I met a carny yesterday,
said he just got back from
a long stay at Guantanamo Bay,
that water-boarding didn't hurt
as long they used warm water.

That guy was a card,
but I wasn't buying
what he told me,
I ain't no mark.

The low hum
accentuates the pain,
needling vibrancy,
vivid-hues,
grafting stories
& inked impressions,
etched onto
your sweet-skin.

Such memories
& hurtful reminders
are told in cracked
kaleidoscope-colors,
bright dermis-murals
of your broken dreams
screaming for release,
remembering the beauty
of your heart,
now made warm
with skin-art.

I wonder how Tarzan felt,
I mean he ruled the jungle once,
had his king chimp by his side,
kicked a lot of lion ***.

Then Jane showed up
in her leopard-skin outfit.
Soon the guy couldn't win,
and he put on a gut.

The natives said he'd hit a rut,
was not as fast as he used to be
& had a croc scar to prove it.

Then again,
we all have choices,
so it really doesn't matter
how Tarzan felt
now does it?

I'm totally exhausted,
it's been one of those
twelve-hour work days,
the kind of day that
makes you delirious by
the end of your shift.

And I don't even recall the shower,
but I must have had one,
'cause I'm lying here in bed
with wet hair.

I just had a fleeting thought,
think I want to get inked,
have a Chewbacca tattoo
etched on my right calf.
I know I'm not crazy,
or even lazy.
I'm just tired
I guess, I'll sleep
on my furry animal
art-idea,
don't want to
be labeled insane.
Good night CP3O.

A virtual prisoner
I am at times
to those demons trapped inside
my creative mind.

They claw,
they scratch,
they beg,
they whisper to me at night,
driving me to madness,
to the very brink
of my sanity.

I do not seek pity,
I need an escape,
a deliverance,
to find the right words,
to get these feelings out of me
before they get locked within
forever.

Treeman's
a little dude,
a bonsai,
but he's hung,
*****,
***** and all.

Imagine a sun
so brilliant,
so bright,
that sunglasses
will not help.

Imagine a suntan
so deep,
so intense,
that even bones
get vaporized.

Imagine...
imagine
crystallized,
radioactive sand
splitting atoms.

I ventured to
the farmer's market today,
got me some fresh white potatoes,
a pile of green beans,
stone ground rolls
& a few homemade sausages.

Oh, I picked up a jar
of wildflower honey,
some honeydew wine water
& a bar of lilac soap, too.

I can't wait 'till
the little lady shows up
later tonight.
We're gonna
have a super supper
& a nice warm bath
out under the stars.

O Lordy,
there ain't nothing
like eating home cookin'
& going au naturel,
I can't wait.

I trace the contours
of your sensuous words
with my fingers
& feel your inflection,
the heat of your  
private-moments.

The narrative of your desires
smolders in my *****
& if you only knew
my own sensual-mind,
you'd feel me
with your own
burning heart.

The trips to the ancient forest
never seem monotonous,
for the repetition of nature
makes one sing.

I think about science
& the drone
of modern technology
robbing us of spirit,
the simplest of
human pleasures.

The art of conversation,
the intimate interaction
between living souls
has eroded
to
the use
of electric fingertips.

O to touch the sky,
to taste rain,
feel sunlight,
to kiss your lips,
I cry in utter torment.

I've been beating the pavement
for what seems like three lifetimes.
And now, I have big holes in my shoes,
its getting time for a new pair of runners.
My boots were thrown out years ago,
right after I lost my soul in Memphis.

Love & kisses is what I got,
that's it & another pair
of worn out shoes.

She is a rare gift,
a treat from the gods,
I love her rythym.

We enjoy the sacred skin-arts,
crave Kama Sutra,
practice the Third Chakra
to reach universal nirvana.

I massage her slick inner *****,
create the ultimate friction
with my fiery poker,
smooth,
strong,
deep strokes
to consummation.

I release my warm flow,
abundant cool waters,
cleansing her soul
with my hot rod
into the Second.

We shudder
with the cascade
of our musky mixture,
primordial fragrance
wafts in the air around us.

Our sparkling-eyes locked,
we smile in each other's
loving embrace,
kissing & hugging,
experiencing true grace.

