I woke up cold
back on the slab
in my tiny cell.
My head was pounding.
The last thing I remember
before I dozed off
was Mister Suit
asking me baseline questions.
Then it was a series of flashing memories.
Sparks flying,
Screams.
Voices.
A thrashing body.
Bright blood splattered
against
the pale yellow walls,
a face without eyes.
I guess the pink pill worked,
what are those ******* control boys
going to do now?
Nothing's traceable.
Me 1.
Them 0.
It should be a wake-up call for them.
Long live Moonstone!
I know it's not over yet.

Now I know
how a vampire feels
when he meets the stake.
It ******* hurts.

It was classic,
just like Delphi said it would be.
Bright lights
(I mean bright),
yellow walls
(shades of *****),
a low hum
(in the bass range).
Mister Suit
sporting a razor-thin mustache
sat stoic at a long black table
carrying a wry grin,
his eyes shades of pitch.
They unshackled me,
hands pushed me down
into a chrome chair
with a firm red leather cushion.
Screams came through the wall
from the room next to us.
I sat there just as stoic
across from him
with a wry smile
of my own.
It felt like a scene
from a stereotypical sci-fi flic,
it wasn't though.
This was as real as it gets,
these guys meant business.
Guys like me were trouble
for the Control Boys.
They'd find out soon
I wasn't a pushover.

The walk to the 'Brain Hole'
was shorter than expected,
but the muffled screams
from behind locked doors
I knew would be here,
so they were of no concern,
and besides,
the fix was in place.
These hooligans
had no idea who they
we're messin' with.
You don't just sign up
for the Moonstone Project,
you get selected.
Galactic insurrection
is a serious business
with serious consequences.
And besides,
I still had the pink pill
hidden in a safe dark place.
What, me worry
about a few brain ******* machines?
Not me.
This was going to be fun.

She is so sweet, so very fine.
Pure succulent honey drips
from her moist layers,
my face covered
with chopped nuts,
*******,
her waves,
her trembling,
overwhelming,
I could eat her forever.

Ross was a fullblooded
bronze-skinned buddy
from the Navajo Nation.
He was a diehard Okie,
and a machine gunner,
carried the M-sixty
with twenty pounds
of extra belted-ammo.
He was a big guy,
had brown deep-set eyes,
high cheeks and
not a single hair
on his burly body,
but some high and tight
pitch bristles on his head.
He had a weakness.
Pure Straight Whiskey.
Whenever he had too much,
he was an F5 tornado,
a wild Tasmanian devil,
to be reckoned with.
I remember when he had
his front top teeth knocked out
by some civilian bouncers
at a local drinking establishment.
He kicked the **** out of
three huge muscle guys.
It was him versus them.
A regular melee.
Ross won.
Once on a Saturday night,
drunk as skunks,
we made an illegal turn
on the Interstate south of Denver.
We ended up flying down the highway
with four hundred feet of wire
attached to wooden poles,
sent sparks flying everywhere.
I never saw a guy laugh
so hard in all my life.
He ****** himself hysterically.
We gave Ross his first Native American name.
We were out in the field,
just hanging out
in battle gear,
shooting the ****
around our APC.
We called him Prancing Moose,
Moose for short.
He loved it when
we called him that,
gave us a toothless grin.
He was a warrior to us.
In another time and place,
he might have been a Chief.
He was courageous,
fearless and
a good friend
to have in your side.
From time to time,
I think about him,
and pray he's okay,
still alive.
He was our blood brother.
We were in hell together.
I miss him, too.

The first time I met Big Jim
was in my shop.
He walked in with a burning sage bundle,
waving it in circles above his head.
He told us he was smudging the place,
said it was sort of an
ancient cleansing ritual.
My partner told him he couldn't do that,
that it would ***** the customers,
probably wasn't good for business,
that he should put it out.
Jim just stood there
with the smoldering smudge bundle
in the middle of the store
looking dumbfounded
and sad.
I knew I was going to like the guy.

We wanted to start a program
and call it
climbing for the rez.
We hoped
to find serious candidates,
young people
who possessed the blood
of their great ancestors.
We had planned
to harness,
to rekindle
the warrior spirit
on high mountaintops
covered with ice age glaciers.
The lessons learned
to reach the summit
would last a lifetime.
It was an excellent plan,
a unique idea,
to truly help
fellow humans in need.
But we found no money.
It seemed no one,
not a single corporate entity
was interested
in us
helping
potential warriors
find their way.
We had to scrub the idea...

