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

Once your fingers
showed me
your sweet pleasure.

The memory
haunted me,
beat me into
the submission
of your fickle ego.

But now
thankfully,
I am able to let go,
I count sheep
for excitement.

In the rare-silence
of his mountainside perch,
he contemplated all
the mysteries of the universe.

A million miles away
from peace and comfort,
he struggled
between duty &
the obvious sound of goat bells
down in the valley,
moving up,
a short-distance away.

For he knew,
nobody had a clue he was there,
a trained assassin waiting
in a death-lair
with only one mission,
not to let anyone pass alive.

The meaning of life
radiated in the birds
that swirled above him,
trapped in the heat waves
circling up
into the sunlight.

And death
was in his implement,
aimed on the pathway.
He was the ruler of the day
the devil of the night,
fighting his judgement.

Concealed,
he sat listening,
beads of sweat rolled
down his temples
as the silence
slowly disappeared &
the tinkling
got louder.

Hell was moments away,
he took a deep breath,
closed his eyes &
prayed for forgiveness,

I spotted him in the marketplace,
he was tugging at my pockets
while wallowing
through the *****-mire
riding a wheeled-plank.
He was missing his limbs,
wore a tattered wife-beater shirt,
sores pockmarked his face
& he only had one tooth,
but his smile was infectious,
he had a friendlier spirit than
most people with two legs.

I thank God
he reminded me
about my good fortune.

We passed the precious stone
at lunch hour,
great buds all of us,
young ******* cowboys
flipping birds to those
authority figures in blue,
we called them the men.

We knew we had the power,
lizard kings
with strong lungs,
filled with
the burning stick.

They called us
real quick studies,
banging heads
& knocking boots
of a few cute ones.

The beautiful  peace pipe
made its rounds
& we inhaled deeply
to find
the true meaning of life
as we knew it.

Whiskey & tequila
on the rocks
were our
second & third choices,
that made us cocksure,
but the ****** made us mad,
just like those eggs
seen on the tellie
frying in a cast iron pan.

Thick magical-smoke
uncoiled around us
like cobras
& with their venom
coursing through our veins,
we cruised across
glimmering shades of azure
in the noonday sun,
jamming to Lizzy,
crooning loud
about
our jailbreak.

You lie to yourself
when you lie to me constantly
Lies beget liars

I'm going to stop today,
stop crafting,
trying to connect the dots
between heaven & hell.
For there is no comfort,
no comfort in finding
answers to the inexplicable.
Mountains exist for a reason.

Glued to sticky sheets,
I lay here terrified,
covered in a thick sheen of sweat
& trembling at the very thought
of stepping down.

I wear a huge frown
with my eyes clenched tight,
fighting the urge to laugh
maniacally or even giggle.
Because there's not a **** thing
funny about this serious dilemma.
I am not in the least bit curious
to get up and move either,
not gonna wiggle a single toe.

Oh yeah, you're a brave one alright.
What do you know about their behavior?
Are you my savior?
I'm not taking any chances...
You'd lie here too
if you had
a killer clown
under your bed.

He was hideous,
ugly as hell,
& a little bit slow!

But can you blame him?

Once bitten,
he couldn't help himself,
he was smitten!

And it cost him his life!

You are left here
all alone & bitter,
feel used up,
by those
who bewitched you
with promises of forever,
who took intimate-liberties
& who's to know
the result
of sudden karma?

Certainly Dear Child,
nothing lasts that long,
even swan songs
sung in hell
have an ending.

The pulpit is a lonely place,
at a height just below
the nosebleed level.
It's very similar to the bench,
where white-wigged
robed-people
hand out sentences
to the so-called vermin.

I love them,
the stereo-typed
lowlifes of the world
who struggle with conformity,
who know about scraped knees
& broken hearts,
who are forever tainted,
scribbling.

You see, a life
sheltered by power
is way too antiseptic
for a lowly person like me.
I'd rather be a human contaminant,
than a holder of the clean tissue,
they understand nothing,
while we bleed out love
through our noses.

I know
how she is
lying there,
lying to herself
because she told me.

And I know
how she feels,
how she felt
beneath me,
taking all of me
to quench her fever.

And she
can
suppress,
attempt
to hide it
all she wants.

But kindred spirits
with passions
running
as deep as ours
know
hungry animals
can never
be caged.