I have tasted her
a million times (or more),
guzzled her sweet,
sweet,
sweet laced-nectar,
way deep,
deep,
deep,
deep
inside my yearning soul.
I am intoxicated
on her delicious-elixir,
she is my only fix.
So she must,
she must know
by now,
I crave,
I choke,
I burn for her.
For these
are her hiccups
I release
forever.
And I do thank her
from
the bottom
of my drunken-heart,
for making me tipsy,
inebriated,
so ****** smitten
on her mouth-watering
cherry-concoction.

There was something about her.
Maybe it was the way she moved,
the way she batted her pretty-eyes,
sashayed her nice-thighs around,
the softness of her sweet voice.

So alluring,
almost supernatural.
Her hair flowed all around,
had a satin sheen in the sun,
she was ample in her flowery blouse,
fragrance of patchouli,
a hint of ylang ylang
followed her.

Whatever it was
was truly special.
I call it magical.
It felt like I was under a spell
when I was near her-
a "Can't-think-straight" spell,
the kind that captures you
with enchantment,
so charming.

If some keep giving away their eggs
like that,
some dumb ***** are going to continue
to fill ignorant
selfish-needs
and breed
a world
full of unwanted babies.
I hear you.

*Inspired by Arlo Disarray's poem titled, "*****"

I still believe in magic.
I just know
she's got some
kind of a spell on me.

Everywhere I look,
I see her pretty penetrating-eyes.

Everywhere I sniff,
her sweet-fragrance permeates
right through me.

Everywhere I touch
in the wee hours,
she's there in fiery-spirit.

Everywhere I eat,
I taste her delicious musk,
it satisfies my wanton-appetite.

I kiss the air to feel her
& she's there
kissing me back.

I am smitten by her runes,
in tune with her
on the same astral plane.
She is in my soul
at a transcendent level.
If that's not a love spell,
then I don't know what is.

Like a red drippy stripe,
you twirl,
spin & gyrate,
gripping & kicking,
rubbing the y
for sheckles.
Rolled up like fat cigars,
you stretch elastic
listening to cat calls,
hearing your stage-name
as beer-smells waft,
mixed with sweat,
raw pheromones
& ****** tunes.

I saw
the underbelly
of a dragon
in my sleep last night
revealing the mysteries
of the entire universe
& somewhere else,
in my imaginations,
I set a wild horse free.

We rocked, we rolled,
strolled through the revelers,
rocket scientists
wearing ripped jeans
& pointed rattlesnakes,
some had rose tats.

Cocksure, we rode
the ferris wheel
above the skyline
of never never land
& right down the street,
there was enough armament
to level all the strip malls
in the Springs.

Funny, they told us
we were the violent ones,
the dangerous kind,
tightly wound psychos
who sung anthems,
those sweet child 'o mine
pop tunes.

So hell yea,
we were tough,
the no-prisoner-types,
trained-to-**** fighters
wearing pearled buttons,
sipping Boone's Farm,
we continued
to spin circles,
spitting into the
cold Colorado wind.

I loved the way you
held me,
started that lovely
trickle
           down
                     effect
with your delicious mouth.
Some said you were precocious,
but I told them you went down
deeper than that,
were so very precious
& extremely dreamy.

I am a white cloud
in blue skies,
floating,
energetic,
a wisp.

I dance on the wind,
I am free.

It's lovely
at that time of the morning,
there's no one in sight.
You witness granite
steps disappear upward
into the Mountain Laurel,
hear the Goldfinches echo
in harmony
with the brook,
smell the evergreens.
And as you venture up,
venture up into the cloud,
you touch the spirit world,
hear the Cherokee cries.

You said you were a loner
& they called you *******,
yet you
had the demeanor
of somebody
much older.

Bold & meaner than a viper,
your long hair flowed
between nice
perky high-points,
& you floated
on the raunchy-stage
like an angel,
wore a thong
& gyrated
for dollars.

It didn't take
a love-scholar
to see
the broken-heart-message
burning in
your lovely sad-eyes.

And,
I wished
I could have
saved the world
that night,
but you were working
on them soldier-boys,
wrestling their whole
monthly paychecks
from their stupid
drunken fingers.

Yes, your memory lingers
& I think often of you,
wondering
about your millions
& if you're still alone.

