O Lord,
this hand-pressed wine water
has given me a buzz,
so very natural,
it's as if I can taste
every single fox grape,
minus the fuzz.

And my fridge is going to be packed
with peach & blackberry & pecan jam
& three pounds of mild
pork biscuit-sausage,
one hundred times
better than spam.

Hand-picked,
pesticide-free,
green beans and squash,
leaf lettuce & radishes,
green onions and spuds,
geez, nothing I bought fresh
is even close
to being a dud.

I’m gonna
break a quarter tonight,
sew half of it in my
sweet darlin’s dress.

Then I’m gonna sprinkle some salt
on her path,  but not before
I strike a match,
name my fishin’ hook after her
and swallow a chicken heart.

Granddaddy tole me those
things will do the trick.....
he's been a lover most of his
natural born life.

She called me mister peppermint
& told me,
whenever she was down,
she could count on me
to have all the answers,
a perfect soothing lozenge.

O her eyes,
her beautiful eyes,
when she did those things,
she blew me away.

Swirling serpentine
Hypnotizing hood uncoiled
A deadly striker

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.

Do you hear it now,
the buzzing in your head,
the continual drip,
the hum of traffic,
the notes of songbirds
carried by the wind,
the ticking of the wall clock,
the silence of being alone?

I woke up
to an electric dream
about you.

O Sweet Lady,
my head was buzzing
& my *******
were throwing sparks,
everything else
was just humming.

A million
or more
volts jolted
through
my entire body,
nothing seemed wrong,
only right.

O Darling,
you have such
fine amperage
& I could not fight
your voltage,
it's so magnetic.

A strong current
pulsed
through
my fingertips
strumming
& I knew I was had
when my circuits
overloaded.....
what pulsations!

O my God,
I truly confess.
you touch my soul
& I'm *****-bad,
definitely
not bumming.

She's ethereal,
lighter than a feather,
floats magically
on painted toes.

The mane she wears
is a splendid thickness
& her hips
make me bite my lips
with fiery desire.

Her veil of ruby sequins
hides the prettiest face
& her amber-eyes
burn beautifully,
shades of grace.

Her flowered-*******
are made from
the finest French lace
& I have constant visions
of being with her,
sliding them off
slowly
over at her place,
to make
our dreams come true.

We used to jam out in the ***** tonks,
you & I sippin'whiskey,
listenin' to the guitars wail.
You were the finest doll out there
on the planked-floor,
hopping around like a crazed bunny.
O honey, you had 'em all staring,
their jaws droppin' with your cool groovy antics,
hollerin' for more.
You filled out your blue jeans sublimely
& the way your gorgeous hair
flew to the drummer's beat
was way beyond compare.
You were the epitome
of a Southern belle,
dancing your *** off
& breaking hearts.

Cool black streams & mossy oaks
soothe the weary traveler.
But there is really no way
to fully describe in words
the true spirit
of La Florida outdoors.
Let's just say
it gets lost
in the bottomlands,
these endless swamps filled with gators
& ibises as far as the eye can see.
A shooting star
on the tip of the Everglades
spells magic
& with every croak of the bullfrog,
you lose yourself a little bit more,
from the unreality of living
away from this paradise.

I sat watching
raindrops bounce
methodically off
my cracked windscreen
& could hear the gale
just outside my windows,
whizzing past the surf
crashing against
the shoreline.

Raging waves rose
& fell relentlessly,
transforming
into angry white foam.

The happy gulls timed
their dives perfectly,
flirted with disaster
again & again,
rising up in mockery,
toying with the storm
& shrieking in laughter.

Loneliness is not a disease,
it's a choice,
a gruelling way of sad life.

Yesterday
I found
an old water-damaged,
hand-calligraphied,
framed prayer
in a second hand shop.
I stopped
dead in my tracks
when I saw it.
It immediately
took me back
to my younger days,
when Dad would read me Poe.

And now it hangs
over my cabin-bed
& brings me
some measure of comfort.

