I've traveled through outer space,
sat buckled to the seat,
daydreamed
with aliens all around.

The outside domain was a blur,
I rode supersonic steel
knifing lush countryside
between chasms
of skyscraper structures.

I tried to decipher
the language of such folk,
who seemed unfazed by my jokes.

Their gaze, the same slant,
followed my every move,
I felt like an un-caged freak,
myself an alien
in a future-world
riding bullets.

Minutes turn into hours
when I contemplate,
recalling
vivid memories
swirling out of the past,
what some label
the good old days.
But, what about the nights.

They were never truly
meant to last,
proving-grounds,
stored banks of the good times
& the bad.
Such tough realizations
dissipate into the melancholy.

And, if we could go back,
would we really change a thing?
For, we can never recreate the wheel,
it's already been done
& it's perfect.

In fact,
we're all perfect,
molded from clay,
washed with grit.
******,
pattern recognition
never felt so good.

Your sweet fragrance uncoils around me
like a hooded cobra,
jolting my senses
& it reminds me of your own.
Yours blew me away,
& I am lost in the smell
of your delicious musk,
titillating my taste buds,
I'm still thirsting.

It's a little known fact,
but true.
Jean-Luc Picard
grew up believing in Yoda.
Ever since he saw the little fella
in Star Wars, he's kept a picture of him
in his Star Trek wallet.
And if people knew that,
the ratings would
have been higher
for Star Trek,
'cause everybody loves Yoda.

Interestingly,
when the Apollo program
kicked off in the 60's,
Yoda hadn't even hit
the movie screens yet.
Too bad,
those early astronauts
would have loved
to have had a mascot!
Everybody knows,
space travelers
have to believe in someone.
It's just great universal karma!

I am solidly in love
with the dark
& as I lay here alone,
I am finding
other revelations
to convince me 'tis true.

I think about you constantly
in this heightened state,
kissing the pitch,
while satisfying this itch
to a conclusion.

IPA's & rocking
to custard pie,
bellies full of blue crab
& cheesecake.

Like ***,
what else
does anybody need,
a night like this
is to die for.

Wipe that lipstick
off your cheeks,
it's hiding
your pretty face
& your sweet grace,
your  crying
lying eyes.

She grew up near cornfields
& rolling fields of wheat,
a serious dreamer.
During the Summers,
she'd sit out on the back porch
to watch the sun set
with her constellation guide.
She did the same thing in Autumn,
the Winter & Springs, too.
And one day, she just disappeared.
Some people say she joined
the Gemini twins,
others say,
she's somewhere
beyond Perseus.
I believe she rose like a Phoenix
and hides within Virgo.
But in reality,
nobody really knows
where dreamer girls go.

It was a place
without freedom,
that place down the hall,
a land of the almighty & rich,
befallen petroleum *******
******* their ***** dry
& the wind cries
for justice,
not lies.

Melody plays in my mind,
my imagination undulates
inside these red walls,
the chimes clink,
strong vibrations permeate
my skin and bones,
a sitar shakes my very soul.

I see your precious lips,
hear ancient chants,
feel your luscious skin
& listen to your heart beat
the deepest percussion,
such a soothing sound.

And if once,
if just once,
I could kiss your spirit,
we could fly forever
between the magic,
the twinkling of
the infinite stars,
swimming
in the Heavens
above us.

We walked dead
with blistered feet
up into darkness,
straight into
a freezing-monsoon.

The next day,
we awoke by noon,
our bodies strung out
on the saddle felt the tremors.

Sometime during the night,
the volcano had erupted,
coating us with ash and ice.

It reminded me like a Sunday,
but it was actually Monday,
not an Armageddon.

I loved Becky,
she had an infected heart,
four piercings in each ear
& bigger ***** than most guys.
She was more honest too.
Her daddy started banging her at six
& mother picked up tricks to make ends meet.
I could trust her.
Any girl who could survive that **** intact
was good in my book.
And besides, I was crazy about scorpion tattoos.

