I am not a fiend,
something
straight out
of a horror flick.
Sick.
Well...maybe.
But I do
have a face
you'd love.

I have your grainy
fragrance
still on my shaky hands.

Your sweet oaken taste
on my quivering
wanton-lips
has permeated
my soul.

You have burnt my throat
& intoxicated my heart
with your spirit.

I am drunk,
unsteady
on my feet
without you...
kiss me
in one gulp,
please.

I want to write an epic
and I can't.
Words fail me now,
at two-forty-two
alone I lie
with nothing
but the whirling
sound of
a ceiling fan
and that's not much
of an epic
sound.

I sit on that bench,
surrounded by rotting wood
& listening to the warblers.
But despite being near them,
I find no comfort here.
For my lost loved ones
were more than fond memories,
these mounds of dirt.

In the distance I hear them barking
to me,
calling me.

The crowds always
looked the same
on every street corner there,
people with disheveled hair,
the look of desperation
hanging out
near the local burger joints.
I found it very strange
to see Western
corporate business operations
so out of place.
Like who really wants to eat
a burger and fries
in a war zone?
Maybe it wasn't desperation
& when I look back
and think about it,
it seemed more like anger,
not hunger.

****.
She put a new twist
into her demeanor  today.
She slipped out quietly
during our lunch break
and came back with
a huge impish smile
on her pretty face.
It was then I noticed
her bra had disappeared
and her assets
had became riper.
Mine too.
Totally.
****.

You always liked the way I stood behind you,
the way my breath tickled your neck,
the way my fingers infected your good judgment.
And after the ice was finally broken,
nothing was forbidden,
it wasn't kidding anymore,
it was the real thing.
You'd smile,
lock the door behind me
and beg me to stand behind you.
You know me.....see us go!

I dreamt I was in a fight
and woke up
from a deep sleep
stitchless,
in an excruciating fire,
tortured by a burning,
a hellacious tingling.

And when I went to
soothe this itch,
I reached down & found
half of me wasn't there.
It took my breath away.

And as I lay there,
I wondered
if anyone really cared
about such pain,
such sacrifice,
this price I had to pay
for politics.

The only sound I heard
was my heart beating
in my throat
and some burnt guy
lying in a bed
right next to me
without
his face
crying.

Probably
like me,
he wanted to die.

They always come in spurts,
intimate thoughts & feelings
rising to the surface,
emotions spilling out
into contrived words
of true love
and angst
for eternity.
And it hurts.

I smell the coffee brewing.
Soon, I'll down a cup
with real sweetener & heavy cream,
then ride like a banshee
listening to rage against the machine
& dreaming about
the way she once loved me.

She was relentless,
like Pocahontas,
possessed the spirit
of experimentation,
pushed her limits
to the very brink.
O yes, I think some
labeled her
Miss Eveready,
she could go on forever.
And when she was through,
which was hardly ever,
she left reasons
on my back,
why they called her
Catwoman.
But to me,
always to me,
she was just plain old Angel.
The most beautiful one
in the cosmos.

The morning star
cracked the eastern skies,
splinters of pinks,
brilliant oranges & reds
knifed the blackness,
while ice bullets
pelted my bearded-face.
It was at that exact moment
I knew,
I knew I was alive
skirting sheer ice walls,
certain death on each side.
There was no where to hide,
exposed like that on the ridge,
thinking about coffee and donuts
& the rest of the word.

I wonder what vampires dream about.
Apple cider and spiders
or 'la playa' views
with white sand
and aged *****?
Do they dream
about saunas and bright lights
or who won
the latest prize fight?
Do they wish the night would end
so they can quit sending
innocent people
into tormented
perpetual dream states?
And how do they even get a date
with hours like that?
No wonder they dream,
scream for deliverance.

Tons of metal travel circadian
as I snail along the promenade
resting at each traffic light.
Pondering the meaning of life,
I spy hundreds encased
in their metal tombs like me,
foreign and domestic.
Some have bigger tires
than others.

