Invoke yourself,
let your imagination flow,
me on my knees praying
to you, my goddess,
separate your delicious-globes,
lower your open-flower,
kiss my prayer-mouth,
let my dreams come true,
cascade your sacredness
into my throat of desire,
allow me to taste
your inner fire.

In the fog of war,
it's so very surreal,
there ain't nothing like it,
something you'll never forget.
Hollywood pales to
real smashed heads & entrails.
On the authentic battlefield,
there's no stuntmen
around to fake a fall,
it's done with real men,
not high paid actor-boys
protesting the dead ones.

We're talking to our fearless leader
in the middle of the mahogany table,
a tiny black box spewing static,
this conference call.
And it's not as if he can do
anything about
the funny faces
we're all making.
For after all,
he's not a genie.

There is something
in the way she moves,
it's magnetic,
mesmerizing
like a swan in glory.

Her hands move with such grace,
the lips she speaks with
takes away breath,
a siren's voice
so soothing,
her energy is explosive.

I can taste her in her eyes,
waves splash inside them,
a temptress with God given talents
& unparalleled beauty.

I know she's out there,
somewhere.

Sunlight glows
in shades
of lime and frog
as time literally stands
still across the back forty.
Blankets of fallen leaves
muffle the sound
of lazy airliners
descending to the strips
a few miles away.
And the songbirds
sing below,
unfazed by visitors.

Beauty only skin deep
Her heart painted deepest black
She's toxic sweet-death

We,
you & me,
are co-creators
of heavenly artwork,
sacred patterns of intimacy
& on your porcelain canvas,
I brush my paint
this starry night.

Jesus, ***, *******,
it's 0430 & we gotta wake up???
Hell, it's raining ice
& the winds are blowing,
screaming like banshees
at 40 knots!
Can't we do
1000 push-ups,
100 sit-ups,
350 windmills,
600 leg-lifts,
250 trunk-twisters,
400 mountain-climbers,
750 jumping jacks,
and run 8 miles
in our shorts & T's
in the morning sun
tomorrow???

At least it will
be thawing snow,
not freezing rain!!!

I was born to parents
who taught me manners,
those behaviors,
sometimes feeble attempts
at keeping human respect intact.

In fact, most times it usually works.
You should have the seen the faces
of the food peddlars (and their families),
street vendors, surrounded
by squalor & vermin,
when I purchased their wares,
a side order of pomme frites
topped by raw shaved carrots.

The fries were one thing,
cooked clean through,
but the carrots were accepted
only to be a good sport.
I didn't have the heart to say no,
especially with two young ones
tugging on the heels of the cook.
After all, it's only polite
to respect the customs
of the host country,
and I guess
raw carrots on French fries
are a tradition in that
part of the world.

O, you should have seen
the look on my face as I sat,
hugging the commode
for eight solid days
running full speed
with the trots.
I never even got to
see the rest of the country.

Being Mr. Manners
cost me five grand in travel expenses,
half an intestine & most
of my stomach lining.
I think bugs,
lots of them,
still live inside me.
My internist calls them parasites.

I only have my parents to thank,
they gave me manners
& helped me pay
for some of the
three thousand dollars
in doctor's bills
& for all the tiny white pills.

I climbed up here.
Mr. Big Shot,
toasting the town
& your pretty face
& now it's 2 a.m.
& all I can do is just crawl
& I need a ride home
& I'll falling for you,
if you let me,
Darling.

Tonight, I journey
by moonglow,
press on,
over the miles
of towering sands,
with only
your beautiful vision,
the wonderful memory
of your tender kisses
& your lavender smile,
to spur me on.

You see
my Sweet Desert Flower,
they're locked
in my mind
for eternity.

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 *******.

Sacred lovers mix
bodies intertwined in sweat
mutual ******

I flow into you darling,
like a tidal wave,
I’m out-of-control,
steaming downhill
locomotive-style!

O your gentleness,
your sweet sweet tenderness!
It makes me,
it makes me
feel soooo emotive,
I’m on fire!

My fingers imagine you
dipped in creamy-chocolate,
pounding keys,
sending you kisses,
tasting your delights,
mmmmmm, soooo dreamy!

Our heart’s are in the right place,
but it feels like
we’re in the wrong time.