I hung a crusader coin
around my neck
in a custom
silver setting.

Thirteen hundred years
have passed
from Antioch to here.

The head of
the helmeted
mailed- knight is
in perfect relief,
the Celtic-cross intact.

It has no special powers,
it's just a memory
of religious-brutality,
now hanging silent.

Something about
these hotel AC's,
they lie in such close proximity
& seem engineered to produce
near-Arctic temperatures.
So cold,
so freezing,
and one like me,
so relaxed,
lying under
a mountain of quilts,
feels too lazy,
so unable to get up,
to move through frigid-air,
to adjust a thermostat
that seems perpetually broken,
& stuck on just one setting,
sub-zero.

In her own words,
I imagined how nice
it would be between her & me.

Such a scenario is indeed,
delicious to contemplate.
Soft-sunlight peers in
from under bamboo blinds,
intertwined candles
burn from the previous night,
we do not fight our fiery-intentions.

Her precious body lies under me,
I feel her chest on mine,
grip her sweet lady-hips
fully engaged,
move rhythmic & with gentle care,
melodic.

As she arches her back,
I discover her soul,
release within her,
flow warmth as she shudders,
me growling low,
whispering her name,
she sighs contentment,
holds tighter,
I feel her move.

We collapse enraptured,
kiss, hug, squeeze,
inhale each other,
then continue on to our slumber,
me inside of her still,
both satiated.

The fire was raging,
blazing coals sparked,
spiraled upward
into the Heavens.
We drank sweet wine,
danced like devils
intoxicated on life,
away from
the madness of the rat race,
our smiling faces
treaded sacred ground.

My dear lady,
how I miss the reflection
of a billion stars,
beaming at me
through your tasty-eyes,
the pair that seduced me,
took me down in your hellfire.

Cheap plastic
smelly rubber
dead batteries
turn me on honey
I ain't no fake

Millions are made
off the misery of others
& there is no cure in sight.
The system just reloads,
rakes in the hard earned dollars
of real people
who they say
have no rights.
And who are they,
but the high & mighty
magistrates,
sitting high in the pulpit,
hitting happy hour
before they drive back home
after a hard day's work
playing hypocrite.

She speaks five languages
& works her *** off
in an eatery
buttering croissants.
A single mom of three,
she still has the spirit to
smile like a summer sun.
What a pretty sight,
there's no wallowing in
the mire for this waitress,
she's still got fire
& no time for *******,
'cause she's making it happen
on her own terms.

Combination of
Corn syrup, eggs, vanilla
butter and pecans

I'm steel.
Cold & hard.
Honed by the hottest-fires,
tempered with much
broken-hearted pain,
I've tasted rain.

I've traveled passion-dunes,
scaled love-mountains,
crawled in sensuous-mire,
wearing my scars like a hero,
a tireless crusader,
lonely & blue,
I'm someone who knows
about weakness.

Do you ever wonder what it would be like
to lose your nuts in the desert,
witness your body
explode
in a pink cloud of goo
& wake up from a coma
missing not one,
but both ******* legs.
I often think about
how hard it would be
to balance on metal legs ball-less,
Then suddenly,
after short contemplation,
my **** doesn't seem so bad after all.
At least I can run
without toppling,
jump
without losing a leg,
and still have kids
balling.

I got lost in her tattoos.
Do you see me there,
lying
right next to the vicious tiger,
just down from the crescent moon,
around the corner from her butterfly.
And if you can't read her runes,
that's alright,
she's an inked Gemini,
born in June,
full of fire,
not a liar.

Dazzling brilliance
Lotus embraces heavens
One with universe

The frail nature of the soul
makes for confused company,
especially in
a world of moving fingertips
clicking precious-time away.

Passions run deep &
our minds travel
in nanoseconds,
we grasp glimpses
of each others worlds
on the dark side of the moon.

