I sit here quietly
in amazement,
as the planet spins
twenty-thousand
mile-per-hour,
wondering if,
as the moons sinks west,
the songbirds
feel the vibration
of the rising sun.

And I know
they must,
by the songs
they sing,
in brilliant harmonies.

And so I lie here,
wide awake.
I can smell your hair,
sip your sweet lips.
Every morning
I think of you,
hardened like this,
I kiss the air,
***** emptiness,
and you're not here,
but only in spirit,
I can see your eyes.

It's sacred you know,
this stuff
that hold us,
you and me,
together.

Pictures of dead people I know
are smiling and are so full of life
hanging on my wall
reminding me
to seize this day,
because it's not cliche,
and it won't come again.

I,
I am,
I am a testimony
for the brokenhearted,
and yet,
and yet I,
I still love with it,
you,
you,
cracked you.

You have
pieces of star-matter
in you.
That fact alone
makes you
relevant.

There are some things
meant to be left alone,
not ****** with.
Like monkey paws
and chicken bones,
dolls with pins,
ancient incantations,
those kinds of things.
And if you do not believe me,
go ahead and try one,
try all of them if you want.
I remember once
my good friend Jimmy
tried out a revenge spell
on an enemy of his.
Well, the guy went bankrupt
and we haven't seen Jimmy since.
There are stories circulating though--
visions of Jimmy seen running
through the woods
screaming on hellfire.
Thank God that only happens
once a month,
during the full moon
people dream it.
I heard his family still cries
and prays for him to come back home.
I also heard his father
was soliciting around town
for a monkey's paw.
That's a bad omen.

There's a part of me
she's often overlooked.
Gray in color,
it remembers my pain,
and what matter
she must think
when she's using
my other part
for her
good clean fun.
It hurts.

We sat stoically together
connected by thin rope
on the tongue of the glacier.
Wrapped in warm feathers
like Michelin-men,
we deciphered
the operation of crampons
& giggled maniacally
about doing it with
stone-blue fingertips.

Headlamps glowed
as starlight glittered
off the ice wall facing us,
leaving traces of a million suns
burned into my retinas.

Frozen snot clung
to my moustache
like hungry ticks
and all I could think of
was sticking to the plan.

A short jaunt
across sixty-degree slick-glass,
then over the moraine
for eight hours straight up,
zigzagging to Heaven.

And standing ten minutes
in that sacred place,
we'd kiss cloud zephyrs,
dole out high fives
with splitting headaches,
crack huge smiles
with ****** noses
taking Kodak moments
before the six-hour descent
to hot chicken soup.

To have your sweet fragrance
all over me
is to be covered
in the spell of a living goddess.

I heard two spiders giggling
and immediately
I knew at once,
a dropped pin
cannot top that.
That's only possible
when you lie alone,
in true dead silence.

I realize I'm home.
A cool draft
smacks my face
this early morn.
It's eye-opening,
so stark,
I've been gone
way too long,

I remember our song
and softly hum
its hypnotic-tune.
Such gentle
soothing mandolins
in beautiful rhythm
with the birch blades
twirling constantly,
like they always do.

As I lie here
listening,
I hear the thermostat
intermittently
kick in
and I curl up
all alone.
My chin is nestled
in my palm,
already
dreaming,
wishing,
hoping for your light.

I think,
if you only knew,
I silently scream,
"My kingdom
for my fair Lady....
to greet the rising sun,
this raw glistening."

I search the ceiling,
my entire universe,
for your sparkly starlet eyes....
I miss you so much,
my Queen.
Loneliness is not regal....

A spiderweb cracks the sky
in oranges and reds
as I inhale deeply
the mountain mist,
I insist this place is Heaven.
Twenty minutes ago
the singing began
in earnest,
echoing off the white oaks,
those twisted hickories.
And in a frenzy,
Goldfinches
crack sunflower seeds
by the pound.
Oh the wonderful sound!
I love this place,
nestled near
the West Fork
of Wolf Creek.

You were so fine,
the way your lips
intertwined with mine,
so genuine,
it was indeed
unadulterated bliss.

I wish
I could taste
your beautiful kisses again.

For they were purer
than the freshest lemonade,
more intoxicating
than applejack moonshine,
sweeter
than a Cadbury chocolate fish.

I need...
uhhhh,
I want  to kiss you
badly.

I want to taste the sweat
pooled
in the small of your back.
You used to spoon with me.
Is that too much to ask for
Darling?

I crunched my way down
along the spine
using moonlight reflections
to guide my way
drowning the stars
I thought
of goose feathers
and chicken soup
with a wrinkled smile
in my own little world.

This silence,
this incessant silence
drives me mad
like the drippy faucet
that breaks the night
I cry.

It was out
in the middle
of Cinnamon
that the night
belonged to us.

Not a single soul
was in sight,
we were engaged,
intertwined,
hanging
onto each other
with all of
our might.

We clung to our
own bouy line,
like jellyfish
enraptured,
electric.