I need to buy myself a Harley,
run free, roll west,
toward the setting sun.

O Dear,
O Dear,
won't you meet me
in the broom closet,
to discuss politics.
This is not trick,
it'll be etter in there,
there's nothing to fear
& no one will bother us,
'cause we have such a ***** office.

From between your raised hips,
I see you with my spyglass,
you're such a pretty maiden.
Hurry,
up with the black flag,
slide down my mast,
fast,
lie on your backside
sweet lady,
this will last
forever.

An electric eel lives in my body.
At least,
that's how it feels.
I outta know,
every time I talk to her,
I feel it
buzzing away
in all my sensitive parts.

All I ever wanted was
a plain old hug,
somebody just to hold me
& whisper everything
was going to be alright.

There's no doubt darling,
I can handle myself,
I can rumble
with the roughest
& I've got the fuckng scars
to prove it.

****** sugar,
this bravado
I wear
is a mask,
but I think you should know,
tough guys need love too
& I won't ***** you
over like
those sweet-talking
pansies.

It's the kind of fragrance
that brings men to their knees,
makes dreams come true,
raw,
primal,
the very essence of life itself.
You know it
when you smell.
It's an exlixir,
titillating,
better than the finest wines,
genuine intoxication.
I smelled it when I walked by
her,
sitting there,
the epitome of feminine beauty,
wetter than the Khasi Hills.
I could tell by the look in her eyes,
& the curl on her lip
as she sipped,
stirred her swizzle stick,
licking its tip.

Cool breezes are blowing
up the Nottely this morning.
The chestnuts whisper
to the sumacs
something about sacredness
& deep in the forest,
where not many travel,
I hear them
trading stories
about Indian wars
& the Frenchmen.
It leaves me wondering
how much blood flowed
in that little creek down yonder.

We wore rebelliousness on our shoulders,
frisky pool-hall junkies with high & tights,
cracking skulls was our nature,
warriors straddling the edge,
for in a moment’s notice
we could be whisked,
whisked away into harm’s way
& harm takes no prisoners,
neither did we.

Lightning flashes
& thunder rolls
over the mountain side,
where standing
exposed on granite slabs,
I guzzle it by the mouth-load,
become one with the creation.
Who needs sunshine,
I love the taste of
the Appalachian rain.

Madeline walked around acting
like people were following her,
her head swung on a swivel,
displaying her torn skin
& scratching invisible insects,
she sometimes
spoke hollow words
through cracked lips
with missing chipped
brown teeth.

Her face was pocked
with sores not acne,
all of her ribs showed
through yellow spandex,
walked on black spikes,
the azure feather boa
didn’t match her
outfit.

She flashed her ****
& wiggled her hips
shouting,
“Wanna **** mes?”
at passing motorists.
That **** was a sad scene,
less than serene,
sirens blaring on Roses.

Lifeless trees beckon
Sunlight kisses their branches
Squirrels peek from nests

How can I watch,
watch you &
not be drawn to you?
Your effervescence flows,
feathers & lace,
a spectacular face,
it makes
my cold-blood boil.

O how I yearn, I yearn!
I burn,
I burn,
I burn
under the full moon,
am forever in ******* to the pitch,
the darkness
that has become my life.

I watch you down on Bourbon Street
with your Mardi Gras spirit,
flaunting your wares,
seemingly without any cares.
But I know better,
I see you
in between the Johns,
tears streaming down
your twisted anguished-face,
no longer pretty in the shadows.
My candle burns,
burns slowly.

And I lie,
I lie in wait,
waiting for the proper time
to make you mine,
my love is genuine.

O my darling street-angel,
soon we will float
forever
in the mist,
vampire-lovers
with the same hot ice-blood.

My kiss is lethal...painless.

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.

The anejo-liquid
changed my dynamics,
& I threw caution to the wind,
embraced sin & anything
else that came my way.

I was a renegade in paradise,
had come there to play
& flirt with danger.
A euphoria crept over me,
it traveled throughout
my bloodstream,
& I became
another,
dreamt of being happier
& swallowed worms.

I squirmed for her,
the smiling *****,
the pretty stranger
who spoke Francaise
with the wrinkled smile,
while flashing icy-blue eyes,
she cried wolf.