Eagleman taught me things about his people.
He showed me the pipe,
he talked about the way,
the good red road,
and the four directions.
I was sitting in a sweat
when I learned
about Mother Earth.
It was fascinating,
felt so real and magical
at the same time.
I learned
about animal spirits,
the sundance,
burning sage,
and why his people
danced like ghosts.
But he didn't teach me everything.
He said some things
will always be a mystery.
He said the Great Spirit
wanted it that way.
He told me if one
listened hard enough
to the fierce winds
hugging the plains,
you can hear the pain
of his kindred,
millions of souls
crying in harmony
to the beat of the drum.

I'm a white guy,
he called me Wasicu,
but I have two eagle feathers,
both with dyed
porcupine quills.
They were sacred gifts,
given to me
by my red guy friend,
his name was Big Jim,
he was a vet,
he had scars
from being pierced,
and owned
an eagle bone whistle.

I see the full moon beginning to rise.
Crap.
This stuff is getting old.
I'm ruining my clothes
every thirty days.
It's getting riskier,
the people in town
are always chasing me
with torches,
shooting at me
with silver bullets.
One by one,
pretty women
are disappearing,
occasionally a small boy.
They are using hounds now.
One of these days,
they're going to bag me.

I've chewed the leaves,
lots of them
to ease the pain.
I've guzzled chicha
seeking a vision,
danced
the traditional
spiral
to pan pipes
and a trumpet.
And I've seen
piles of bones
as far as the eye can see
out on the Altiplano,
bleached by the sun,
basking in the rain
for a millennium.

Soon I'll be scaring the Blue Herons
fishing on the shore
as I ride around the lake
at lightspeeds
watching the sunrise
and listening to Zeppelin.
Alleluia...I can't wait...

It's crazy how sometimes
we'd lay there forever
gathering intel.
The bad guys
would move around
as if they owned the place,
scurrying to and fro,
moving ordnance,
an RPG or two,
lots of AK's.
Most of the time
when we saw them like that,
we'd bag them in an airstrike.
Game over.
Camo works.

The trail stretched serpentine
above the azure lake
with the rising sun
beginning to peek
just above the horizon.
In that beautiful place,
I walked along
in solitude
with my heavy pack
surrounded
by fields
of endless beans.
And in the early mist,
two tiny
smiling children,
silent,
swiftly
passed me
with overflowing baskets,
destined
for the market,
and you,
and me.

I saw the damage once.
The entry wound
split his mouth.
The exit wound
shattered his skull,
taking half of it.
Red, white, and gray
brains were splattered
on the wall behind him,
where he sat crumbled.
I ask.
Would you ever
be the same
again
after witnessing
crazy **** like that?
Pray tell.

Wearily
I trudge
over endless dunes,
riding this single ****
on relentless trails.
I hold close to my heart
beautiful visions
of your sparkling
crystalline-eyes.
They drive me to you.
I follow the stars above
to your gentle touch,
the blessing
you give me.
And I am thankful
for your kiss(es),
to be between
your sweet thighs,
soon.

I watched her disrobe from afar,
mesmerized was I
hidden amongst the papyrus
as she stood bathing
in the cool Nile crystal waters.
As beautiful as all the Heavens,
her skin glowed milk
below her burnt
cocoa ringlets.
Goddess cheekbones
graced a delicate smile
of teeth like fine jewels.
The curves of her hips
were finely shaped,
sculpted from
the prettiest Roman marble.
Beautiful acorn-*******
adorned
her delicious
apple-shaped *******.
A trace of dark wool
enveloped her flower
blossoming
between fine firm legs,
made from
the stoutest of cedar.
I stood silent,
watching in awe,
as her delicate
fingers circulated
her moist fineness.
And when she sighed
in bliss,
I released
my own satisfaction,
kissing the air &
swallowing her fragrance,
trembling
downwind
from her sweet Jasmine scent.

Really.
Like opinions mean anything.
You know the ole addage,
everybody's got two things.
I remember Jimmy lying
face down
kissing the ***** flooded street,
both of his legs were missing.
It was a ****** mess.
I confess,
while he was screaming
for his Momma,
I was thinking,
what nerve,
those spoiled rotten *******.

He was certainly whipped,
a passion like none other,
and sadly broken,
they departed,
heirless,
but never forgetting
their passionate-feelings,
their internal fires,
for one another,
burning eternally.