And I wish
she still wanted me,
the way,
the way
she used to...claw me.

I wear designer jeans
ripped at the knees,
sport inked sleeves,
brightly colored stories,
personal statements of
my own pain & happiness.

I love smoking twisties,
dreadlocks hang down
way past my shoulders,
the noise ring complements
my blue bandana
& tie-dyed Marley-T.

I see well through
these mirrored Oakley's,
the faces of those passing
me by with judgement
written on their faces.

And I want to scream,
"I'm more than
just a fashion statement,
I'm living flesh and bone
& I'm keeping it real!"

I need to speak
with the cobra,
lie with pigeon,
and get down
with a dog
to feel real again.

I am blown away
by your pretty face.
Your full lips remind me
of how kisses should be,
delicious.

Your lovely eyes glow,
they speak of magic,
throwing off sparks.

Heavy-hearted,
I dream of you
& pray for your spell,
one that brings love
my way.

I wait for something beautiful...

There is a certain beauty
found in silence, terror too.

No need to recreate
the wheel.

Just deal,
change things up a bit.

You'll spin better that way.

The hands of Father Time
seem relentless, he waits
for none of us.

With the coming of each season,
the millions of reasons to live
fade a little more, yet we
continue to fuss,
make excuses
to wallow in the mire.

It quenches our fire,
makes our souls more restless,
prone to wanderlust
& frustration,
a form of mental castration.

I want my ***** back
before I die lonely!

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.

She is covered in angel-skin
& her fragrance is of lilac.
I frolic playfully
in her open fields
& she yields
so willingly.

Whispering a siren's voice,
she hypnotizes me,
her taste of wildflower-honey
soothes my parched throat,
she emotes
pure love.

Her touch is dreamy,
I get lost in her grip,
her lips sizzle grace,
possesses a face
of rarest beauty
I kiss.

Pools of comfort
she does make
& I ache for her
constantly
to quench
my burning *****,
we are joined
at the hip.

You should see her,
Heaven from above
does exist
down
here on Earth.

O yes,
I confess
she is!

Inspiration comes
in many forms,
it can be stroked
from well-chosen words
or from clairvoyance,
vivid-images sent
across the moonbeams.

And cloaked in darkness,
I lie alone,
rising
to your sweet descriptions
of the morning sun,
certainly not obscene,
but dreamy-like.

Images of all shapes & sizes
comes into focus in
a melodramatic-way.
A damsel for sure.
The way she plays
does not require
beer-goggles.
It boggles
my hero-mind
the sheerness of
her beauty.
I do believe
it is genuine &
I am sober.

I tasted delicious honey
on her luscious-lips.

And now,
after drinking
so much vinegar,
I realize how sweet
she truly was.

She's intoxicating,
colorful & effervescent.
She makes me swirl,
takes me to faraway places,
heightens me into a dreamy state.

I get drunk on the wine
she pours from her mouth,
the blush on her cheeks
hypnotizes me into a frenzy.
She has pleasures only for me,
comforts me in her arms,
I bleed my faith
into her *****.

And I awaken,
soothed with her blissful-nature,
wrapped inside her sweet *****,
I clutch her pretty face,
tenderly kissing her rose-lips.

I am satisfied
with no hangover,
so inebriated on love,
her & me.

Sooner or later,
they go down in flames.
Once apostles
on the edge,
crazy-fingers
annihilating
electric lines of faith,
and we,
in our self-induced
afflicted states,
listened to every line
of their angst,
sang along,
full of love,
clapped to their beat.

Your voice is angelic
& Nightingale-like,
it soothes me
into a frenzied-state
of unimaginable pleasure.

The formation of your
sweet precious lips
& your spoken desires
makes me hotter
than a white fire.

I do not fight
the temptations
of your raw soul,
for I know
how you feel
deep inside,
with a mouthful
of your command.

It's simply exquisite
& you might say,
"Yes, it's absolutely delicious!"

My mind seems blank,
worn down
by the continuous use
of metaphor.

I'm unable to connect
any words
stanzas or verses
to describe
anything,
any state-of-being,
I feel nothing,
am totally
empty.

Some may call it
writer's block,
I call it death,
living in Hell.