Long ago,
I remember,
we paid the lone-guard
twenty pesos apiece
to camp on
top of the temple,
to experience
something cosmic.
And after he left,
we stripped down
to our bareness
& kissed under
the milky-stars
with howlers squealing
a backdrop melody.
I lost myself that night.
Tracing your lips with my tongue,
I felt the cool jungle air
swirling around us,
you did not fight me
as I melted inside you.
I swear the jaguars
rejoiced that night,
as we had rekindled
the acts of the sacred gods.
It was more than cosmic,
more than stellar,
I felt the poles shift
our hearts.

Scott hung stolen-gold
from his skinny crack-neck,
loved selling it too,
had a briefcase full of chains
& pocketfulls of dough.

And Mister Joe,
Mister Joe our resident chemist,
kept the bowl full,
forever cooked **** up,
invented special blends of snow,
crafted pink rock
that made us forget
our troubles,
blew them up
in smoke.

Louise, O sweet Louise,
you craved the tube snake boogie
and having your clam baked
with every two-legged man in sight.
You tried to save me more than once,
but I couldn't take a number,
be another knave.

Janice, wild-eyed sister Janice
spoke to us in multiples
and it was strange
how we all understood
your fractal language
& enabled you
to turn the pages
of your pain.

Well my sick friends,
you're all dead now,
except you,
you,
you the smiling child,
the schizophrenic one.

I went on for several years
knowing,
obsessed with
the way your eyes
penetrated my soul,
how your scent
permeated
every fiber,
every single cell in my body
that continued to ache for you,
remembering how
you clung onto me
whispering my name
and how great
you felt there.
And you knew too,
it was only a matter of time
before you were gone.
You knew.
I know.

You always looked awesome
with flowers in your pretty hair,
they gave you radiance.
But as if you needed more,
you blinded me the first time I saw you.
Lord knows, I miss how your smile
carried me through those dark days.

We lay motionless,
restless,
contemplating every single step,
entombed in our
forty-degree-below-zero cocoons,
praying for midnight to arrive.
Some call it the witching hour,
but not us,
my compadres,
we call it the ******* hour,
like why couldn't we all be home
in a big comfy bed
instead of lying on hard rock.
But I guess it's why we love hell,
the view at the top
is worth
every headache,
every nosebleed,
every bowl of victory chicken soup.

Certainly it's ***** season in Afghanistan,
them folks are smokin' them tar *****.
I mean those people are trippin',
shootin' **** up like the Fourth of July,
warlord-style,
just like them drug infested gangs
in Oakland,
Detroit,
South Chicago,
St. Louis.
Even them cops don't go in blind.
IED what?
Bad mammer jammer.

I guzzled liquid courage
a lot
& found out it wasn't real
'till I felt
the concussion of a grenade
and heard the whizzing of small arms fire
above my head
& medevacs.

O you pretty people
dancing
so wildly,
so seductively,
very drunkenly
under those artificial
strobe lights
in the city
that wants to ***** you
in that brand new
sports car
and g-string.

O you pretty people come
outside to the country
and drum circle
with us
in the labyrinth
to the cosmic-beat
under the real moonlight
in your bare feet
and ankle flowers.

O you pretty people,
do you hear the copper bells ring...
can you sing me a true love-tune?

Today I will write,
I will write
about the rising sun,
and the way it reflects
off the daffodils
and makes the birds chirp up.
I'll write about all the beautiful things,
all the beautiful things in the world
that the media misses.

I remember once
down in Mexico,
I kissed Lydie on top of her head
and walked into the mist
toward the morning star.
I still think about the fun
we had that short summer.
It was sensational,
better than any news story
reporting bleakness.

Those are the things to remember.
And let us not forget
how short
our time really is,
lest we succumb to cynicism,
such cold-heartedness.

No more jaded thoughts for me...
uh huh.

We trudged through
a hidden ravine
just below the ridge line
smoking and joking
about a wishful stay at Club Med.
Granite boulders
blocked us from the wind
and the coming storm
creeping up the valley floor.
Clouds came and went quickly,
like zephyrs watching our progress,
there were too many to count,
but we knew they were there
to guide us.
And when the rain started,
it did melt us,
it froze us to our very cores.
The whole place
seemed like
a portal into
a time and place
long forgotten.
And when
we finally made it back
to base camp,
a full day had disappeared
in just ten minutes.
That's what mountains
do to you.
They make you lose your mind.