Tune in,
hi,
tune out.
this is the way it is,
Like you expected anything less,
a whole lot more.
the first kiss was a blessing.
Is it slways
going to be like this?
Open the door
the clock is ticking.
Tune out,
hey,
tune in.

It runs diagonal
across the back of my neck,
three inches long,
maybe a bit longer
and it tingles
when I get the orders
from the mother ship,
strange voices buzzing,
an unknown language
telling me to wait,
to wait for their return,
to revolutionize,
to colonize this world.

In the dead silence
of my empty room,
I whisper your sweet name
in a frenzy
releasing a steady stream
of my imagination
in flowing words
across my chest.
The room smells primordial...

I remember you,
I remember you in a state,
a state of total nirvana.
You lay trembling
in a universe far away,
and I connected your dots
with tender kisses,
every single freckle
was a different galaxy.
And I was discovering
the big bang theory
with you,
the meaning of
quantum physics,
explosiveness
deep inside,
way deep inside,
your sweet lovely portal.

I pray to the morning light
on sore knees
asking for just an ounce of wisdom,
a little strength
to fight
through these circadian days
feeding the machine.

I read somewhere
that you can tell a lot about a people
by the way they treat their animals.
The roaming beasts there were sick,
skeleton-skinny,
ravenously hungry,
and skittish as hell.
Much like the residents
in the neighborhoods we visited.
God Bless them.
There but by the grace of God go I.
I thank the Almighty 24/7
that I was spared
from living in beastland.

I never really knew what it meant
until I read the words
of my kindred spirits.

Under the midday sun,
we locked,
we loaded,
we mounted up
in our Strykers,
we knew prayer time
was about to end,
that the violent-fun
was about ready to begin.

Where were they
when we needed them the most.
The fat smiling holy man
laughing at the long haired freak
spouting proverbs
and prophesies.
And you,
with your words about infidels,
killing in the name
of the Almighty,
glorious leader of the tribes.
You say walk on unwrinkled rice paper
and you will be enlightened.
Hog wash.
None of you stepped in
to stop a single firefight,
the spilling of human blood.
Do you really exist,
you irreverent blasphemers
with your own ****** hands,
liars of the true faith.
Repent.

It was if we were supercharged,
riding white lightning,
fearless,
we walked through
walls,
smashed down doors,
intimidating
even the cockroaches,
dogs barked,
a rooster crowed.
What happened in the shack,
stayed in the shack,
some never left,
victims of modern
warfare.

I told Miss Reader
that I loved to write
endless verse,
spill loving words
in torrents.
And she looked at me
and smiled and said,
"Don't fight me Dear Poet,
never fear my darling,
just hurry up and feed me,
I have a huge appetite
for sound prose!"
And wouldn't you know it,
she was right.
She swallowed
every single row,
every single line
I dropped on her
curling her toes.

The pills are working,
I'm not anxious anymore.
Thank God for modern medical
technology.
No joke.
At $60.00 US a bottle,
I figure by the end of the year,
I'll be sane
& ******* broke,
like the rest of the Country.
That's crazy.

Do you ever wonder what it would be like
to lose your nuts in the desert,
witness your body
explode
in a pink cloud of goo
& wake up from a coma
missing not one,
but both ******* legs.
I often think about
how hard it would be
to balance on metal legs ball-less,
Then suddenly,
after short contemplation,
my **** doesn't seem so bad after all.
At least I can run
without toppling,
jump
without losing a leg,
and still have kids
balling.

I came home
with all my fingers & toes
fully connected.
Still I can't put
a single finger
on what I lost
in that zone.
Dunno,
but I can feel it,
disconnected,
pieces of my brain
gone
inside
a fully intact
cranium.

It was as if
I were witnessing
a classic Hollywood western.
There I was
stuck in Lubbock
on that windy as hell day,
so I dropped into
the local drinking establishment
to guzzle some whiskey
for a spell.
It wasn't long before
she drove up
riding the prettiest Harley ever,
all chrome and polished black
with the sweetest sound
a bike could make,
it purred like a kitten.
She leaned that baby
up against the wall outside
& strutted like John Wayne
(some would argue Marlon Brando)
into the cantina
where she bellied up to the bar.
Every male jaw in the joint
was dropped
watching her down
three shots of Cuervo,
pay the check in hard cash,
a big bill,
and saunter right back
out of the place
like she owned it.
She was mesmerizing,
fluid motion,
tight jeans,
a rattlesnake sway.
Every man stood at the window
to watch her kick her stand up
& disappear
on that long black ribbon
into the falling sun,
breathtaking...