At Hinderfall she slept,
a beautiful shieldmaiden,
her bed laden
with fine riches.
In a ring of flames,
she drove all the men
insane,
save one,
a valiant solitary warrior,
who made it
past her watchful sentries
& into her private chambers.

And there
in the moonlight,
he loved her.
Buried fully
to his hilt,
he unloaded into her
with great fury,
with the might
of Thor's Hammer.

Undercover
she did not waver,
nor did she fight him.
She savored
every spasm,
every blow,
with the strength
of Byrnhildr,
genuine
sweet lovers.

I swear I really want to write one.

I come up with a few great ideas,
formulate them into my creative mind,
then when I go to pen them
into an epic,
they end up much shorter.

Like, what would Virgil say?
Lord Byron would certainly cringe
at my bits and pieces of written word.
Alighieri & Milton would probably
laugh their arses off,
Ovid snicker & what about Homer?

I swear I really want to write one.

An epic like The Divine Comedy,
perhaps a slice of Don Juan,
a bit of Beowulf,
some Odyssey?
I wish I could find
some Paradise Lost,
a piece of the Illiad,
I pray for a Metamorphoses!

I swear I really want to write one!

O Witchy Woman,
tell me please.
put my mind at ease,
will I live forever,
will I have a life full of troubles?
And is there a lover
somewhere
for me?
Do you feel me,
do you feel me,
can you read my palm,
I don't want to be
left alone!?

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 lay here in the dark
thinking
the conditions are perfect,
Your temperature
is wonderful,
so fine,
the moisture,
this wetness is just right
& you have
the proper
ingredients,
you are of the Earth
tonight.
Now for some magic...
wake up Honey,
come alive,
don't be elusive,
you are not
a dead log!

Some say you
are the devil incarnate,
an evil witch,
poisonous to everything,
anyone who cares
to come close.

Well that **** doesn't matter to me,
people can say what they want.
I've been flirting with disaster
since Hell began.
In fact, they call me
Satan Junior.
But in reality,
I'm just a good boy
gone wild,
walking on the edge
& I crave black magic...
so bring it on,
put a spell on me,
witchie-poo!

You lay so innocent,
kissed me so provocatively,
infected my soul
with your learned behaviors.

Your step-by-step instructions
about intimate things,
mutually pleasing,
became carved
into my granite
like commandments.

And how can I describe
your taste,
your raw primordial stream
intoxicating me into
other realms,
spellbinding me forever?

I can’t.

Happiness is
a cool breeze blowing
in an open window,
a burning stick of nag champa,
the strumming sitar playing backdrop,
an unrolled sticky-mat
& me flopped over
in downward
facing-dog.

That's what happiness is,
pure and simple.

Rain splatters
against the window pane
during these early hours,
I hear the wind whispering outside,
trailing through the tall pines,
the way it did on our summer walks
& all I can think about
are your glistening pebbles &
the cobwebs we used
to play with.
We had the power
to change the universe,
and occasionally we did,
on summer walks
& during rainstorms,
like the one I hear,
am listening to
this very moment.

Swollen & full,
I search her deeply,
gently push into
her sweet wetness.

It's so breathtaking,
when I pull out
then swirl back in
to the left,
then back to the right,
again & again,
from every angle,
up & down
she opens wider
& plays her part
so willingly.

I bask in her swill,
and she
does not fight me,
so wanton,
she craves this art,
the sensuous art
of French kissing.

Your body heat always generated
more from me,
such a risk taker you were,
ready at the helm
& so accommodating.

It was as if malachite & chocolate
held specials powers,
a magnetism that created
the greatest ******* of all time.
Perhaps, the biggest
in the entire universe.
Epoch.

Like were we really the first ones
to discover the ******,
provocative private photos,
the hood of cars
& special party favors?
The madness of the day
ruled our fiery hearts
& we couldn't get enough
sensuous playtime.

But who were those people,
those disruptors of love,
the joy killers,
who surely did not,
did not come from above.
Certainly they came,
they came from below,
from the very gates of hell
& I gave up forgiveness
so long ago.

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.

Pink marmalade
smeared all over my face,
traces of pistachio ice cream
on my lips,
chocolate icing on my fingers
& Tupelo honey on my toes.
Are there any dreamers
still around,
thinking of leftovers,
sweet tasty leftovers.

