Pierced blackness causing dangerous shadows.
Gauged darkness, holes ripped in it's sheath.
With the flick of a switch, the night retreats.
Lonely highways connect the golden dots against the nothingness.

Security and motion,
a false sense of well being.
Dimmer or brighter,
no matter the shape,
illuminating a path through the sackcloth.

.  

Belly rubbing music in the que
everyone is ready, not just a few
after songs, no one on the floor
Mr. D.J. why play  more

Look around, at buckles and boots
cowboy hats,  get back to roots
play some George, Strait or Jones
let the music inspire their bones

Charlie Daniel's fiddle fire
Spinning two step it does inspire
Or how about Copperhead road
line dancing, empty chairs load

Rocky mountain jeans stretched tight
Cowgirls dancing, what a sight
Keep them out there on the floor
how about some Justin Moore

Slow it down, let them breathe
some Willie Nelson, is what you need
and when it's time to drink a beer
play  stuff, no one wants to hear

Then come back with Jerry Reed
Waylon and Merle is what you need
and when you want them all to sing
Friends in low places, the dance will ring

So look around and know your crowd
then you'll know, what to play real loud
In rural areas, club stuff don't work
Play us all some good red dirt

Coitus aroma still hangs
in the bedroom air,
sheets lay in tangled knots,
memories burned in,
only moments ago,
but already longing.

Flinging words onto the page,
with automatic fire,
aiming at the masses,
it's them I must inspire.

Lost in the city's sin,
despair pools into a pit,
as you slowly start to sink in,
you cannot stop it.

The vocalizations of pleasure and pain,
sound out into the silence of the night,
their steaming liquids fall like rain,
the pleasure overcoming fright.

As needles bite and inject,
and you sip the demons in a cup,
addictions, bacteria, and virus infect,
and all you hope to do is wake up.

petals of crimson
powerful black seeds sprinkled
narcotic beauty

Wisps of mists
stream off the tops
a saltiness in the air
the gulf breeze blows constant

Gelatinous clear and blue tentacles
a lone jelly fish beached in the sand
small clams burrow under
after each and every wave

Brown muddy water
topped with spume
gives way to emerald
waves rolling on the horizon

Mullet jump in the guts
pursued by a predator
or the sheer ecstasy
in being alive

Columbia fishing pants netting my *****,
the waves are crashing, hear the Seagull calls,
casting and working a wiggler ball tail,
plum and chartreuse, give the sea trout hell.

Wading the cut, yeah, the boats on the beach,
haven't gone far, the coolers still in reach,
the sun's beating down, pick from some Gatorade,
need a cloth to wipe the spots off my shades.

Stringer of trout, all fifteen inches plus,
hung a flounder and snook, but they got off I cussed,
me and my buddies are fishing all day,
feel like a kid with no school so come on let's play.

Back at the dock, cleaning fish by the dozen,
filet after filet the electric knife is buzzin',
on the dock now catching mangrove snapper,
making lots of memories none could be happier.

Margaritas on the rocks, eating Brittany's dip,
watched the Astros beat the Yankees, hell of a trip,
fished all week with the guys had a ton of fun,
loaded up headed home on a 12 hour run.

Portobello mushrooms, I use them all the time
No matter how topped they always taste just fine
From cream cheese and crab to chicken fajita
No matter what you just want to eat ‘em

Philly beef cheesesteak, they’ve also been topped
So many possibilities, I’ll never stop
Bleu cheese and steak makes a hell of a filling
Portobello themed restaurant, I’d make a killing

Chicken Alfredo, or coconut shrimp
How about spinach artichoke dip
Turkey and dressing or how about pulled pork
You’d want to eat those with your fingers or fork

Taco, or nacho, or enchilada
How it gets better, I got zip, zilch, and nada
Or I don’t know how about spinach frittata
You could go Greek, lamb, feta, and Kalamata

Mediterranean, flavored quinoa or couscous
So many options, man just turn me loose
Lemon pepper, scallops, or Oyster Rockefeller
Or Chicken Rice saffron, it would be yeller

At this point, I feel like Bubba from Forrest Gump
Going on about toppings, oh well over the ****
Buffalo Chicken or Asparagus turkey parm
Just about anything you can get at the farm

Goes great on a mushroom I think you can see
Most people wouldn’t, but, hey they’re just not me

Shredded bits of shiny paper,
reflecting flashing Christmas lights,
unwrapped gifts piled by owners,
the now empty stockings rehung.