Yet, we still remain
a million miles away,
trapped in cyberspace,
endlessly flowing.

We forget
the contact,
the touch of our lips,
those loving-arms
embraced around our hearts,
human reactions,
only to remember
genuine frustration,
continual loneliness
& isolation.

Seems forever we look
for super nova,
remaining hardwired,
inspired.

And hopefully,
we never lose
faith,
hope or love
traveling like this,
missing kisses.

Crystal azure beads
of collective DNA,
she wrapped herself
in trademark-mink
& dwelled in Helsinki
doing the Bond-thing.

She hugged the circle
with Velcro-fingers,
stood larch-tall, singing
a frozen siren's song
under the midnight sun.

And beneath her cold exterior,
was the warmth
of a million fireballs.

It's not like eggs frying,
this drug,
my mind,
& your mind is
a terrible thing to waste
& my thoughts,
my warm thoughts
stream into you,
sizzling
& crackling
& you feel,
you feel electronic.

I shoot meterorites
across the darkness,
found here
in my space!

Can you smell me,
the raw
burning ozone,
streaking,
flying
through
this empty place?
Can you.

In the morning,
she spins
circles around me
like a small child
gleeful.

At noon,
she's drunk on life,
swooning love.

And by suppertime,
she's strung out,
overdosed on
the sacredness
of another day.

Oranges & reds
crack the eastern skies
to greet the red-tailed hawk,
coffee brewing.

O those dogwoods thrill!

A fawn frolics with her doe
& every shade of jade
drops dew
as cottontails hop
amongst the deserted
moonshine still
in love.

I am
in Appalachia.

I'd love to take this beast home,
I could drive over anything,
knock down trees,
blow like the breeze
through concrete.

In fact,
I could destroy
the whole town
with one of these
& a Ma Deuce.

Think about it,
leaving tracks all over
the rival schoolyard
would be trick,
but really,
what kind of a *******
would bring home an APC?

There’s a place I go
once the Cheshire
has played out the charade,
smiled their last smile.

I crawl deep inside there,
to hear the tick of my own heart,
it makes me feel real again,
gives me time to breathe,
to move away from the melodrama
when smiling cats misbehave,
where I save myself
from transparent charms.

Of course,
none of us ever
really mean any harm,
it’s just human nature.
It’s okay kitty kitty,
I’m a big dog.

On a Pan American traverse,
we skirted across the Altiplano
somewhere near Titicaca,
worked our way
through the chicken bus line
up to the lone road stop.
A mere shack
with government thugs
hiding inside,
suits wearing ray bans
& checking tourist-bags,
as if they were
making a difference
with the war on drugs.

Like warm
Jello shots
covering all spaces,
traces of me
on your pretty face,
licorice
imaginations
so tasty,
you're smiling.

She had a pink unicorn tat
running in a trail of pixie-stardust,
emblazed on her upper left shoulder.
Despite the ravages
up and down
her scarred arms,
she still kept the eyes
of a newborn doe.
Wide and brilliant,
but dimmed when
she rode the horse.
I cried all my reserves
when I heard
she crossed over
to the land of fantasy,
the resting place
for single-horned
animal lovers.
In no way,
did that sweet
little
dear girl
deserve such
a tragic ending.
Strangely now,
I shiver
when I look up
at the million twinkling stars,
I think of Becky
and her sad beginning.

I walked through the rubble,
shattered cars
& the smell of burning rubber,
passing out gum
& cigarettes
to the urchins
trailing behind me
& I thought,
what an *******,
like this is going to help.

Who doesn't remember Tony Lama
& those flashy pearl buttons,
cruisin' down the streets in torn jeans,
shirts unbuttoned to flat-navels
revealing sprouting chest hairs.

The disco ball twirled dance-magic,
along with the beach sounds
of sweet soothing melodies,
the ones that made you want
to sunbath covered
in Banana Boat oil.

