'll make love,
On a white sanded beach
Say you'll stay beside me,
Forever in my reach

Say we'll lay on a blanket,
Staring up at the stars and moon
Tell me these dreams will last forever,
That they won't end so soon

Please, tell me one last, beautiful lie,
I promise I'll believe
Tell me that you love me,
And my embrace, you'll never leave

There is an entire world
Of which most are unaware
You can't touch, taste, smell, hear, or see it
But know it is there
There are invisible chains
That link us all together
It has been here since the beginning
And it will be here until forever
From womb to tomb
We are bound to others
Soul mates, found
In kinship, or lovers
We birth our future
With every kindness and every crime
Our lives are not our own
Though we deny this, all the time
Death is but a doorway
A new beginning, not an end
Through many different lifetimes
Our human souls transend
To give us the opportunity
To fix things broken, needing a mend
So if death Has taken from you
A lover, kin, or friend
Just remember a new door opened
Because death, is not the end

Thin gold wraps her neck
She wears elegance today
Shining her jewels

some say we should keep personal remorse from the
poem,
stay abstract, and there is some reason in this,
but jezus;
twelve poems gone and I don't keep carbons and you have
my
paintings too, my best ones; its stifling:
are you trying to crush me out like the rest of them?
why didn't you take my money? they usually do
from the sleeping drunken pants sick in the corner.
next time take my left arm or a fifty
but not my poems:
I'm not Shakespeare
but sometime simply
there won't be any more, abstract or otherwise;
there'll always be mony and ****** and drunkards
down to the last bomb,
but as God said,
crossing his legs,
I see where I have made plenty of poets
but not so very much
poetry.

good weather
is like
good women-
it doesn't always happen
and when it does
it doesn't
always last.
man is
more stable:
if he's bad
there's more chance
he'll stay that way,
or if he's good
he might hang
on,
but a woman
is changed
by
children
age
diet
conversation
***
the moon
the absence or
presence of sun
or good times.
a woman must be nursed
into subsistence
by love
where a man can become
stronger
by being hated.
I am drinking tonight in Spangler's Bar
and I remember the cows
I once painted in Art class
and they looked good
they looked better than anything
in here. I am drinking in Spangler's Bar
wondering which to love and which
to hate, but the rules are gone:
I love and hate only
myself-
they stand outside me
like an orange dropped from the table
and rolling away; it's what I've got to
decide:
**** myself or
love myself?
which is the treason?
where's the information
coming from?
books...like broken glass:
I wouldn't wipe my *** with 'em
yet, it's getting
darker, see?
(we drink here and speak to
each other and
seem knowing.)
buy the cow with the biggest
****
buy the cow with the biggest
****.
present arms.
the bartender slides me a beer
it runs down the bar
like an Olympic sprinter
and the pair of pliers that is my hand
stops it, lifts it,
golden **** of dull temptation,
I drink and
stand there
the weather bad for cows
but my brush is ready
to stroke up
the green grass straw eye
sadness takes me all over
and I drink the beer straight down
order a shot
fast
to give me the guts and the love to
go
on.
from "poems written before jumping out of an 8 story window" - 1966