We left a chum line
of sweat, tears, and other
soluable materials
we exchanged,
given to us
by the Gods.

We watched
a falling star,
tumble,
disappear
into the Pleiades.

You were mystical
and I was a mystic.

I am really not stupid.
You would think
I should know by now,
after a million chances
a few failed
heart experiments,
I would be content.
Every time I think I've got
a handle on my life,
I fall into the downwind
scent of jasmine.
But always pachouli
& soft silky-skin
& a pretty smile
with sparkly-eyes
that laugh
and speak of love.

I showed up
at my younger brother's home
covered in blood
seeking refuge
asking for support
he gave me,
saying,
"No problem brother,
I was your biggest fan
before I was born."

Summer love
is hot like
bold salsa
and Winter love
warms my bones.
Spring love is fresh
like organic-fingers,
the taste is quite
intoxicating.
I am always
Falling in love,
seeking fresh air,
her sacred wind
to fill my lungs.

I don't care about my reputation.
I am who I am.
And I don't hide to cover my pain,
I can tell you all about.
I've been to places and seen things
most people wouldn't believe.
But I know
that doesn't make me any better
than anyone else.
It just makes me more gracious.
I love the human soul
and I adore real angels
and I can't help it
when someone sweet
comes around,
I want to hold onto them forever,
because I know forever
is a ******* fairy tale.

Days turn into nights and back into days again,
a circadian rhythm of sorts
and how fast it goes too.
And who do we really
want to spend time with?
Oh that elusive one
we once knew
or have never met.
And when the guard is down,
they steal your heart away
playing you like a fool,
making for a long
road to ***.
Again and again.

Climbing down
the glacial chute,
I expected Terradactyls
at any moment
looking for supper
& I prayed for deliverance.
Surely, I'd be easy pickings,
for I was no match
with my blue ankle
and sticks and stones.

I live inside my head
as much as I can.
As it seems to be,
to be
the only safe place
these days.

Classical tunes,
a shot of Bourbon
and this fake Tiffany lamp
has set the mood
to remind me of her kisses.
They were good.
Boy, where they good.
I miss her...
them,
badly I do.

I remember sitting
around the tracks
with my comrades.
We were in rolling fields of clover
back then.
The doves that flew above us
had no clue
about our firepower.
We had .50 cals
and we picked our teeth
with splintered bone fragments.
To think
we even had the time
to smoke and joke
about our ridiculous nicknames
brings a smile
to my weathered-fface.
Moose was toothless,
lost them
to some drunk civilians
in a bar fight.
Wagner, the skinny one,
always cracked me up.
I miss McMinn's toothy-grin
and the way French
always wanted out,
constantly feighning his gayness.
Radosavich loved his rock and roll
and Flint sparkled from his hole
carved into the hillside.
Moore had chicks galore
and McLemore got his
divorce papers by airmail.
He went eerily silent
while Top barked ******* for us to do.
The Man was clueless,
but we protected his ***
anyways.
We had bills to pay.
I really miss those *******.
They were the best friends that ever were.

I saw the twin towers tumble
on the back of a bus.
And that toothy evil-grin
pointing the way.
And it seemed,
it seemed
the people bowed
in reverance.
I was definitely
not in Kansas anymore.

I looked at her,
and the way she
wore her scars.
I watched her,
and the way
she moved
so graceful.
And immediately,
I was not scared anymore.
She made gratitude
roll from my eyes.
And in my saline,
I tasted tears,
tears from my angel.

People need a war
always
it seems
to prove who is right.

And when they come back,
those young ghosts
missing body parts,
they act as if they
are immune
to their acts.

It could be in the way
she smiles
while looking at me,
or in the laughter
of her eyes
hiding all that pain
that attracts me
from mine.

She makes me feel right,
sworn
to secrecy,
like out on patrol,
we have a silent code.

I tell her things
no one else knows,
and she tells me
similar things.

We are
buried
together,
her and I
on the same battlefield
of broken love,
ruptured.

I trust
in her kiss,
her parted moist lips,
and the way
she closes her eyes
when
I nip her.
It is explosive.

You should be
unsettled.
We've harnessed the light,
they've caged the sun,
put a lid on the split atom.

And yet,
they continue to fight.
It ain't right.
Be the people,
not mindless.
Spread some of it.
Poppa Cap.

It happened just like that,
kind of like peanut butter and jelly.
And she knows it.

I am not a puppet
on a string.

I am not made of wood.
I am real bone
and flesh,
not paper mache.

But I want you
to pull my strings
anyway.

Please.

I think
I'm going to die
without
you
playing with
me.

Show me your dark side darling.
I am driven
by this hopeless devil inside.
Let my incessant words
inspire you,
like your appeal
does me,
relentlessly.

I can be want you want.
But who am I
you crave.
I am not vanilla,
I am not chocolate,
I am not even strawberry.
I am sweeter than those things.
You need to look further
than
the calling
of your sweet tooth.
Let me enlighten
your beautiful mind.
I think you will find
more than a fine dessert
when you ******* desire.

