The bird feeder is quiet this morning
& there's a pile of fresh feathers
lying below.
I guess Tom Cat is at it again,
up to his same old tricks.

Come komodo,
unleash your ancient ways,
teach me lightning moves,
let me feel the sting of your bite
& the pain of your claws,
make me your disciple,
come komodo.

The ground rumbles like thunder,
as supersonic streamers
break the barrier.
The sound of small arms fire
buzzsaws,
heralding the beginning of hell
& somewhere in the rubble,
covered in thick dust
are the little ones.
with their eyes stretched
the size of saucers,
peeking out in wonder,
wondering when
the grown-ups
will.

I am in a world of imposters,
they sit right next to me,
smile & shake my hand
with sweaty palms,
shifty eyes watch me
& I see their serpent tongues
in between their bites,
during our lunch break,
those fakers.

I drank moonlight late last night,
got lost on her blue seas,
climbed all over
her mountains,
slipped inside
her perfect crater
& visited her dark side
for hours.
She's so powerful.
I do believe,
this is the sweetest hangover
I've ever had.

You held me close,
confided in me,
exposed yourself
& told me
you were diseased
& I dissed you.

Christ,
you're the one
I should have kept.
I miss you're honesty
& warm kisses,
you.

Anejo shots started
a tempest swirling,
locomotive-steps winding
under the spinning-lights,
faces poked in and out
of the crowd of crazed-pagans,
undulating in sweat,
nicotine-breath & tequila,
dreams of freedom.

Lupita hollered her name
like all the rest with
the same name,
phantom-dancers
squeezing each other
for romance,
before the stars settled,
the sun rose on the zona
of broken-roses.

We ran down the beach
naked
hand in hand
& into the surf
we connected
under the stars.

Nothing but
our quicked-breathing
was heard
& the sound of the waves
demolishing our footprints.

It's one of the saddest things
I can remember.
So many AK's
put together
with duct tape
and held by
such young human-hands.
They looked like broken toys
gripped by young boys,
broken too.

I spent my days
floating
on warm summer breezes,
fluttering
through winter winds,
circling the sacred trees,
and now,
flying
on tattered wings,
I go West,
to die in the shadows
of the setting sun,
free at last.

I’ve danced with the devil
all of my life,
made black-magic,
brushed up against incantations
that would curl your toes.

I’ve run naked in
human-chains,
circled the blazing pyre in ritual,
slaughtered shame
with an arrow
tipped in deadly-poison.

I’ve burnt endless
pentagrams of candles,
thrown my sandals into the abyss,
kissed Pan himself
with all his nymphs,
sang primordial hymns.

I’ve done those things
and so much more
ancient lore,
best kept secret.

I am adrift,
lost in a myriad of thoughts,
I have that wanderlust,
a case of the traveling,-bone.
I think I need a little bit a vino,
& a hunk of bread.
Perhaps, a walk
in the countryside
will do me some good.

So just for the hell of it,
I think I'll visit France,
that's where I'll go,
leave home for awhile,
get out of Dodge.

Yes, I think I'll visit France,
maybe I'll find
some good
old-fashioned romance, too.
Au revoir!

O the words you pen,
so intoxicating
the selections you make
& the contrived patterns
you write
are certainly
meant to stimulate,
to peak the very senses!

O pray tell
my sweet lady poet,
you my dear friend,
is it possible to fall
without pheromones,
not for the ones on paper,
but for the genetic ones
created in the heavens above!?

Is all of this
intimate-diatribe
just a fantasy?

When
I'm in the cleansing-shower,
hot memories of you swirl.
My breath escapes me as
I hold your vision up
against the wall,
you lower yourself
in rhythm on me,
a dreamy motion,
indeed, this craving
to seed you
is intense.

My hand searches myself,
a firm grip applied,
imagining your
fiery steady tempo.
Water splashes
in huge droplets,
a cascade
on my taut back,
my ******* go granite
as a warmth floods
over me .

My knees crumble
as I empty myself
into your pure spirit
& watch us
breathless,
go down the drain
together.

Lucy was majorly bummed,
looked seriously glum,
said her Daddy had taken
her T-Bird away,
wasn’t have much fun
anymore.

I said, “Are you freaking kidding me girl,
clearly you could buy a ‘Vette
& have just as much fun!”

Then she smiled with
that Lucy-gorgeous-smile
& replied,
”**** straight Jonny,
think I’ll head down to the dealership,
check thinks out,
there ain’t no way
Daddy’s gonna rain on my parade!”

Millions meet
without greetings,
shuttling to & fro,
destinations unknown,
day after day,
night after night
departing & arriving,
cubicles,
seat upon seat,
sore feet
& tired eyes,
circadian.

You sat above me,
smothering me
with your sweet-affections.

All I could see
was your belly button ring
& hardened tips
moving in a tasty rhythm.

I heard you sighing,
singing my praises
in three part harmony,
gushing your love
inside me.

A chill gripped me this gray winter morn,
felt icy winds born in primordial forests
bringing a deadly-stillness.

Slowly,
slowly,
slowly
I walked up dead planks,
passed my smiling gargoyle,
crunching piles
of crinkled brown leaves
littering my way.