She wears my camo hat &
my side knife on her leather belt.
A ribbon is worn in her hair & she likes denim jeans.
She loves patchouili & makes her own herbal soap.
We walk on the crystal sand & write our names in the surf.
She makes recipes from scratch & uses spices.
She's from the city & we sleep in the country.
We light candles in circles & burn strong incense.
We share intimate sensual-things & sleep 'till past midday.
We kiss each other sweetly & whisper nothings.
We do not know the day nor the month
& it does not really matter.

I painted the stars for company,
but without the twinkling,
they're not really real,
just a faint glow by sunrise.

Placed on mountaintops
made of ice
& melting under
the continuous rising sun,
eventually the single drop
reaches the sea
& like all of us,
we cry for freedom,
to brave the endless crests,
sojourners
tumbling in
a pool of raindrops,
only to evaporate,
only to do it
all over again.
Surely,
we are blessed.

Pablo used to tell me
stories about people
disappearing
in the middle of the night,
being ***** & pillaged,
cut up for body-parts.

And I used to think
he was just
a crazy old Latin man,
'till I perused
the ******
eyewitness accounts
of the horrors
he must have endured.

They left me reflective,
sickened
& wondering why
we think
we have it so rough.

You never make it easy on me
dear lady,
always smiling at me,
licking your lips at me
leaned up against the wall,
pointing your derriere at me,
you push aside
your expensive French lace,
begging me
to leave
a trace of me,
never pensive
for me.

Human bodies are soft tissue
meant to be ravished
by love,
covered with soft kisses,
(or) not to be
disfigured
by hate
& jagged shrapnel.

What if I got drunk,
****** out of my gourd,
decided to get stewed
on the cheapest whiskey,
throw myself
into oblivion
shooting smack,
poke my biggest vein,
inhale a pile of pink-flake,
the kind that
melts in your mouth
& you can't feel your tongue.
I might attack
my ****** soul
with ripe *****,
pop some dexies,
lick purple stars,
then go
whacked outside,
into the salt breezes
driving my beat up Rambler-car.
I could pipe my distaste
for this messy
robot-establishment,
tell them how it is,
these control freaks
trying to run our mean streets.
I could spew it to them in rhyme,
write free flow verses
about starry night skies
& our misplaced loves,
the agony of
our cracked
bleeding hearts.
Indeed fellow trippers,
I could show them
the danger in my eye,
cry for the sympathetic wolf,
flip a few Molotov cocktails.
But whatever I do,
you must believe me,
you wonderful people
& you sober-minded drones,
I have seen the light
from the bottom
of the abyss
& it ain't pretty,
it't ain't pretty,
doped up,
living a ******-up
life on the edge.

The crows cawed to us
through the ancient-forest,
a chilling revelation.
As icy-mist settled on the lush green,
you disappeared into the blackness,
traces of your fragrance trailed
behind you in waves.

I screamed in desperation,
I can’t be alone,
I can’t leave you
like me
pained,
paying dues
from the beginning
of our childhood memories.

I fell to my knees,
cried for you,
you are my only love
Darling,
save me,
I’m not asking for anything from you,
my fingers are raised in a V,
peace come back to me…

It blends in perfectly
& only a trained eye can spot it,
the distinctive configuration.

In some places,
it grows like wildfire
& it will remind you
viciously
for not paying
closer attention.

The same is true
in the animal kingdom,
especially amongst humans,
'cause some people are hellbent
on your ruination.

I took nine shots of whiskey
& a sip of *****
to get to this place,
the dark side of sobriety
& over here
I'm ******* righteous,
'cause I'm a lizard king,
dizzy as a spinning top
& I can do anything
when I'm
lying,
dead drunk.

When I get done,
my baby's salty-sweet,
she runs her fingers
through my hair,
I savor,
we crave
each moment
our lips meet,
it takes us there.

I miss walking
between the crags,
sitting high on the moraine
& feeling the rush of icy-wind
kissing me from the blue-crevasse.

I miss counting the stars
& being able to touch them,
hearing the rumbling sound
of an avalanche echo off
the big valley walls.

I miss the smell of sulphur
blowing up from
the depths
of a living-caldera
& the touch of penintentes
rising from the glacier,
evergreens in winter.

For in those moments,
you really feel alive
& it's not electronic,
it's real nature.

Jesus, another freaking
fifteen-mile road march,
why'd I have to lift weights,
put on this extra muscle!?