And I became inspired about a summer love,
surely she is somewhere now watched by all the angels above, her kindred spirits.

So long ago, we sailed the cat to St. John's isle,
where we'd sit and chat for hours on end,
sending good vibes to each other, enraptured,
smothered in our own astral plane.

We were totally exuberant, not criminally-isane,
in fact a bit silly, those googly-eyes we made,
along with the Myers & pineapple,
tickling each other's fancies.

We'd dance to Marley and Tosh,
do the limbo in our tie-dyed brilliance,
under the sun in that tropical paradise,
I think about of you so often.

Cool winds blew
ripples
across our lake today.
It'd been a long time
since I ventured up this way,
it's so different
when you're alone.

It was rather eerie,
there wasn't a single sound,
I really wished you
had been around,
your sweet voice
held warmth.

Last time you were here,
I remembered you
wearing camo,
that pink baseball cap
pulled tightly over your ears,
you maneuvered the boat
like a pro,
didn't scare
a single duck.

I didn't know you'd
never be here again,
just my rotten luck.

They laughed at the duct tape
holding his handguard together.
Go figure, that *****
withstood all types of weather,
from searing desert heat
to chilly nights.

And when we got into a firefight,
Hudson was a killer,
was more acurate than
the boys with
the newer models.
That ain't funny.

I've been sent to this place
not on my own volition.
I am a case study for
an advance party
of skilled technicians.
They have harnessed the atom
for deep interstellar space-travel.
I have to hand it to them,
some pretty smart beings they are,
quantum physics
is Mickey Mouse to them.
But I do thank the lucky heavens
they've never heard of Donald Duck before.
They'd come here
to **** that up too.
And, I love that funny duck.

To and fro,
the minions travel
in droves,
clawing,
fighting,
scratching to be
first in line,
draining their lives,
trying to cure the
disease of materialism.

O I do believe in love,
in the spirit of giving,
but not when
it spoils the soul.

O Darling,
I am warm to the touch
& you,
you Sweetness
taste like sticky honey
in my mind
I miss you,
lying here,
my eyes wide open,
kissing you.

In the darkness,
I layed spread eagle
in hyperspace.
My *****
yearned
in midair,
submitted to her
playing sweetheart
on the deck,
out of harm's way.

Her voice played hell
with my fiery-mind
& with kama sutra thoughts,
I exploded in a geyser
of raw emotions,
wondering about
the million miles
between us & counting
the soothing rain drops.

I used to crash with that flavor,
that flavor on my tongue.
Your taste was like grace
& your sugar,
your sugar
was
smeared
all over
my happy face.

I lay awake
spitting my words
like candy kisses,
wishing for something
beautiful,
wallowing in my loneliness.

One more night,
I want to lie,
to lie & hold you,
float on crystal seas
& I never sleep,
'cause you forgot me,
wide awake for
another audition
calling you.

Everybody's in a tea-mood these days.
At the moment,
I prefer Chai,
but the greens are still my favorites.
I love white monkey
& silver rain
in my pottery cup.
There's nothing
like a warm demitasse
& the comfort
of spinning
a prayer wheel,
watching the flags
fluttering at base camp
below Heaven
with my good friends.

Once in India,
I locked myself
in a white room
decorated only with
a bamboo-mat
& a ceiling fan.

There was an incense burner
& a hole in the ground
in there, too.

I torched nag champa
incessantly,
visited the hole often
& chanted to
the sun & the moon
to find myself.

It's so strange how
I can't remember
a ****** thing
about that pilgrimage,
'cept I made it
back home safely
with my clothing
smelling
like sweet ****.

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

The waves crash
melancholy against
the rocks
strewn up and down
the shore,
crystalline-sand
covers my
feet.

I stare at the last place you stood,
where I saw
your jade-eyes
spark fire,
a lone tear
slid down your pretty face.
I kissed you kindly,
held you close enough to feel your rapid heart.
I wished I could had
changed things,
your mind.

The gulls unknowingly mock me now...
making this place even sadder.

Icicles crack
& the sound is carried
like zephyrs
over granular snow
whispering good tidings.

They taper off
to the green sprouts
crying out,
infected by
the warmth
of the horizon-sun,
rising in reverence
to greet
the barren day.