You fill out black
so beautifully
dear lady,
so delicious.
From the curves
of your full hips
to the nape
of your delicate neck
and your wonderful points
in between
I scream silently
to be taken,
to fall down
with my face full
of your tasty
tender-flower.
You can call it lust
or you can call it love,
it really doesn't matter darling,
I trust it will be not only be great,
it will be incredibly appetizing, too.

Dem white egrets
sure are skittish,
dey fly wildly
away.
But nawt
dem blue herons,
dey gawt bigger *****,
stay fisin' right dare
along da shoreline.
You should hear
dem gulls
laughin' at
all of dem,
and dat risin' sun.

Just in the nick of time,
before we kissed
our gnarly ***** goodbye,
we got a reprieve
from two fast-movers
screaming above us
in a vertical.

We got explosive
snaps,
crackles
& pops,
such deliverance
from the diesel-smoke skies,
some guys got tears in their eyes.

It was a time of holy reverance,
a cause for celebration,
as we thanked God
for those killer
buzzsaws
bringing
total destruction
on our perimeter.
High fives all around.
Alleluia.

She's a mean spirit
Been that way for a long time
Karma is a *****

It's a quiet sacred place,
deep in the oak hammocks,
way beyond the pine flatlands
& cabbage palms.
There I commune
with the crows
and the crickets.
And at night,
a bullfrog symphony plays.
The mosquitoes,
*****,
and armadillos
come out to play.
It remains sacred,
but is not nearly as quiet.

The sacred ones
spin
circular,
tethered
to the womb
of the Mother,
pierced
forever.

See the sacred clowns
on the edge of tomorrow,
they sip sage tea.

I hear the winds,
I hear the winds
across
the great plains,
blowing
from the four.

They guzzled gallons of tequila,
screamed obscenities
at the rising tides,
saluted the splashed milk
covering the pitchest sky ever.
All was well,
the swelling was magnificent,
such nubile queens.
They scrambled to miss each wave
banging the shore
& I swore they kissed Heaven,
naked like that.
The morning brought Armageddon,
it was a nuclear zone
of sweet bodies.
I never saw such beautiful damage,
nor will I ever forget them either.

L-shaped secrets
can deadly,
especially at night
when the villages
appear empty
& things
seem too quiet.

I wanted to quit,
but I love
the taste of nicotine
on her pretty full lips.
I'm addicted to kissing her
(cigarettes)
now,
de facto.

She killed me.
The wild things she did
slayed me.
Through and through,
she pierced my heart
with her ****** shenanigans.
But make no mistake,
I prayed to be a cat,
not with nine wives,
nine lives.
Here kitty kitty,
she purred,
I cried meow meow
curling her toes.

Take a little break darling,
you're the one in charge,
calling all the shots.
Make your way
to the back room,
stand against the wall
in between the stock shelves,
and dream about me.
I'm right there with you.
Can you feel my warm breath
on your delicate pretty neck,
imagine my hard form
standing behind you,
loving you
into beautiful submission?
I am in heat for you.
I need another break doll.
Break me.

You always told me
that people have cosmic-movement
deep inside their vessel,
that you could feel their vibration
with just your mind.
And you were right darling.
This person stood right next to me,
pouring packets of raw sugar
into her creamy coffee.
I could touch her smile
as she experienced
jubilation
deep in her inner core
with just my fingertips.

Floating endlessly
on fluid dreams,
we do
contemplate
every loving act.
We make all
the necessary adjustments
for maximum enjoyment,
that pleasurable
existence
reached
near the sunspots of nirvana.
In that fiery state-of-mind,
we perform
magical solutions
for the escape
into those nether regions,
that place you refer to as
the darker side of Venus.
And there,
screaming for more,
the two of us
find deliverance.

I lie
in fields of bamboo
shooting up around me.
My steel is tempered,
so hot for you,
it rises majestically.
My heart sizzles
with the heat
of dragon fire.
You inspire
my every move.
And under a crescent moon,
Heaven sent you to me
to croon over,
to spill my warm milk.

O Sweet Thief,
let's play
our fun game of
cop and robber.
So Miss Crook,
stand up straight there,
face against the wall
and spread 'em
wide.
I'm going to frisk
you deeply,
ever so slowly
for my heart,
the one you stole,
have hidden inside.