I got skittish when the sun went down,
especially when there was a full moon.
There was no place to move,
you had to hide in the shadows.
That brings me back
to some bad memories.
Every time a pebble moved,
I felt my heart in my throat,
it was suffocating
& I longed for home,
prayed until I cried
that I wouldn't die
quietly.

O dear lady,
I traversed endless dunes
under the cloak of night
& braved scorching fields
sizzling in the daylight sun,
to get to you.

And if other souls
knew of your sweet charms,
they would do the same
& I pray I get there first.

My ears still ring
with memories
of grenade-sounds
& the reports
of automatic-rounds,
& I dream,
I pray,
they go away,
disappear someday.

It's never the end of the world,
at least,
not until the big-lady sings.
Things could always be worse.

I imagine how some people felt
who were awakened in the wee hours,
had their families loaded onto trains
for the overland journey
to those nasty oven-camps,
never to be seen again.

We've put people on the moon.
So I'm just gonna take one day at a time
& pray an asteroid doesn't hit us.
Now that would really ruin one's day.

I face the morning star,
bow each morning
praying,
praying fervently
alongside the mantis.

I hear him rub his feet,
it is the sweetest sound.

I face the falling sun,
bow at each dusk
praying,
praying religiously
alongside the crickets.

I hear them rub their feet,
it is the prettiest music.

Bitterness peels from your lips
like cracked paint,
chips of azure
falling into the winds
of lost hope,
you wail.

But it's alright to bleed pain
with angry words,
it's a way to cope,
a way to get back up
from this fight
we call life.

And I do pray for you sincerely.
I pray you find
a new coat
of brilliance,
find a beautiful color,
to make you shine again.

The alarm clock screams loudly,
seems so very angry,
so early in the morning,
but punching its button is soothing,
moves me right out of my bed,
it gets my blood flowing &
glowing to greet the new day.

I saw me running through your cracks,
& it was the most beautiful sight on Earth.

I watched me glide through your gorgeous landscape
& it made me rise again.

I played off the moon glow
& your sighs made me roll faster.

I tasted your delicious soul
& stayed hungry.

I transcended,
my eyes rolled back
into my head
as I reached nirvana,
dreaming of you,
covered in
a warm stream.

I remember sitting
around the tracks
with my comrades.
We were in rolling fields of clover
back then.
The doves that flew above us
had no clue
about our firepower.
We had .50 cals
and we picked our teeth
with splintered bone fragments.
To think
we even had the time
to smoke and joke
about our ridiculous nicknames
brings a smile
to my weathered-fface.
Moose was toothless,
lost them
to some drunk civilians
in a bar fight.
Wagner, the skinny one,
always cracked me up.
I miss McMinn's toothy-grin
and the way French
always wanted out,
constantly feighning his gayness.
Radosavich loved his rock and roll
and Flint sparkled from his hole
carved into the hillside.
Moore had chicks galore
and McLemore got his
divorce papers by airmail.
He went eerily silent
while Top barked ******* for us to do.
The Man was clueless,
but we protected his ***
anyways.
We had bills to pay.
I really miss those *******.
They were the best friends that ever were.

I was at a pub in Dublin once
& I can tell you
it doesn't matter
what people say
about Irish drinking,
those people know how to have fun
& their lasses,
well let's just say
they're more than pretty.

I remember the last time
I kissed you.
It was on your forehead.
Your pretty eyes closed,
I watched you turn,
hop on the bus,
& disappear
into the Yucatan mist,
while I turned
to return
back home
to my skyscraper.

The smell of dark roast
wafts through my veranda,
as does country sausage
& the morning rain.

I remember
the summer roses,
but nothing compares
to my vivid memory
of her sweet fragrance
coating my tender lips.
Nothing.

You are quite the beauty,
a sweet comer
for our sacred duty
& when I dream,
when I dream about
the wet spot
we've created,
I am satiated,
revel in our spirit.

I rode the tale of a comet once,
through the recesses of space,
leaving traces of myself
in every constellation
& most of me lies
in Orion &
within the Southern Cross,
but some is indeed in Gemini
& the rest in Canis Major,
I'm Sirius.