I smiled into the yellow haze of the rising sun,
watched squirrels run circles
on ancient trunks,
enticing the jays
screaming their dismay
above the din of trickling
fountain-waters.

The moment reminded me
of a gurgling mountain brook
& the time your gentle sweet caress
warmed my heart on a similar winter morn.

We both knew it was wrong,
so risque,
but we did it anyways.
I want more.
Just say when,
darling.

Nothing is better
nor as sweet as
strawberry shortcake.
Its sugary coating
covers my tongue
with succulent flavors
while its slices of fruit
explode in a
wholesome taste
inside my mouth
and the cake
crumbles into
a hundred pieces
all over my face.
Nothing is better
nor as sweet.

She's not a big city girl,
lives just outside it
on the outskirts,
where living
them slickers say
is not as tough
as the mean streets.

But she can skin a ****,
bale hay all day long &
knock a bottle off at 40 yards.
I saw her once run
up a thousand granite stairs
like an Olympic runner
& she picks tomatoes
by the bushel.

And at night,
when the moonlight
comes around,
I can smell her sweet cornbread,
she feeds me just right,
tames the beast in me
& that ain't easy townies.

O Sunshine,
you were simply amazing,
that was incredible,
star-making material,
I'm on top of the world!

O Honey,
you are one in a million,
I don't know how to thank you,
sweet sweet sweetest lady,
I can kiss you some more!

O Sugar,
you're going away,
you've got nothing to say,
you're in hiding, you don't want to play?
I'm really gonna miss you!

O Darling,
why so silent?
Please don't be afraid,
you're going to make me cry,
it's killing me inside,
I'm going to die!

L-shaped secrets
can deadly,
especially at night
when the villages
appear empty
& things
seem too quiet.

Every time
I hear of one more,
it reminds me of my grandmother,
lost deep inside the bottle,
she whittled away to nothing
& died from an exploding liver.

Sadly for us, just another
born-again ******.

Thousands swirl
sending signals,
garbled-voices taking pictures,
criss-crossing above us,
jockeying for position.

In our efforts
to rule the universe,
we've even junked up space,
it's a wonder
we can still
see the sun & blue skies,
or the face of the moon
between the stars.

I'm going to punch that ******* out,
for his well-constructed dribble,
for giving me
this perpetual
maddening-inspiration.

O sweet Jesus,
what about loving your neighbor,
surely you jest comrade?

But I do confess,
every time I want to let it go,
the ******* reels me back in
to this solitary place,
this place
to tell a story,
to spill my guts,
to let my heart
all hang out
& bleed,
bleed stardust
kisses
& ******* puppy dog tails.

I want a piece of Jack.

O Sweet Baby,
lying there
with you sheets
all in a bunch,
clutching your pillow,
let yourself go.

O Darling,
envision me,
my loving-eyes
meeting yours
as you imagine
the sensual-acts
we liked
to do.

O Sugar,
I was once
your huckleberry,
your sweet loving man,
explode in my memory.

I hate myself
when I break my diet,
put my hand into the cookie jar.
But if I hide them,
I go hungry.

Nag champa burning
Down dogs climbing high mountains
My inner spirit

The sun went down hours ago
& it took forever for the moon to rise
on his little part of the world.
He heard the cries of the fallen,
those destitute of hope,
he saw their hidden glory,
the beauty of their heart,
he knows about pain,
his he felt.

It is indeed cold,
no breeze blows &
a stillness has settled,
the starless night awaits him.
Long and hard he has thought
about the meaning of allegory,
wondering about truth,
the changing of the tides.
No longer is he in need,
to hide is to show weakness,
kindness is his strength,
he shall not want again.

He has packed his bags for the journey,
there will be no more dedications,
the silence invites him,
comforts him,
he's not coming back.

There were no friends there,
everything was an illusion,
the kinship topical.
He figures to move south,
embrace the subtropical,
fish the shoreline,
nobody will miss him
or even kiss
the ground he walks on.

He's good with that.

He was once
a happy-go-lucky guy,
had a  huge smile that
stretched the universe,
forever he embraced
whatever came his way
positively.
But somewhere
something changed.

Some say
he left his heart
in Helmand province,
& when I saw him last week,
he looked seriously tweaked
with that thousand yard stare.
It convinced me.

He was alone,
unable to breathe
& nobody heard
the pop of his last balloon.

Unknown people floated by,
never once looking down
to see him fizzle out.

Cars honked
under a light drizzle
& gray sky.

Life is simple that way,
it  just goes
on & on & on,
people think
they're going
to live forever.

The crickets sound livelier
this morning,
they fill my mind with wonder.

I love the freedom of the wind,
the awakening of the morning star,
splintering the sky with red.

She was the life of every single party,
laughing,
twirling,
singing,
floating like a butterfly with dilated pupils.

Sometimes she’d freak out,
sweat like a pig crying,
say she saw the music,
hear the color red  & *****.
It always matched her tie dyes.

I never really liked
the taste of tequila
or the soft bloated-worms
drowned
at the bottom
of the empty bottle.