A sleepy grin on the faces in the room,
Polar Express plays on the TV,
as hot hot hot, hot chocolate is passed,
texts cause phones to Jingle Bell.

Merry Christmas and love you guys,
sent from all over the world,
and returned with plenty of emojis,
as the smell of ham, roasting wafts in.

The cat plays with a stray bow under the table,
tossing and shredding the green ribbon,
the dog watches uninterestedly,
as she chews on a Christmas bone.

Salty sweat flavors,
energetic encounters,
syrupy sweet kisses
poured from my mind.

My memories trigger
pulled by a photo,
firing off emotions
to decades soundtrack.

Big bangs, white rain,
her eyelids painted blue,
white polka dot shirt,
tight rolled faded jeans.

Restaurants and movies,
fogged up back seats,
the joy of exploration,
hits us like a bomb of pleasure.

Swimming and floating,
saccharine smooches,
as the party ball floats
pour it on me.

Bikinis and fireworks
as the night falls
into the bedroom,
Armageddon explosion.

Words, thoughts captured and imprisoned,
poured onto paper and screens,
a piece of my soul, no longer free,
but that is okay, as it grows more,
when other people read them,
and their thoughts, start to pour.

From the bottle to the cup
pour the wine and fill it up
the blood red liquid swirls
and the edge of lips curl
into smiles and filled with guile
we may be here for a while

Ok so you prayed
now what
you just going to sit
on the couch and pray some more

you have bills
but you have no job
you have kids
but they are wards of the state

you have wants
drugs, ***** and tattoos
but no way to pay
so you sit and pray

The prayer part is fine
but now its your turn
get up, and clean your house
wash your clothes

Put on something decent
and go out and look for a job
secure a job, and do your best
and climb the ladder if you can

Petition to get your kids back
show you've tried to turn it around
catch up your bills
and save some money

Lay off the drugs
but have a drink in moderation
as for the tattoos fine get some
but someplace you can hide them if needed

Take care of your kids
set them an example
of respect and hard work
and how to live.

Pursed red lips,
survey the silent scene,
educated intelligence,
barely covers oozing sensuality.

In this hall of knowledge,
all that I seek to know,
leans upon a bookshelf,
a shoosh, locked and loaded.

In her glasses panes,
I catch my own reflection,
caught staring once more,
I smile that of a predator.

Mine is overshadowed,
by the licked lips and grin,
of an apex, about to have,
their favorite meal.

She turns and heads to the door,
silver skirt sways, like a cats tail,
on the prowl,
I sit and wait.

I am the end of the student animal
as it slowly squeezes out the door,
I expect to just leave with the rest,
but the door closes and locks me in.

A waterfall of raven hair spills down,
I catch my reflection once again
words start to come out of my mouth,
a single finger touches my lips, shoosh.

Goose bumps rise on the neck,
a shiver begins in the spine,
pure fear rises from the feet,
to the top of the head,
and erupting in a blood-curdling scream.

They **** and drink the blood of their prey,
then they find a place to lay,
to sleep and love the day away,
awaiting the next night to **** and play.

Lingual exploration,
enjoying her taste,
going back for another.

We are but pieces with superglue,
holding us together, every day anew,
product of our choices made,
standing in our own growing shade.

But there are no shadows without light,
just look around at midnight,
the blackness is never truly complete,
as the moonlight gleams off life's street.

The swirling sounds of white noise
rush into my senses, confusing,
neurons firing, I do not understand,
what they mean.

Inter-dimensional constructs
flutter past my eyes,
leaving streaking trails,
meteorites of imagination.

Cosmic expulsions,
solar flares,
set my magnetosphere
to glowing, moving colored lights.

Reaching out into the mist
spinning clocks and infatuation,
non-Newtonian fluid,
not quickly captured.

Experiences of the lifetime
flavor the person,
and pepper the interactions
with humanities whole.

I look up and see,
a rose-red bubble
surrounding me.

A large stalk grows from its middle
topped with yellow dust,
as I look I hum a giggle.

The fragrance here is heady,
I feel a bit stumbling drunk,
as this whole thing is unsteady.

I catch the wind and fly,
taking dust with me,
as to my trade, I ply.

Crawling now through pink sticky
upon the prickled tossing head,
walking here is quite tricky.