You sweet lass
come in my slumber,
when it's quiet enough
to hear grass grow
& my breathing has quickened
in the middle of the night
I spring forth
remembering
your golden touch
& I can feel
your ethereal movements
carried to me
from the stars
you lie afar
& I rise
to feel
your message
somewhere in the middle
you meet me halfway
playing a simple
affectionate-tune
& listening to your
own rapid breathing
brought back to you
by the sacred heavens
& me.

I saw a pile of dead flowers in Panajachel.
It was a tribute of sorts,
all that was left of two lady-tourists
gunned down in cold blood.
They lay on top of cobblestones
covered with *****
& the people scrambled by,
paying no attention,
just *******
they had to walk
around them.

We buzzed the periphery on plastic,
moved in and out of the shadows
spending nickels on the corner jesters,
who stroked their banjos with fingerless gloves.

Their cracked fingertips were stained yellow,
mouths displayed racks of missing teeth,
snake eyes winked under reptilian lids
while blessings spewed forth.

I looked at the leader
who sang like Lennon
and wondered,
man what are you doing here
reincarnated.

In the sheer silence
of darkness,
you drew me in
visually &
I succumbed to the sounds
of our cascade
echoing
off the walls
of my wanton mind.

A torrent of raw emotions
sprang forth
from your ecstasy-face,
and in your clenched eyes,
I saw stars,
counted each one,
all the way to nirvana.

With improvised backpacks
& flowers in their hair,
they were forging new beginnings,
building dreams for brighter futures.

Marching toward victory
under the sacred heavens,
they were snuffed out
through the end of a barrel,
the guns of the ruling class.

Ignorance & hate rule our days,
but surely wealth & power
cannot withstand the coming tides.

The hours will come when
the guerillas will seek truth,
a recompense
for the dense fog
that makes us blind
to their corruptions
& killings.

Some call it Armageddon,
others call it righteous justice.
I say karma.

Buffalo Bill hopped around
crazier than a loon,
wearing a skin suit
made out of the dead women
he fattened up
before he killed them,
asking the same question
over and over.
And I'm like,
is he for real,
good gracious,
Lord almighty,
who'd want to **** him!

I love to dream
steamy thoughts of you,
think about your pretty face,
envisioning my own
full of your budding flower,
and you,
releasing
the power of your tasty flow....
....my mouth
searches for the right words
to describe my inner glow.

Do you know them darling?

I see Cardinals
reminding me
of the dead.

So bright & red,
they chirp beautifully,
sing a wondrous melody
above my head,
going nowhere
& I think,
perhaps,
I am better off
being a singing-bird
with vibrant plumage,
flying.

She was indeed
a temptress,
so sultry & alluring,
the queen of all vixens,
revealed to me
her pentagram,
beautifully-inked
between
the dimples
of her lovely back.

And me behind,
intoxicated
by her musk
& under
her hypnotic-spell
did unleash,
explode
in deep fiery-motions
the floodgates,
seeded her my soul
to keep.

I follow the
constellations above,
intrigued with images of you
I have emblazoned,
etched deeply into my mind.
They tempt me,
excite me to untold ecstasies
& I am lost,
remain high
on a mountain of sand,
crawling
on my hands and knees,
seeking a path to please you,
to release
the two of us,
to explode
into a new galaxy,
spiraling
in each other's arms.

I am driven
by your seduction,
you have stolen my soul
& I thought
you should,
might like to know
what you do to me.

I love the things she writes,
they make us feel close
for what seems
like an eternity,
yet sadly,
strangely remote.

She oozes pure sensuality,
such a devil-child,
crafts her words
in special patterns
meant to drive one crazy.

She heats my blood
with pure desire,
the connection buzzes
all of my senses,
mesmerizes me
with snippets
of her own brokenness.

She encrypts
her true feelings,
tells me revelations
& stimulates me
to my primordial core.

I see shooting stars
floating in my tea cup,
and as I drink her bitterness,
I lose my heart,
lightly touch my lips
imagining her sweet kiss.

Missing sunshine,
I wake up again
to her poetry
& feel so alone,
cold
yet still,
warm inside.

I see summer calling
in the morning sunlight,
she's glistening off
the freshly fallen snow,
it brings me
warmth inside.