"From ghoulies and ghosties,
and long-leggetied beasties,
and things that go bump in the night,
Good Lord deliver us"

Cicada sounds crush me,
they take me back,
catapulting me
to those simpler times.
Hanging out down at the lake,
corn dogs & pulled pork,
summer watermelon.
Jeff & Jenny sure did their thing,
that Camero
was a starship,
& what a trip
sneaking into
the drive-in.
Marlboro lights ruled
our nights.
When we got older,
Miller Time took Becky.
That ******* drunk driver.
Her mom lost her son & hubby
the very next year.
She's a survivor.
When football star Jessie
got smoked in Iraq,
a piece of our hometown
really did die
& it ain't never coming back.
I heard they closed Shorty's last week,
that tweaked me just a bit,
best vanilla shakes in town,
******.
Here come the cicadas again.

She's taken everything
& I let her.
My spirit, my heart, my soul,
drained me to no end.

But no need to point fingers,
there's enough already
to go around
for everyone.

I'm hoping to
take some responsibility,
to create
a drought
on blame.

That might help
to ease some pain.....but, I doubt it!

I saw it,
saw it
in the dark alleyways.
They carried
on the tradition,
unpublished.

They tortured me at the university.
They poured gallons of whiskey down my throat,
made me study boring subjects long into the night,
surrounded me with beautiful doll babies,
and lectured me until I was blue in the face.
The only trace that I ever existed there
are some records on microfiche
& a few faded pictures on fraternty composites
packed away,
taped shut,
in an attic box.
I still wonder if waterboarding
would have made me a genius
because the other methods
certainly didn't work.

I love the way peanut butter sticks to the roof of my mouth,
it's so yummy
& it's not very funny
how exasperating,
how something that tastes so good,
can drive you so wild,
especially when the jar is empty
& you have a craving for
a jelly sandwich,
the strawberry jam kind.

A granite sentinel
where zephyrs whisper,
courting the dogwoods,
busy wasps,
look,
there goes a bee,
a butterfly floating,
kissing cairns
in mountain time,
on blood.

Once I was best friends with
the greatest hunter ever.
A genuine killer.
Anything that came
inside the fence line
was fair game.
Armadillos, 'possums,
turtles & even a couple of hawks
met their demise when he locked
his keen eyes onto them.
Three or four tom cats
barely got out alive.

He licked & he loved,
scratched doors & glass
with his manicured-nails.
Once, he ate the red paint
off my garden pail.
He had chips in his teeth,
it was funny as hell,
glad it wasn't lead-based.
The cucumbers I grew
rarely made it
to the dinner table.
He'd lay in the vines
with a look on his face
of sheer contentment.

Rolling grapes & peanut butter
were his favorites, but really,
he'd eat just about anything
'cept kale.

When he went blind,
he still got a squirrel
or two & went to
digging up shrews,
left several lying around dead
as proof of his skill.

When he died,
I cried an ocean of tears.
He's buried out
in the backyard
along with his two sisters,
I miss them & their
familiar barks  every day.

I always thought it was a bit weird
when people put stock into
scrambled chicken bones
& shuffled cards
to tell them their future.
And, why chicken bones?
Pictured skeleton-cards?
Why not cow or dog?
Cat or frog?
Unpictured cards?
Does it really make a difference
to the occult forces?
I mean,
who wrote the rules
on such things?
Angels?
Devils?
Indian Chiefs?
The Chinese?

Say whatever you want mama,
your kisses are so fine,
sweet & sublime,
I'll play your silly little game,
I know you like the red prints,
me draped over you in a hip lock,
knocking your socks off,
like you do mine,
it's genuine bliss.

Eighty-second patch on my shoulder,
fighting for the cause
they told me I’d live
a life of glory,
standing tall with honor.
But what I got
were these two mechanical sticks
and unemployment.
I’m living in the thick of it now,
floating in a sea friendlies,
drowning in post-traumatic stress.
Well, the hell with dress-right-dress,
****-can glory,
**** honor,
just give me back my legs.

It's 5 a.m. & I think
I'm going to go
pound the pavement,
feel the breeze on my face,
the sweat run down my back
& hear my knees crack.

But, I'm just lying here
contemplating,
should I run around the block
once, twice, thrice,
or wait until the
sunrise of tomorrow
to decide over
another
sweet-tasting donut?

Yum...