Oh sure, he's strong enough Sir,
he can handle it!

Give him the machine gun &
that 22 extra pounds of belted-ammo.

He's a tough guy,
gonna make a fine gunner.

And just think,
in a fire fight,
the enemy will
be gunning for him first!

Oh,  he's gonna be alright Sir,
with all that extra muscle,
he'll put up
one helluva fight!

Just my luck,
I wished I had stayed skinny,
those guys have loads of army-fun
just peeling potatoes.

When she sings,
I imagine
walking through
orchards of apple trees.
Do you know what that's like?
It's delicious,
how she moves her lips
in perfect harmony.
Oh, it takes my breath away.

Every now and then a smell comes my way,
a whiff from another time blasts my senses
reminding me in a vivid olfactory way,
how some things used to be.

From cigarettes to cotton candy,
road **** to patchouli,
campfires to Acqua de gioia,
fresh summer rain
to nearby lightning,
bacon to honey,
the memories unfold,
telling me I'm a little bit older,
but I'm not losing my mind,
seems my grey-cells are still intact.

I am ruled by Mars
& inspired by Venus,
love to lie in numeric- configurations,
it gives me a clear view of Heaven
while being engulfed in warm-suction.

Twisting petals & licking
my cobwebs off them
is a sweet treat, but it's
the Earth-shattering floods
that knock me off my feet,
blows me over the top,
makes me
never want to stop.

Breathe in the morning glow,
breathe out your inner flow,
feel each sacred-breath,
trickling throughout
your inner core.

O how I imagine you,
intertwining your soul
with mine.
Your fine-eyes
lost, floating
in another dimension
accentuated
by the sweet music
of our love sounds.

Pants & sighs,
liquids flowing
between our thighs,
feeding the hottest
fires of our hearts,
hidden desires no more,
when we think like this,
us,
kissing our dreams.

Feeling rather melancholy,
I walked a country mile yesterday.
Ants followed me stride for stride,
there was a rattlesnake hidden
off to the side, buzzing his fair warning.
Up ahead, rabbits frolicked on the path
with the meadowlarks calling.
A gentle rain fell on the ground
all around me with the sound of
distant thunder,
I cried,
surrounded by the bucolic,
a soft-breeze tussled my hair
& no longer sad.

We lay motionless,
restless,
contemplating every single step,
entombed in our
forty-degree-below-zero cocoons,
praying for midnight to arrive.
Some call it the witching hour,
but not us,
my compadres,
we call it the ******* hour,
like why couldn't we all be home
in a big comfy bed
instead of lying on hard rock.
But I guess it's why we love hell,
the view at the top
is worth
every headache,
every nosebleed,
every bowl of victory chicken soup.

The silence of
the early morning forest
was broken by her,
leaning au naturel
over the balcony railing
counting the dew drops
& him standing
behind her,
gripping her pulsing-hips
& whispering sweet nothings.

Master Samurai
grimaces palefaced
& rows
toward me
over the blue *****,
bringing
his thunder.

Mister Tiger
grins toothy
& saunters
toward me
down the rocks
wearing his
pin-striped-camo.

Magical Red Dragon
grits his fangs
& floats
toward me
through
the grey clouds,
clutching vengeance.

Sweet Miss Butterfly,
with her brilliant blue
winged-coat,
*****
her iridescence
in a stream,
all over
my sweaty face.

I am surrounded by power,
I have no worries here,
I am the king of down dog.

I waited for the satellite
to hurtle itself above me
before I could make the call.

Winds swept
across the lip of the glacier
driving ice chips & rock grains
into my exposed frozen-face.

With ungloved fingers,
I dialed direct
to another continent,
heard the rings,
then the pick-up.

The reception was clear,
giving me
45 seconds of converstion
before the icon
disappeared
along with your voice.

I barely had enough time
to say I was okay
before you
were gone again.

The boy was so much fun,
always smiling,
piling on the jokes
& he toked,
truly loved the ladies.

But sadly,
he's no longer with us.
Heath was taken out by a drunk
in the lone star state
just sitting on his Hayabusa,
a hit-and-run
at 2am,
it was as tragic.

Some say he had
a date with the devil,
but methinks he's playing
peekaboo with a blind squirrel
with all the angels,
still spinning his magic
above.