I just know
the animals speak to us
in tongues,
you can feel it,
like the ancient prophets.
Go outside and listen
to the singing birds,
those croaking frogs,
that dog barking in the distance.
I swear they're trying to tell us something.

We shot pool that night
for what seemed like generations.
This old bearded veteran and me,
a young buck,
dropped eight *****
into side pockets
and chugged multiple pitchers
of the high life.
He said he had some killer *****
out in his beetle,
so we took a break,
cruised out into the cool evening
under a sky full of pretty little stars.
Well he was right,
after two or three hits,
I wanted to choke the ever living ****
right out of him.
I never had a guy say
he wanted me
to lay on top of him
like that.
I never expected that request
from a guy
with devil tattoos
running down
each arm.
I thought to myself,
that's what sweet lovers do.
That was some weird ****.
Needless to say,
I lived up to my nickname Flash.
I never saw that **** again.
I was gone in an instant,
jet-stream quick.

I've been to that place.
The place of the unknown,
where I've been so ripped,
I can't remember a thing.
And pondering what got me there,
I haven't a clue.
Was it pain.
Was it joy.
It certainly wasn't the taste
of rotgut whiskey.
That liquid burns your throat
& makes your face contort
to forget things.
And who would want
to forget happiness?
But it did.

I met a star today.
She was prettier
in real life
than
in the movies.
It seems
you never get the script
on the screen
that you get
in real life.
The right words flowed
from her lips,
you could feel
her
genuine spirit.
She was so pure
& even got the shivers
to prove it.
That was cool.

I'm haunted.
I'm not sure if
it was my childhood
or broken love
or battle
or a million other things
we call bad luck
that's doing it.
But I can at least write this.
I'm on my knees seeking
good karma....for once.

Meandering streams
have cut deep chasms
into solid jagged rock,
disappearing
skyward,
up into
the Heavens.
The tinkling
of occasional goat-bells
& the twinkling
of a million sacred lights
soothed the soul.
Stars so close,
as if you could reach out
and touch them.
A brilliant night sky so beautiful,
made you realize
the sacredness
of this glorious creation.
If it wasn't for
the nocturnal copters
with their infra-red
computerized machine guns
ripping up targets,
you would think you
were experiencing nirvana,
not witnessing
such deadly devastation.

Lie there facedown
on your tummy Grace,
and let me trace
your backbone
with my warm
tender-kisses.
And please tell me
if I miss a spot.
It's not that I want to,
I only want to
hear your soothing voice,
the melodic
sweet drone
of your satisfaction.

How hungry
our insatiable hearts,
forever filling our love cups
to the brim,
only to chug it down
to feel the warm streams,
the thrills
running down
from the corners
of our mouths,
lapping,
tonguing
to catch
every single drop
we spill.
So delicious.
I want more...

I remember them well,
droves of street-urchins
in every little ville,
battling it out
with water bazookas
filled with **** water,
squirting the hell
out of each other,
staining holey shirts,
for a smidgeon of joy.

We get ****** and we fume.
questioning the very
creation of the universe
wondering why our hearts
are forever broken.
And we blame it on them.
Oh yes, them!
Those wretched *******,
such users.
Them ******* *******,
huge takers.
And when we look,
when we look at that joker
in the mirror,
we never say,
"I love you."

This time of the year
my sinuses keep me awake.
I drain one side
then flip.
Drain the other side,
then flip again.
It's a ritual that seems
like it has no end.
Jesus,
I need to find a local honey
to stop this madness.

I always heard your pretty voice
in my mind.
You sang songs of love
above the tumult of war.
Your melody even snuffed
out the crackle
of the voices
on the radio
screaming coordinates.
You were the one I longed for
across the seas.

I can write about sweet things, too.
Like the dreams we once had.
They were better
than milk chocolate
or wildflower honey.
Those summer rains
that coated the chestnuts
and those diamonds
that glittered off the lake.
You.
Oh you.
The Queen of The Jet Ski.
You said you could care less
about me
having no money.
You said you
would marry me,
then you died
on a lonely two lane road.
Nobody saw it coming...
it still hurts.