We were all
born too late.
I know this
by the feelings
I get
when
spirit-guides
pass by me.

Yesterday,
I got too old
for my own good.
I sat and I wrote,
I wrote an ode
to my lost lover.
I knew her in a different time,
way back when corsets
ruled the day.
And when men kissed damsels,
they meant it.
If I could only steal her breath
one more time.

I am surrounded
by silent bamboo.

There is no growl
coming from tiger's toothy grin.

A neon blue butterfly
is not at all startled
by the flying red dragon
descending from gray.

Mister Samurai and Miss Geisha
smile affectionately,
while muted love birds tweet
near  
the angry
crab-warrior.

I listen,
I listen
and I hear
the petals falling off
the chain of flowers
blaring.

I find magic in things,
in things
here.

I'm feeling more grounded
these days,
seem to be getting
my old self
back again.

Last night,
I watched a falling star
travel the Heavens
at supersonic speeds,
only to sputter out
somewhere
miles above.

I love myself
and that,
that is where it begins,
this journey,
this journey
back
out of this
self made abyss.

I think about her every night.
Certainly she was Heavensent.
She struck all of my nerves.
She gave me everything.
She let me steal her breaths,
she even let me taste us.
Then she told me to get bent,
more or less.
I must confess,
sometimes
I don't speak right.

I fall hard,
all the time,
consumed
by the sights & sounds
you make.

O Darling Angel,
your heavenly fragrance!

And your taste,
the flavor of the Universe,
I get drunk on.

We had an unholy alliance,
you and I.
You played the Pope,
the devil me.
You were so fine,
you turned me
sinner.
And I would do it
all over again,
just to sip
from your chalice,
break your bread,
run my fingers
through
your sacrilige,
turn my blood
into your wine.

Every night,
before I hit the hay,
before I fall into a deep slumber
nestled in the warmth
of my big comfy bed,
I count my fingers and my toes,
and I have them all,
scarred,
but fully intact.

I guess
there's no such thing
as heroes anymore.
They are only legends
we think about.

I know this
to be true,
Just ask my digits
seeking release.

Good night.
Sweet dreams.

I first saw her twisted braids
flying  in the air behind her,
she was spectacular,
a steady determination
flared from her eyes.

The blue water churned
from her steady strokes
as she pushed straight away
into the strong headwind,
a formidable force
to be reckoned with.

The power in her arms
were traced onto her muscular form
and she was gone in a flash,
like tropical-lightning.

I stared in awe,
had witnessed
a pretty lady and her shell
become one with the water,
as she disappeared
into the mist
so very alive.

Life was fuller then.
I remember the path we cleared,
it led all the way down to the creek,
through the laurels and ivy.
Those were precious times
we had under the cloak
of the chestnuts
and the swirling maples.

You could hear the running water
trickle over the granite steps
and catch glimpses
of the inquisitive fox
that thought it
was camouflaged
by the fallen timbers.

I cherished the nights,
full of cicada-sounds
and blanketed by the stars,
we sipped genuine sarsaparilla.

But somewhere along the way,
our dreams went south.
They became shattered
like the broken rocks
wearing splashes of lichen
& ancient mossy jackets.

I am still at a loss
when I hear the wood spirits
imitate your laugh.
That's the hardest part
of missing you,
the way you giggled.

The look of your icy blues
raging
with fire
has never been duplicated.
Your kiss was the rarest.

Go ahead pilgrim,
go ahead,
make love
to the horse
I rode in on.
You will like the way she bucks,
how her stained saddle rides,
the feel of her flesh
against your taut thighs.

I will never forget
our crossing near El Paso.
Or the time
she reared up
in Amarillo.
Tucson sure fascinated
them bandits
chasing us
for gold.

We rode like demons
constantly
through the desert,
tracing
the tail of the moon
on petroglyphs.

And she knows,
she knows deep inside
her wholesome *****,
she will never forget,
she will never forget
her lonesome rider.

This wearied lonesome rider
has finally,
has finally come home.

It's always like this,
seems to be
the way things are,
like passing
into a dark abyss,
you kiss the ground
these things are made of.

And I wonder not at their amazement,
such anger spews from their mouths,
for they foolishly stay,
such determination,
locked
in prison walls
made of their own doing.

For me,
I don't give a flying copulation anymore,
I am crossing over this time,
heading headlong
into
the outer darkness.

And they,
they will dream about me still,
the harbinger of harsh reality,
the liver of the last hurrah,
now smiling,
so alive,
so ****** alive.

They called you heartstopper.
You gave me
enough pieces,
so many clues,
I should have known
better.

It was so true,
'cause
I cannot get mine
started
again.

And it hurts
to have your heart
stopped.

Hot moments
flashed
under me
those afternoons.
Parking lots
made a mess out of me,
day and night
quickies
to please the senses.
I can no longer shop
Darling.

The hands of time
flipped me off,
shot duel birds
through my heart.
It ran out on us...
sadly.
I am not from here.
You are
gone
forever.

And I feel so empty.