As if on cue,
I became a locomotive,
she the caboose
& we snaked our way
out into the cool night
on fire.

We spoke the same language,
the one without words,
burnt candles in a semicircle
under the net,
relished each other madly.

Sadly, it had to end,
but I bet
she still thinks about it,
'cause I know I do.

We shared,
shared our most
sensitive tips
in the confines
of the filtered light
that reflected off your smile.
It seemed as if slow motion
had taken us over.
I was mesmerized
by your delicacies,
saw my hardness disappear
into the ever
unfolding
nature of our fiery hearts.

No jive,
we both woke at five,
hadn't spoken a word yet,
when I mounted her from behind.
She was a safe bet for action,
I buried myself deep
in her buzzing hive,
split her cheeks in overdrive,
tweaked her into a frenzy,
exploded in a fluid reaction,
coated her insides
with lot's of warm honey,
then we both dropped,
smoked & satisfied.

I stay up late & float,
haunt the evening airways.
My skin is white
(nearly porcelain)
& my blood is warm
(practically boiling).
But I swear,
I swear
I'm not a vampire.
I have no intentions
of cursing,
frightening anybody,
or biting any necks.
I just want to find
other kindred spirits
seeking answers
for their own
restless nights.

We just woke up
near a river in Winnipeg.
I swear
she's following me in my dreams,
she knows I'm a sinner.

We locked ourselves
in suspended animation,
me on top,
strictly missionary,
kissing her like no tomorrow,
fully engaged in her **** spirit.

She is definitely God's creation,
his alignment of the planets
allowed us to circumvent
the natural order.

I attacked her from every angle,
the sound of her moistness
& our glorious movements
were louder than
the gurgling waters
outside our tent.

It seemed like hours,
but in a matter of minutes,
our dams burst
in an explosion
unrivaled in this hemisphere.

I have no fear of ghosts now,
her stunning apparition
can awaken me anytime
to break me, to feel
my warm waters flow.

Lord knows she's listening
from the stars above,
twinkling her magic
& receiving cascading
pleasure from me.

A soldier thinks
about a lot of pretty things
frozen
at night
in a desert foxhole
watching
falling stars,
counting
the ticking seconds
on fire
with your sweet vision,
imagining your angel-face,
placing himself
in a warm place.

I made
a huge deposit
into her
dream bank
& as my interest grew,
she drew nearer
to me,
saw my account
get larger
& loved me
even more.

My devotion ran deep.
I'd kiss the bottom of your heels,
**** every one of your toes & eat the corn
to keep you.
But you thought all that was gross
& skedaddled
to find somebody more civilized
& less devoted.
But does he kiss your *** in a three-piece suit?

Heartbroken,
I cover myself
in flowing,
thin black wool
for the long journey,
a protection from
the relentless-rays
of the unforgiving sun,
mocking my every step.

One foot in front of the other,
I move snail-like
toward the oasis,
my unforgettable image
of her beauty
& precious-sin.

O, her beauty!

Sheer,
like the ice walls
in Tibet.

Magnificent,
like the pyramids
of the Maya.

Never-ending,
like the winds,
the sands
kissing my face,
driving me on
to sin again.

Don't forget me.
I am in flight,
floating on the wind.
Maybe you can hear me.

Whoever invented laser pointers
did a brilliant thing.
But whoever developed them
into gunsights
should be brought
up on charges.
The same goes for
all them ******* companies
that have made a business
out of killing
using brilliant inventions.
That's diabolical.
People are ******* dying
so they can make a buck
& eat caviar
at stockholder conventions.

She is heavenly,
concocted by the gods & goddesses.
I crave her drippy consistency,
throw in some nuts & honey
and I am forever
smitten by her raw-flavor.
She's that tasty,
she's my doll,
my chocolate.

I cannot really it explain,
but I can give it
one helluva try.
It's a million (or more)
fuschia-pumpers,
the spilling of hemoglobin
& red corpuscles,
broken bones
bleached white,
lying in the sun.
And streams of blue
tumbling from
the duct-factory
& the silent
green fields.