Greg never had a chance,
his chemistry made him susceptible
to chemical addictions.
His biology was configured
in such a way that
when he drank spirits
the devil took over.
He cheated & stole,
lied & ****** over
just about everybody who loved him.
I never stopped believing in his value,
he'd stop by to see me,
trashed,
****** up off his ***
& we'd talk about
the good old days.
I was one of the only ones
who would listen
to his slurred speech
& broken dreams.

The last time I saw him,
he still had his boyish charm,
I gave him ten dollars,
'cause he always paid me back.

And when I heard
he'd stepped in front
of a moving car a few days later,
it broke my ******* heart.

I wished I could have said goodbye.
All I can do now is
pen the sad facts.

So rest in peace brother Greg,
you never had a chance
with the devil
working against you.

We are in BFE....
the night is crystal black,
Beethoven is blasting,
no cities exist out here.

My head's here
because of Kevlar,
this heart
was protected by ballistic nylon.
I carry a tiny steel scar
on my left cheek &
this small nick on my brow
just above my right eye,
are etched from
bits of schrapnel.
I still have my *****,
thank God.

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.

I'm no misogynist,
I'm the furthest thing from it
& I do love her style,
the fairer ***.
But she knew
she'd ticked me off again,
told me to give her
the best that I've got,
a real mouthful,
I didn't mind.

So, I did,
just as she'd said.
I released a steady-stream
of heady-expletives,
read her the riot act,
went on the attack,
held nothing back,
I emptied my barrel.

I mean, I went up
one side of her,
straight down the other,
smothered her with diatribe,
and when I got done,
had had my verbal-run,
she looked up at me
with those beautiful
sultry calm-eyes,
apologized & smiled,
then proceeded to get
another mouthful
of what we craved the most.

God, I'm weak,
but she's so kind,
such a pretty little devil!
Like I said up top,
I love her so much,
her constant style
of ticking me off!

The cliche games they play
& you pretty thing,
you want to be just like them,
but you,
you are not like them,
& you are definitely not cliche,
riding your motorcycle
wearing your feather boa
& pearl necklace.

A pressed Cuban
& potato salad,
unsweetened ice tea
& the ballad of John & Yoko
on the radio.

I knew something was strange,
that it was going to be a weird day
when I saw the jellyfish
floating in clear blue skies,
Yoda sitting sideways
on my white picket fence.

The post man with electric rat eyes
actually snickered
when I signed
for the manila envelope
covered in white powder.

I’m not really sure
why he acted so comedic,
maybe he thought
it was a biological weapon.
But for all he knew
it could have been
something Peruvian.

After all, there is a rumor going around
about the ruling government,
it’s been said they keep spraying LSD
using jet engine contrails,
that it’s something about mind control.
That’s very similar
to what the Beatles
did with Revolution #9.

And, if you don’t believe me friends,
just play it backwards on your turntable,
you’ll hear the mythological devils
singing gibberish on
a diamond-tipped stylus.

I told you it was
a strange & weird day.

Calculated risk,
the big trick is to know when to
hold 'em or fold 'em

She held up the bar like Goliath,
standing there so stoic,
ordering Stoli's on the rocks,
her arms draped in ink-stories.
The scorpions on her elbows
were as revealing
as her broken heart shoulders.
She stood there beautifully,
clenching the tiny glasses
with love and hate
written on her delicate scarred-fingers,
downing the clear Russian-liquid
as if it were a serious habit.
A cascading mop of lime hair
spilled over her darling face,
attempting to hide
her eyes of pure
sweet magic.
Whew.
Kabam.
Abracadabra.
Hypnotized,
I wondered why
anybody
would ever
want to hurt
such a beautiful creature...
But sadly,
I watched her slowly go,
bebop into the swirling crowd,
disappear
into a cloud
of burning tobacco.
The heavy bass
broke my thumping heart.

I want to smear my face
with your marmalade girl
and you know my favorite flavor,
so let's get cooking.

O Pretty Doll Face,
pardon me just a bit,
let me paste my kisses
upon your sweet-deliciousness,
hear you scream my name
aloud in sheer-delight,
reaching the
ultimate-ecstasy!

Your skin
sizzled
made me feel electric
like a live wire
you
made
me
perspire
then
you
set
me
on fire
and burned
my heart.

Your sweet
beautiful
delicate
fingers
melted me,
swirling
all five
gripped
furiously
at my heartstrings
& explosively
I succumbed
to your will.