Now home I go on the wing,
joining all my mates,
thank goodness I did not have to sting

Cold drops of rain as we run,
so much for our picnic in the sun,
the grass glistens green with drops,
you giggle as you fight with flip and flop.

I grab your hand and lead you on
not to the house but to the barn,
you look at me with a sneaky grin,
I know the fun will soon begin.

The stormy breeze blows on your skin,
goosebumps rise as your dress is thin,
plastered to you and clinging wet,
I try to grab it, but you say not yet.

I am pushed onto a bail of hay,
and told I have to stay that way,
she begins to spin and to dance,
a sudden need within my pants.

A hem gripped soft and slow,
her wet white dress with neon glow,
she lifts it up and to my surprise,
nothing else on her creamy thighs.

The wet dress drops to the floor,
she dances and teases, I can stand no more,
I stand up to shed my own,
she climbs the loft, I watch and moan.

Wet clothes running puddles,
I find her and begin to cuddle,
lightening flashes and thunder booms,
but we don't plan to leave this room.

It approaches quickly
Ghouls and goblins day
Are you ready?
To lead pumpkins astray

Transform your orange gourd
With your knife and paint
Into something scary
That makes us want to faint

Hollow eyes carved
And a wicked crooked smile
Glowing with light from within
That can be seen for a mile

Scare us or make us laugh
With your pumpkin carved display
Show us your crafty skills
Turn them in Friday morning before 8

procrastination
should be my theme song it seems
deadlines work better

Minerally tang
quenches my need,
my fangs retract
and my need to feed.

Stylized initials on the wall
the smell of paint
and the hissing of the spray
as I walk upon the artist

Looking at the tag
I think this guy gets around
as I have seen his mark
on bridges, down alleys
and on multiple train cars

I can never quite make out
the curves and curly cues
the artist looks at me
with a with a mischievous grin

I ask what does it say
he says quest
instantly I can now see it
the artistry is evident

The q and u melded into one
the e and s on there sides stacked
and the cursive t
blues and greens and silvers

Outlined in red
and again in black
like old and new blood
flowing and dried

And the quest, I ask?
simply to live the art he says
and puts his earphones back in
and the bass thump takes over

Quest, graffiti on my alley dumpster
beautiful art
and a beautiful thought
till the city paints it over, dull gray

From whence do you hail?
how quickly did you set sail?
or did you ever leave at all?
maybe didn't have the gall?

If you left, did you look back?
or did you set off down the track?
did you leave somebody there?
do they know that you still care?

Have you returned to get away?
perhaps you went home to stay?
if so, did you enjoy the ride?
now you walk old streets with pride?

Are holiday travels your limit?
only there for quick visits?
do you continue on your stride?
from old friends, do you hide?

The answers define who you are,
whether you travelled near or far.
Experiences, life and decisions made,
whichever, all your options weighed

Am I staring into,
or out of my reflection.
free or trapped?
who am I?
or am I him?

Shifting in a mercurial pool,
mimiced in still blue water,
emulated in a window pane,
depicted in the mirrored frame,

crisp and clear from time to time,
also appears fuzzy now and again,
bleary, filmy and foggy frequently,
the scene in front of me,

Am I staring into,
or out of my reflection.
free or trapped?
who am I?
or am I him?

Morning quiet, all my own,
a steaming cup of tea,
as poems grow in my mind,
and spill onto the page.

The voices in my head
leak onto the page
they get me into trouble
or at least set the stage

Other times they set the mood
for loving cuddle, or flaming lust
I simply set them free
and in my thoughts I trust

Beautiful or silly
they burn their way out
its why my filter has holes
and things come out in a SHOUT

Whispers words in an ear,
fingers stroking far and near,
ice cubes traced upon naked skin,
hot breath blown through lace so thin.

Hot candle wax dripped in drops,
the pleasant burn you don't want to stop,
cold whipped cream and a roaming tongue,
a hand flat smack on her *** that stung.

Eyelash kisses like butterfly wings,
down her hip, as I untie strings,
with my teeth and with little bites,
searching her body in the night.

There is no spot I leave unexplored,
from her red hair to her feminine core,
thumbnail drug from heel to toes,
and tiny kisses on her nose.