Skies are cracked
in vivid oranges,
a splash of red
& pinkish hints
explode.

I saw the moon die,
it silently
disappeared
in a sea of azure
below Heaven.

Mica-waves kiss
the shoreline,
a perpetual union
enacted under the
shrieks of the terns
& my sad mind
returns to
my sweet
thoughts of you.

I wish you knew,
it's so comforting
to know darling,
I see the same sun.

I woke earlier today,
pointing straight to Heaven
& imagined you
sliding down
from there
to meet me
halfway.

It was a glorious vision
of you & me
& thinking
about playing
with a beautiful girl
like you
on your journey to greet me
was the best part
of waking up,
& I shot you
into smithereens.

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.

You
stood above me
gloriously,
beautifully
spread in a V,
my own personal goddess,
you gave me sustenance,
ample amounts of
sunshine
I sipped,
you.

Is it so much to lie
here alone
spreading rumors,
begging,
craving to be
enveloped
by your warm sweetness,
watching
cigarette smoke
curl,
spiral upward
to form grey clouds,
be captive
to your viral charms.

Alone on a speck
Paradise is overstated
You cannot kiss sand

There are odors in my room,
circulating,
titillating my mind.
But, they're really more
like fragrances
& sweet memories of you,
not physically here,
I just think you are.
Primordial to the bone.
Raw to the skin.
Primal instincts.
Wantonness beyond compare.
Sensuality to the core.
Hot Tamale.
Honest *****.
O Yes Darling,
you still haunt me
when I want you,
need your smells
to quell my memory.

"So what's it like slick,"
she asks,
"living your life in an asylum?"
And I sthay,
"I dunno Missusth."

But sthill I wonder
if the sthraightjackets fit tightly there,
why I might like little white pillsth,
electric-shock treatmentsth,
& sthcrewdriver-lobotomiesth.

So hey you Missusth,
I know
thisth ain't working out here any more
& yet I,
I continue to sthare at the ceiling,
watch the fan sthpinning,
listening to melancholy voicesth
whisthpering from
sthingle blades of grassth.

They ask me thingsth  
about my crazinessth too,
as if I sthupposed to know
anything
here
on the insthide
looking out
with the door closthed.

That means sthut lady,
with an aposthrophe-s,
'sth.

Bamboo creaked
as the gentle breezes
licked us.

I swayed into
your split kimono,
the beautiful sound
of happy songbirds
hid our muffled sighs,
me bleeding fine silk
into your warm thighs.

With our eyes clenched,
we giggled,
listening
to nightingales
singing softly
along the babbling brook.

I spoke to a Robin today.
I was on my way to my yoga mat,
he just sat there
looking at me,
singing the most beautiful melody.
And I said,
"Mr. Robin,
thank you
for your pretty song,
it truly brightens my day!"

Once my Jack ruled the woods.
He could capture squirrels at will,
dig out moles, he even got a few hawks.
When his eyes went blind,
things changed.

Oh sure, he could still sniff the air
& let out a few barks,
but the spark wasn’t in him anymore.
And when he missed
the grey fox tracking us,
I knew it was nearly over.
He succumbed to old age
three months later.

The vet came out and injected him
with the deadly mix.
Sammie died right in my arms,
he went totally limp,
I heard his last breath
& cried like a baby,
couldn’t believe he was gone.

He’s buried out in my backyard now.
I miss him every day,
the way he used to played,
how he’d run circles around me,
tease me with his ball.

Though things are silent,
& there are no dog sounds,
I still call his name.

I saw you that last spring
wearing a red velvet jacket
covering your tie dye.
You were ethereal then Rose,
had become stuck on Buddha,
stars floated in your hair.
I still remember your tattered blue jeans
& now I wonder,
all these years later,
am curious if you had been on a pilgrimage,
if you had crawled
all the way from Miami to Tallahassee
on your knees?
Do you still believe in zen-magic,
& can you hear me?

I've lived
my life on a razor's edge,
cut & ragged,
a victim
to loveless harlequins
fallen to Dixie cups

And yet,
they cannot
**** my spirit,
I still look up
to the million-suns
twinkling
in the heavens above
me.