I told Snider
his bad habit
would catch up to him
someday,
but not that day.
or in that case,
not that night.
I was thinking
it would be years
down the road
before it got him.
He took a round
smack dab
in his mouth.
He sat there crumbled
without lips and teeth.
It looked like he
was just napping.
The ****,
still smoldering,
was stacked
next to him
in the dirt,
like that tower
in Pisa.
******* bad habits...

You might think I'm handsome
and look for ways
to make me see you.
You might fantacize
about the things
you know **** well
I could to do to you.
You can see it in my eyes.
Deep dark brown eyes
that can look into your soul
make your heart skip a beat,
make you go breathless.
And I know you shiver,
get weak in the knees
when I stand next to you.
So go ahead,
you want some of this.
Try me on for size.
It will be a perfect fit.
I can make you feel like
you are experiencing
Heaven on Earth.
But trust me,
you'll be sorry.
My stain will never go away.
It will stay in your bones
like a sweet bad disease.

Life may not always be
a bed filled with roses
and sunshine or
those puppy dog tails.
I mean things can be tough.
Some folks live in cardboard
and ain't gotta *** to **** in.
So if you are handed poison ivy
and darkness,
or mamba tails,
at least you've got
something you can work with
and that's a start.
It's better than nothing.

Those big thinkers,
those brilliant strategists,
hiding behind institutions
they call freedom,
cannot possibly see
these long lines of people,
trained killers,
standing for post traumatic treatments,
some morsel of comfort,
not to be found
in fairytale endings
or inside four walls.
This is for real.

Billy walked point,
Jeff and Michael
offered security,
they were the first to go.
Some overzealous
Pakoled button-pusher
couldn't wait
for the rest of us
to catch up.
In the aftermath,
after the dust & chaos settled,
I saw Billy's face lying in crimson.
One of Jeff's desert boots
was turned upright
with his foot still in it.
Everything else
was just bits & pieces
of my buddies.
I never thought
I'd thank God for this...
my salvation.

We always wait for some
semblance of change,
rotating them in and out
of their ivory towers
in fixed elections,
not meant for the masses,
this thing we crave,
this desire to clutch
it with our wrtetched hands,
working them to the bone,
feeding their technological machines
under this ruthless guise,
the advancement of humankind.
How long will we wait,
working twenty-four seven,
some three jobs
for peace?
Pray tell
while we wait pilgrims,
wait for the happy-Hobbits
to reach Isengard?
That might take forever...
and we,
We the People,
haven't got that much time left...

So voracious,
very prolific,
with seemingly
endless appetites.
Most waiting their turn,
but not the Woodpeckers
nor those Jays fighting,
but the Finches
and Doves,
those mighty Wrens
are splendid,
testimonies
to etiquette.

Many a man
has succumbed
to her hot desires.
For she was
a dead legend
in these parts,
stone cold,
had ******
many a heart dry
(and they still cry).

I grew up
in a parallel universe,
somewhere
beyond the constellations,
where I sit
in the same smoky room,
listening to the blues,
the melodic bass.
Only this place
has sweethearts
with yellow neon hair
and plastic skin.

You told me once
it was what you liked to do,
that you thought about it,
twenty-four-seven.
And when you did it,
it made you feel like
you were in Heaven.
The touch,
the feel,
the taste,
the heat,
the very act
swept you off your feet.
And you told me,
I did that too,
that it was your plan,
multiple episodes
of mutual nirvana.
It was beautiful...

You always drank Jack
to hide the nasty flavor
of my wanton-mouth.
And you loved the nipping
and twisting of your
heaving puffed-tops.
And when you opened up,
when you finally let me in,
you cut my back crisscross
with your razor-fingertips.
You moved the Earth
under our trembling bodies,
I quaked, you rumbled
like thunder.

When she sings,
I imagine
walking through
orchards of apple trees.
Do you know what that's like?
It's delicious,
how she moves her lips
in perfect harmony.
Oh, it takes my breath away.

She clawed
the hell out of my back
and her breath
smelled like a tiger,
but it didn't matter,
because she purred
like a kitten
lying next to me.