Liquid courage to numb the pain.
Intoxicated to forget.
Offbeat blood, sent from heart to vein.
Returns with a guest, she just met.


She closes up, leaves the bar clean.
To her apartment, around three.
In bed she lays, counting some sheep,
That mock her, thinking she will sleep.
She hears the crickets’ lonely beat.
Reminding her of creeps she meets.
Sometimes they have a potential start.
But never truly go that far.


Each night dealt with some other cards.
But slowly starts to build up guard.
She puts less time in her makeup.
But drunks continue to pick up.
She joins in shots, hopes to pass out.
But in her head she hears the shouts.
Her heart’s hunger for real love.
Her clouded thoughts rise above.


A newly turned insomniac.
No longer sleeping on her back.
Till curtains peek with starry eyes.
So bright, leaves a forceful rise.
Her sobs like strings of violin.
A void no liquor can fill in.
Despite how much she tries to drown.
The aches resonate with shrill sounds.


Another night, still found no one.
A man enters, two drinks and done.
She questions him, “What is the rush?”
Always pulled into a quick crush.
But never really tends to last.
As he mumbles about his past.
A bartender, like therapist.
As alcohol reveals the gist.


Now drunk and loud, he starts to shout.
Before his crash, he raises doubt.
He talks about, the best he lost.
Always at home, waits for the toss.
She cheers him up, when in a rut.
He gets up again, “That **** mutt!
To see her hurt, curled up in bed.
I held her paw, up till her death.”


The next night, slept pretty early.
He was perfect, brown hair curly.
Her eyes were lost, but not with lust.
Enjoyed his smells, delicious must.
A piece of her, became a part.
Happy to save his sinking heart.
Rescued him, he slept on her rug.
Named Milo, her three-legged dog.

It is hard to explain
When you work the midnight shift
You only seam to exist in nightshades
Not the warm daylight hues and tints

When sunshine becomes
Inverse in your tired mind
And days are measured by
Moonrise and moonfall

When solar heat
Is just a sweet precursor
To the night that cools you
And the sunrise signals slumber

How sweet it is
To interrupt this with
With a day
Spent awake
Surrendering to the
Splendor of the sun

If you had ever
held a dying man
in your arms
and heard him
crying for
his wife,
his mother
or god
(none of whom
ever showed up),
you would know
that war is not
a video game,
not entertainment,
but a reality
you hold
in your arms
(your heart,
your mind)
until you too
die.

  ~mce

To Carthage then I came.*

Deep down,
who doesn't want
to **** a saint,
to penetrate
the mystery
of holiness,
to enter
the enigma
of eternity.

Pile the wood
high as you like.

Oh sweet
  and lonely Joan,
I will follow
  you into
    that fire.

    ~mce

the sound of a
helicopter above
a small
Pennsylvania
town in the
October dawn

time vanishes

once again
you swoop
above the
jungle in
terror

years pass
people die

your fears
cold and
sharp as

a knife

stick in you
forever

some wars
never end

  ~mce

this morning
my lips
are blistered

too many bites
of hard life

i guess

  ~mce

In the year
of our lord
865 CE,
at the council
of Agde
(after intense
debate)
the Bishops
decided that
women have souls.

In their silent
secret hearts,
many men
still question
that decision.

   ~mce

Intro - by Warren Zevon (thanks Warren.)

"I don't want to grow old gracefully
I don't want to go 'til it's too late
I'll be some old man in the road somewhere
Kneeling down in the dust by the side of the Interstate

I am a renegade
I've been a rebel all my days
I am a renegade
I've been a rebel all my days"

/////

Resistance is not futile;
resistance is life.
Am I contrary?
Very well then,
I am contrary.
I am vast; I contain
multitudes
of contrariness.
I revel in it!
It is the heart
of all I am.

////

A nearly illiterate Black Zen Drill Sergeant told me when I was 19:

"You born wid a bullet wid yer name on it boy. We all is. You jest outrunit fo as long as you ken. Theys only two kinds a folks, the quick and the daid. You run fast an smart, mebbe you live a long long time."

/////

“I am not young enough to know everything.”  - Oscar Wilde

/////

The very young believe
that suicide must be better
than wrinkles, illness,
menopause and grey hair.

Of course, they are very young
and understand so very little.

Your life is the only thing
the Universe ever gives you.

Life is not a game to play,
but a war to be fought;
only a war of joy that
you are lucky to be chosen for.
Use the weapons you are given:
smile, fight hard, live long.

There is no shotgun to ****
or strychnine to swallow
waiting for me:

I will fall on the day
when that bullet
cast at birth
and engraved
with my name
finally catches up.

Besides, I love my stories
and can't miss next week's
episode of my life.

Who know? Maybe something
             miraculous
will happen yet.

/////

Thanks to everyone
who has loved me,
hated me, helped me,
hurt me, struck me,
held me, touched me,
kissed me or cursed me.

I am the vessel made
from the clay that
you molded and shaped.

Good or bad, without
your hugs and slugs
there would be no me.

/////

And a special shout out
to all the NVA soldiers
who were such bad shots.
Your lack of skill
made all this possible.

/////

This birthday,
nothing more
than a
temporary
placeholder
in the book
of eternity.

Each day,
a prophecy;
each day
a reward.

Each day,
I delight
in the
fragile wisdom
of things.

Each day,
I wonder
at the
incomprehensible
mystery
of people.

And thus
I will
continue
to marvel

at the near
that overcomes
the distant

until the end
of (my) days.

/////

"When the going gets weird, the weird turn professional."

However weird I may be
I am a professional human being;
And it's a job I plan to hold
for just as long as possible.

/////

Namaste...

    ~mce