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 write my poems
in between
sets of pumping iron.
This is my sanctuary,
my stronghold,
the place I go
to remember you
& the better times.
Clank,
clank,
clank,
I miss you.
Thank you
for those days...
darling.

This hand-wrought silver
'small crazy dog' pin
will look fantastic
adorning my hiking fedora,
right next to the fused-glass,
hand-blown
copper Celtic cross pendant
made by another local artisan.

And O God,
what beauty you
have helped to make,
this pressed-wildflower
hanging pretty ornament,
constructed with creative-hands,
will bring eternal happiness
back home forever.

And when I'm
a million miles
away from such sacredness,
I'll have my hot java
in my hand-spun
earthenware
mug to comfort me,
and at night,
I'll sip tea from
handcrafted
porcelain pottery,
remembering fondly,
the kindness and care
I fond there,
in the land of sacred hands.

It really doesn't matter
what she says,
most of it is *******
anyways.
She learned it
early on,
when she vowed
never to trust again.
And in that process,
creating broken hearts
became a habit
she thrived on.
She will never change
& they will never be the same.

Hey Mister Photographer,
shoot a picture of me
& use your special effects
to make me look
much younger.
Darken my hair just a bit.

O Mister Photographer,
then please photoshop
my sweet companion,
who onced loved me,
in her prettiest dress,
standing right next to me.
Place some lovely flowers
in her gorgeous hair,
wrap my arm around her.

Please Mister Photographer,
can you colorize some
rolling hills below
& place the bluest skies
above us.

O Yes Mister Photographer,
I think you've got it right.
That's the way I want it,
the way I want
people
to remember us.

Apprehension & high-anxiety lies with me
in my own quiet corner of the world,
searching, forever searching
for that spark of electricity
sent on fiber optic cable,
draining, draining
me of myself,
me & I always
loving you.

Everything is perfect,
the way the planets revolve
around the sun
in a sea of galaxies,
electrons spinning circles
around the nucleus,
the double helixes
of your DNA,
the falling rain,
everything is perfect.

The sound of bubbles
greets us at mealtime.
I lift the lid &
the family meets me
near the surface
of clear-waters.
I pour in some flakes
& watch them feast.

Hungry
golden-hued,
finned-buggers,
so radiant,
inhaling sustenance.
I love to watch
them feed & float,
their vibrant colors
remind me of the sun.
Watching them breathe
keeps me grounded.
They are indeed
my greatest companions,
swimming
in their
glass palace,
inside
my humble home.

Electric guitar with a twang,
rotating fans,
mustard greens,
mac and cheese,
pulled pork,
sweet tea and flies.
This is hog heaven.

Times were simpler then.
You were my queen,
I was your king,
we treated each other
like royalty.

I saw your feminine-beauty
beneath your flowing sun dress,
succumbed to your magical-ways,
we played intimate under the moon.

There was never any fight,
you took me constantly
over the rainbow,
we bit lips in ecstasy.
But did you ever really know
how much I truly loved you?

I sit alone now watching the leaves fall,
still wondering about you,
your sweet-ways,
how we used to play at night.

I can taste your smile
in the cold December wind,
it makes me warm,
takes my breath away!

And shivering I think
about the simplicity
of what we once had,
so long ago.

Sat next to an old timer down at the shop last week,
he looked older than Methuselah,
piercing blue eyes surrounded by red,
seemed nearly dead,
like he’d been crying for a century.
He told me he was from Tennessee,
another good old Southern boy like me
& we got to talking about all kinds of things.
We ran at the jaw from baseball to politics,
frolics & war, even diamond rings.

I learned he was a fellow veteran,
said he had worked on the big boy
during the last big one,
said it wasn’t much fun,
but they were sworn to secrecy
to do it.
I pondered for a second or two,
knew exactly what he was talking about,
that Manhattan Project,
the huge mushroom-bomb!

Being a kindred soldier,
I leaned over, knew I was safe,
& asked him how he felt,
how he felt about its effects,
all that killing.
It got really quiet, eerily silent,
then he looked at me
& with a lone tear
rolling down his wrinkled cheek,
replied,
“Son, they killed my brother
in the Pacific, which killed
my mother in Cypress Creek,
which killed all my childhood dreams.”

Strange,
            how
                    killing
                              trickles
                                          downhill.