Riding high up above them
listening to the chain clinking
what was I thinking
climbing way up here

Everybody thinks I'm insane
so they bind and try to hide me
somewhere institutionally
but I always escape

I am damaged but I'm alright
the stars and my future are bright
someone turn on the light
so I can get this thing going right

Travelled all over the planet
and discovered it's spreading
the ******* virus we're dreading
with lightning fast speed

I want to write and post
much better than most
but it is a hard game
to start playing

I am damaged but I'm alright
the stars and my future are bright
someone turn on the light
so I can get this thing going right

I send up ideas all the time
tied tight to balloons
released from saloons
where I have been drinking

Mental voices in my head
are asleep and deep breathing
when they should be screaming
what do you think, hit the alarm or just go on without them

I am damaged but I'm alright
the stars and my future are bright
someone turn on the light
so I can get this thing going right

the flag whips in the wind
my mind is full of sin
about the girl across the street
I hope to meet

I have smiled and waved
but I hadn't shaved
so I didn't do it till
they drove off

I am damaged but I'm alright
the stars and my future are bright
someone turn on the light
so I can get this thing going right

My zippered eyes finally opened,
and saw,
what I had looked passed
for ages on end.

The sleeper can awaken,
from dreams,
and walk amongst
the reality of life.

Those on the path,
must loosen laces,
and run,
barefoot in the grass.

We, tired and bound,
struggle with bonds,
slowly,
lubricating freedom with blood.

Breaking free
from monotony,
of being controlled,
no longer patrolled.

Razored strings,
life now in full swing,
on my own
to cast my stone.

To the winds,
I shall mend,
or to the lake,
I leave a wake.

I will be fine,
decisions are mine,
no one controls,
now I'm whole.

Puppeteer fades,
in review shades,
I'm in high gear,
and have no fear.

The Information has been posted
on, paper, sign or online hosted
open your eyes and read
sometimes it plants a seed

Of knowledge that you need to know
so you can plant it and let it grow
into a question or a decision
so you can choose and with precision

Open your eyes and you will see
information for you and me
keep your head up and pay attention
read the print and do as bidden

Signs, signs, signs everywhere
read them and show you care
about the time it took to make them
and the information that it’s conveying

Documents or Directions or Instructions on paper
read to the bottom, or you’ll wish so later
or maybe it’s on a screen in digital ink
pay attention or you will sink

Into a pit full of frustration
or suffer from a fit of consternation
read it carefully line by line
or suffer the consequences of not reading the sign.

Red and black flannel,
protecting what I seek,
tanned and freckled skin,
she is hiding underneath.

I seek to connect the dots,
with my tongues tip,
kissing here and biting there,
giving things a nip.

I peel down the collar,
exposing shoulder and neck,
in her mirrored eyes I see,
a sensual glinting fleck.

My hot breath causes shivers,
setting nerves on fire,
her baby hairs all stand,
like coiling burning wire.

Hands move at her waist,
a knot simply twist untied,
the robe drops to the floor,
the meaning is implied.

Golden tail showing
Eyespot above the water line
Cast bait, hopefully

Twitch the line, lure moves
Attention gained, tail twitches
Propels forward fast

Explosion, water splash
Lure swallowed, fight has begun
**** on line, hook sets

Drag is whining loud
Reel engaged, brace for impact
Hang on tight, hard pull

The rod is half bent
Creaks in pain from the straining
Stiffens now, fights back

Retrieve the slack, reel
Wind in the line against wrath
Fish begins to tire

Waist deep in waders
Gold color under water
Glides close, trophy caught.

Camera out, smile
Trophy lifted, photo done
Freedom, fish released

Blue toenails,
red flip flops,
long legs,
beginning to tan in the springtime sun.

Blue bikini bottoms,
red strings tied on the side,
flat midriff,
a bunny tanning sticker.

Red bikini top,
with blue strings,
double bows tied,
across her back.

Blue glitter zinced lips,
smile at all the looks,
reflected in mirrors,
of oversized red sunglasses.

Red hair blows,
in the springtime wind,
gathering glints of blonde from the sun,
pony tail, ******* in a blue ribbon.

Children's memories,
reexamined as an adult;
do not hold the same wonder,
but you long for those days.

The world is a crazy, rotten place.
you must find the light within yourself,
or perhaps another, that can light yours.

Just be you,
one of a few,
who don't follow the crowd,
live your life and proud.

The beginnings of confidence,
must come from within yourself.
usually, it is verified by others to grow.
but the first seeds must be planted, by you.

On the path,
there are stairs.
these are the easy climbs.

Other times, simply sheer cliffs,
that must be scaled,
despite the preparation.