A little bit of grease
went a long ways,
while warring with stars,
we got drunk in the bars,
sometimes got lucky in our cars
dreaming of better days
that weren't too great after all.

I miss those simple dates,
the ones without
immediate gratification
based on
the grand designs of
computer-aged
mobility.

And in my slumber,
I crave
the taste
of your delicious lips,
traces of me
on your strawberry tips
& your sweet nectar,
oh, the
thought of
licking
your sweet nectar
arouses me &
keeps me up,
all night.

I see the full moon beginning to rise.
Crap.
This stuff is getting old.
I'm ruining my clothes
every thirty days.
It's getting riskier,
the people in town
are always chasing me
with torches,
shooting at me
with silver bullets.
One by one,
pretty women
are disappearing,
occasionally a small boy.
They are using hounds now.
One of these days,
they're going to bag me.

Under the darkening heavens,
cool winds endlessly blow
across the Nile,
between the sacred pyramids,
the sphinx lies in silence,
a testament to wealth & power.

Standing alone, I witness
the spectacular setting of the sun.
Ancient voices hum eternal tunes,
seemingly lost forever in
the mysteries of the universe.

At once I am overwhelmed,
feel a true connectedness with
Pharoahs & the countless stars,
twinkling their message
under endless dunes.

I ran back
down to Piccadilly Square
just to get a closer look
at that doll baby.

She rambled by so quickly in
striped red & white stockings,
her lemon yellow
draped her shoulders,
bouncing like springs,
like her gorgeous *******
& that sweet ****-tune.

She had vibrant graffiti
sprayed on her arms,
wore come-do-me ruby stilettos
as she glided like a storm trooper
along the promenade.

Her blackened full lips puckered,
with slanted paparazzi shades,
leaving a wake of open-mouthed
wide-eyed gawkers speechless.

Man, she was tough,
a rare cool bird,
struttin' her pretty
hot stuff,
it left me breathless.

Another session greets
me for another
beautiful day.

I flow effortlessly,
from one
position
into another,
breathing prana,
in and out,
my hips reach
toward the heavens
into a nirvana-state,
rock hard & perspiring,
I am connected
to the sacredness
of other kindred spirits
engaged in similar activities,
a million miles away,
in their own sacred places,
exploding.

Are we stupid or what?
Who needs education
when these governments
do all of our thinking for us!

We need to dismantle
the whole apparatus,
piece by piece,
cryptically of course.

We don't want to
disturb big brother,
do we geniuses!?

We are royalty,
common kings & queens,
birthed in our humanity,
breathing the same molecules
as did the Caesars
& forever
we will kiss
Cleopatra,
our eternal kin.

No silver spoon fed my mouth,
it was something different.

The school of hard knocks
rapped on my head &
I worked
my tail
off to get my gold.

And despite the glitz,
all this glamor,
there’s still
something missing
that's killing me.

Stella had a pentagram etched
across her pert chest,
her jet hair
accentuated
her icy blues,
she walked twisting the heads
of the forsaken,
she was black magic,
all the way.
Satan has all the spellbinding girls.

Word conundrums
Vertical Horizontal
O Arthur Wynne!

Raindrops pelted the lush ferns
in a melody meant to soothe,
the babbling brook added
percussion to the crows overhead
as I crossed over the fallen log
& heard the bullfrogs
kissing wood spirits.

She was one tough chick
& took chances,
especially in public places.
Flashing herself,
showing her vibrant ink,
all the colors of the rainbow
etched on her flat chest,
red hearts circled
her pink excitement.
And she was not
just another pretty face,
she was in fact,
a true diamond
in the rough.

It's a quiet sacred place,
deep in the oak hammocks,
way beyond the pine flatlands
& cabbage palms.
There I commune
with the crows
and the crickets.
And at night,
a bullfrog symphony plays.
The mosquitoes,
*****,
and armadillos
come out to play.
It remains sacred,
but is not nearly as quiet.