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.

The smoke signals have been sent,
I keyed them in on my fiber optics,
encrypted the secret-message
in their native-tongue.

Now, I'm going
to just sit back & wait,
knowing mother
will be here soon,
to take me
past the moon,
to a better place,
to another universe.

It's not strange
how the world
never really ends
when our hearts
get broken.

And we may not see it,
but indeed
we feel it,
acting like
Armageddon
has begun
when somebody special
robs us of our intimate-fun,
when somebody we care about,
smacks us on the kisser,
when somebody we trust
hugs another with gusto.
But trust me good lovers,
you should know,
the sun will rise again
& the moon will
continue to swoon!

We need to find our strength,
pick ourselves up
& wipe away
the tears from our swollen eyes.

It's going to be tough
& a little rough,
but such things
we should chalk up to tough-love
& hard-knock experiences,
incapable of catastrophic
weather conditions or
any geographical phenomena.

And let's rock on beautiful people,
let's rock on into the glorious night,
there's plenty of loving left,
don't give up the fight,
somebody's out there yet
& we're definitely not losers!

Imaginary love
Rhythm daydream so hypnotic
Drive hips rainbow arc

Frozen-tundra
bitterness seeps deep,
breaking brittle-bones,
as tasty-spittle forms
at the corners,
slithering down
like wet snakes,
eager to inject venom,
with no cure
'till the summer thaw,
you kissing me.

We took the river boat all the way
up the Rio *****
to find the monkey rehab,
some said it was a loonie bin
for problem simians.

And you,
rebellious you,
always breaking protocol,
carried your wares
with you instead.
Did you not realize
the howlers
break the rules too?

Good God, it was the craziest scene.
Two wild ravenous fanged-monkeys ripping
threw your stuff like a whirlwind
spun out of control.
But I bet,
you didn't want that Nikon anyways?!
I wished I'd taken a picture.
Priceless.

At sea level once,
I placed myself on a pedastal,
but the nosebleed was a river,
a torrent greater than
one found
in the jetstream
& now I stick to the ground,
keep my feet plastered
firmly on the ridgeline
& stare up
into heaven
graciously.

Gently,
ever-so gently,
I am covered by
your succulence,
sweet parted-lips
upon sweet parted-lips,
I eagerly search
your soft-folds
with such tenderness.

O what delight,
there is no fight,
but harmony!

A warm-moistness
engulfs,
surrounds
my rigidness,
consummating
our sensuous-act,
this sacred-gift,
a smothering of Heaven.

She had all the bases covered.
A star shining on each hip,
red hearts on each lip,
a tear under one eye,
rings on her toes
& a half moon
under each nip,
hardened
as I sipped
from her cup.

Oft I think of
that older woman,
she taught me so many
wonderful things,
all kinds of acts.
Like how to rock a world,
curl toes & coat the walls,
scramble eggs,
fill a lady up
with tender love.

Well, they're more acts
than those I listed above,
but you do catch my drift.

And the more
I think about her,
the more I realize,
she
was a skilled-pro,
me
a naive innocent,
a willing partner
who didn't know ****
with eyes wide open.

Zace crooned something
about rocking her gypsy soul,
back in the days of old.
I get it man.
I get it you rocking crooner,
I feel as free
as I'll ever be.
And I feel that way,
everytime
I rock her soul.
She's that hot.
Thanks Zac.

We're going to get out of here,
one way or another we're gong to make it,
so there's really no reason to feel so much dread,
there's an incredible universe surrounding us,
everything is right here at our fingertips,
at our perusal to enjoy.

There are angels here.
Dark ones & those who seek light.
I know that sounds far-out,
seems rather trippy,
way too bizarre, but
we've just gotta believe
there's some purpose to
all of this craziness,
these broken hearts,
our personal dilemmas,
otherwise we're just
spinning our wheels,
treading deep water,
running in mundane places,
spitting in the sacred-wind.

After witnessing falling stars,
ghosts on the astral plane,
talking with zephyrs in outer space
& getting bitten by a vampire,
I'm convinced
there are celestial beings
watching over each of us.
Without giving away their secrets,
I get the feeling we're in good hands.
I hope so.