Dreadlocked from another planet,
she bathed in pachouili,
held the universe
in irises of azure.

I found comfort
swimming
in the small
of her delicate back,
she was an expert
on pleasure.

She displayed
a skull & crissbones,
a pretty butterfly
& held me captive,
chained to her playground,
where I detonated.

And the sounds she made
above me
were out-of-this-world,
I still think I'm gone,
exploded
into another dimension.

There was a time,
a time when I drank
gallons of cheap whiskey,
swallowed lots of quaaludes
to drown my sickening
thoughts of you,
you getting it on
with my school mates.
And I survived the abyss on my own.
because you sure didn't help
putting me there.

Ages ago, I danced
with a kind of devil
wearing leopard-spandex
through a tempest fire.

We guzzled spirits,
nuzzled in each other's arms
as we circled the sun,
whirled around the moon,
kissed every star
in the heavens above.

She put a hex on me
& I survived, still looking
for a white dove,
some peace of mind.

Alone in the wee hours,
you came to me
in a hot-vision.

Breathless,
I held you up
in the sacred-place,
where you
always seem to unwind.
I could feel
your reckless abandon,
your body shaking,
rocking to the beat
of our intimate-union.

There's such genuine bliss
when you kiss me like that
screaming desire.

O your firm rock-tips
burned with satisfaction
above me!

Squirming in
another state of mind,
you covered
my smiling face with
your warm flood,
flowing,
cascading
your succulent
lady-spirit,
so primal,
so delicious,
your truest self.

O you see sweet darling,
I swallowed your heart
from a million miles away!

You made
my secret wishes,
my wanton
dreams in space,
come true again.

And here
I am glowing!

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.

I swear I really want to write one.

I come up with a few great ideas,
formulate them into my creative mind,
then when I go to pen them
into an epic,
they end up much shorter.

Like, what would Virgil say?
Lord Byron would certainly cringe
at my bits and pieces of written word.
Alighieri & Milton would probably
laugh their arses off,
Ovid snicker & what about Homer?

I swear I really want to write one.

An epic like The Divine Comedy,
perhaps a slice of Don Juan,
a bit of Beowulf,
some Odyssey?
I wish I could find
some Paradise Lost,
a piece of the Illiad,
I pray for a Metamorphoses!

I swear I really want to write one!

"There's no such thing as a witch,"
Martha told me smiling
trying hard to hold the corners
of her lips from turning up
and holding her hand
over her pentagram
silver-necklace.
She dropped
a chicken foot
right next
to a circle of
six smoldering candles
& a burnt tarot card.
I knew then
it was time for me
to leave her premise.
I scooted across her yard
& locked the gate
behind me
feeling strange,
as if I were lying,
placed
under a spell.

The aura around her
is hotter than sunspots,
she permeates pure-woman,
allows me private indiscretions.

I can twist her,
bend her in half,
partake in her heavenly assets.
She lets me take her to different universes,
I kiss her everywhere,  
my tongue trickles
from her bellybutton south
where my mouth
lips her magic,
that’s a place I like to be.

There’s only one thing
I like better than this,
& it ain’t a cold Heineken.

Nothing these days is truly failsafe.
You buy some Ultrathins and the babies might win,
even the Trojan horse had issues for the boys of Troy.
Fancy ribbed models can end up in shreds
& I've seen the reservoir tips burst.
But if you're still ***** & thirst for safe ***,
you should try different combinations
of tubed-latex along with 'the pill'
dispensed from
the fancy circular monthly-packages.
That's your best bet,
your best chance of survival.
If anything, don't be a dinosaur
thinking your living Jurassic,
this is about being prophylactic
'cause nobody knows
what killed those ornery
unprotected beasts.
The experts believe,
it was probably
a rare disease
that got 'em.

Hot summer days & pop-up campers,
Dad with his chef hat
& Mum's lemonade.
We didn't even know it,
had it made in the shade.
Red checkerboard &
picnic chairs,
burgers & chips &
& big sister's
sweet oatmeal cookies.
Blow-up pool dragons
lay at our feet,
life was so idyllic,
& it ain't never coming back.
Makes me sick.