In fact,
anytime
I found trouble,
it was under the reason
I liked it,
it made me forget things
I'd rather not remember.

I saw lightning
& heard the thunder
& all I got was a cool breeze,
rustling leaves & floating pine needles.

Hunkered down,
freezing in nylon
we spooned,
hugging one another,
inhaling our methane
& laughing,
as gale-winds screamed
all around us,
the only sounds we heard,
high up on the cold shoulder.

Fern-laden trails
wind around up
under the chestnuts
next to babbling brooks,
to a special place
laced with magic,
the lookout where
ten million eyes have seen
the blue settle over the ridges,
& I hear the ghosts of canines
in my sweet memories crying,
barking into the gentle breezes
that once kissed our faces,
while your tongues lapped
the cool country air
& chased horse flies.

I dreamt last night,
sometime in the wee hours,
about cherry marmalade.
How I'd like
to have had it
spread all over my face,
from chin to forehead,
covering both of my lips.
When I suddenly awoke
breathless,
I thought  how'd I've used
my tongue and fingers
to get every last
tasty morsel
of a dessert like that,
even in my dreams.

He joined another list
of wannabees.

Now shifting his
focus on the path that lay ahead,
he got up from the twisted sheets
that covered his solo-bed,
walked mummy-like
to his cracked porcelain-sink,
faucet dripping.

He'd seen it before,
he'd seen it in the thousand yard stare
looking back at him, wryly-grinning
in the early morning gray-glow,
heart-stopping.

And he whispered,
lip-synched these words
between another cycle of dry tears,
"Ain't nothing new boy,
I know all about pain."

The tune is strangely melodic
sitting here
inside the burning candles,
this pentagram.
And around me,
I see them,
in full splendour,
a dozen or more
dancing nymphs,
******* swinging,
dripping madness
from between
their parted-thighs
conjuring Eros.
I sit engorged
to finish
the supper
they have laid
before for me,
these tasty morsels.

Some places are meant to stay sacred,
like this one, hidden from the rest.

We sunk deeper in swirling volcanic-waters,
staring at the twinkling-milk splashed across the chilled-sky,
wondering about the birth of the universe.

Strange, how no one exists on the top of the world.
High on the altiplano, we saw the headlamps
of one lone trucker pass in seventeen days.

I still wonder if he might have been an alien,
like us, just passing through to the next galaxy.

Some places are meant to stay sacred,
like this one, hidden from the rest.

It was in a sweat lodge once,
you and me sat
deep in the middle
of the ancient forest.
Surrounded by pine trees
& lying in the *****
of our Earth Mother,
we received our sacred names
from the medicine man.
Yes it was true.
Together on a personal journey
& seeking knowledge,
we rode the good Red Road
into bliss.

You became
Miss Hummingbird
& me Mister Bee
& we saw the way
inside the burning fire.
Our desire was escalated
as more water smothered,
stoked the coals
into swirling
hot-visions.

The primal-perspiration
streamed over
our loinclothed bodies,
wanton,
our breathing
became erratic.
And with them lifted,
you gladly received my nectar
from behind in copious amounts
screaming.
I filled your sweet sweet cup,
all the way up to the brim.

And it was there,
connected in the darkness,
we became lost
in a harvest moon dream
& we kissed
forever.

Okay okay,
it's really not that gory,
sounds, sounds
kind of like splitting watermelons.

We slipped down olive drab line
under deafening blades,
out
onto the ridgeline
into pitch
like lightning.

Then the hookers,
them stick *******
scooted,
leaving us
in total silence.

Three days
& two cracks later,
we got extracted,
two departed,
mission accomplished.

I kissed your pretty lips
on an old photograph
& though it wasn't real,
it felt that way, 'cause
I never really told you
how I truly
felt about you
until now
it's too late.

I don't care about the white granular stuff,
I just want to taste her pouty-lips,
she's acting real tough, but
I just know they're sweeter than cherry pie,
her eyes tell me so.

The demands you made
left me shaking,
quivering in my
hard nail boots.
You sunk me with
your cuteness
& turned my heart
inside out.

You  confused me,
gave it to me good,
then spit our wanton souls
back into my mouth
& once I tasted us,
I was never the same,
daydreaming
endlessly.

Perhaps
I'm a bit more insane,
drained of
my fiery-spirit,
forever spilling
thrilling words now.

Nevertheless,
I do confess,
I guess,
once a muse,
always a muse,
I'm wild & wooly
to jump your bones
again.

After six goblets,
the taste of Merlot
actually tastes like Beaujolais.
Unless of course
you're an expert
on wineolgy
& I'm not.
But I do like a glass or seven
every now and then.
The lights look weird now,
peoples eyes are amplified
& they are smoking abundantly.
Sadly, the only fresh air
around here
is six blocks away
in a roundabout
& I ain't crawling that far
to breathe
or even try to clear my head.
So I think
I'll keep my lonely-self
sitting right here at this quaint bar
and order me a glass of Chablis
that will probably taste like Merlot.
Sophie don't look too bad.

I am an arched dog
Stretching with the Universe
Becoming a God