The final bell tolls,
we knock on the gate.
St. Peter you there?
we await our fate.

Sandy footprints,
the only trace,
on the road,
of the human race.

That time will erase,
with the wind that blows,
and each rain drop that falls,
as time ever flows.

Revenge may be a dish best served cold,
but regret is one on which grows mold,
the punishment for snap decisions,
and words of anger and derision.

You cannot go back, you cannot fix,
it has become the batter you mixed,
so understand forgiveness you may entreat,
but this is the cake you made and have to eat.

Shadowed darkness
laser beam of light
reveals spinning
dust motes of thought
in the corner of my mind

Locked away
usually inaccessible
but always growing
pressure building
volcanic flowing

The muse appears
with a key or a tap
sometimes a stream
other times an eruption
of words on the screen

Steaming thoughts escape
in verse and rhyme
as ashes of thoughts
coalesce into ideas
and usually just in time

Flickering flames lick,
tasting the wood,
consuming the faith,
long spoken into walls,

The cross glows molten,
a red that speaks to heat,
falling on the bare back hand,
branding the sigil permanantly.

The finger points to the heavens,
the distance insurmountable,
stars light years removed,
yet the god or God's reside there.

Ashes are all that's left,
no book or page survives,
yet faith continues stubbornly,
I often wonder why.

Chasing delerium
white rabbits run,
pink flamingos dance,
under closed eye lids,
in the darkness of night,
in my bed.

But the moment never lasts
and leaves me wanting

I smell you in the perfumed breeze
of juniper and lilac
I feel you in the summer rain
cold, yet warming to the soul

Distance increases want
as I love you from afar
waiting patiently for your return
**** the pain, with moonshine from a jar

I taste you in the pinot grigio
served at dinner time
I sop gravy with crusty bread
with you on my mind

Car door opens and chimes
I come running out the door
scoop you in my arms
a kiss to make up for lost time

Stars, stars, stars
as I stare into the sky afar,
so many it boggles the mind,
but they're the only light I can find.

A road-worn tent, fly unzipped,
my place, since my heart was ripped,
she decided she needed to go,
so this mountain top is where I heal my woe.

6 months now, no phone no friends,
no lights, no fridge, not sure when it ends,
living on trout and cans of hash
it's cheap living, no need for cash.

Get up early, crack of dawn
start to fish, stifle a yawn,
decide I'm healed, let out a shout,
pack up and end my life's blackout.

The apocalypse approaches,
heralded on horse hoofs,
the dust of destruction,
kicks up behind.

The Antichrist,
War,
Famine,
Death.

Followed by the ultimate evil
be ready for pain,
and suffering,
and the end.

Slow steady moans,
from metronomic motions,
a wandering finger,
heightens joy.

Shifting positions,
changes angles,
prolonging the inevitable,
at satisfactions end.

Now smothered by her
being fed a treat,
and then another,
as hips roll.

High gear shifted,
as pistons pound,
the noises increase,
as the red line is passed.

Unbidden in the night
an idea sparks to life,
waking me from restful sleep,
with the impact.

The act of contemplation
sets the thought in motion,
slowly moving at first,
but gaining inertia fast.

Soon it is moving
close to the speed of light,
ricocheting around my skull
like a BB shot into a coke can.

Bouncing round and round,
and keeping me up for hours,
until finally, energy is spent,
and it winks out of existence.

Either because I have gotten up
and written it down, because it's good,
or it simply died of its own volition,
and I go back to sleep, as the alarm rings.

Upon its back, we ride,
into the books of history,
all of this, it takes in stride,
for it, there is no mystery.
Slithering through the sands of time,
but of it retaining no memory,
simply drawing an unstoppable line,
continuing on to infinity.

****** wars and droughts and famine,
like the hands of a clock continues,
we like to stop and examine,
but it goes on as its muscles stretch and sinew.
Political changes and new regimes,
trapped in the past as the times fuze,
through all the ****** and the schemes
all of this it simply eschews.

Is this the worm of fate,
or simply that of time,
we can love or hate,
be just or enjoy crime.
No matter what we choose,
we ride it anyway,
to the future, we ooze,
there is no escape.

Iron willed.
blossoming as others wilt,
riding the waves of hardship
as others drown in the tsunami,

Moving quickly,
most are frozen,
hibernation I shun,
while the masses settle in.

I have no time,
while their clock stands still,
my fingers race,
outpacing the second hand.