I'm great with my kisses,
wanna glide from your temples,
across to each cheek,
to your full luscious lips,
then move along
to the front of your neck,
down between
your ample pert *******,
to visit each tip,
before I trace
your cute bellybutton.
Then still going further,
wrapping my probing-tongue
around, twirling & swirling
into your delicious flower,
fluttering over your hood,
to marvel amongst
your tender-folds,
moving slower,
only to slide back up
your sweet roundness,
buzz along your spin,
splitting your blades
to the back
of your delicate neck.

Then with your permission,
I want to do it some more,
kiss you all over again
and again, just to
watch you dream
& to hear you scream
your wonderful submission.

She said things,
mean things,
they told me volumes
about her true soul.

I should have
been more bold,
never believed her.

But I was hypnotized
by her pretty-eyes
that hid
her body of lies.

I cry waiting for the
trigger-word
to release me.

I'm perfectly fine
spewing my gutteral English,
but guys can dream.
How I'd love to speak nasally,
pronunciate just a bit
of high-Francaise.

Bonjour.

******!

There are some things
worse than a broken heart.
You could be haunted by a boogie man.
So beware,
they do exist.

And in the silence,
madmen said
they heard lambs crying.

But in reality,
it was the circling wolves
howling
a special language.

Frank rides his beat bicycle daily
to the store,
saves & begs coins
to get his tall ones,
then sits on the bench
to cool down.
He's actally quite fun to talk with,
knows a lot about history
& building houses.
I can read between his drunken stupor lines.
Somewhere along the way,
the ***** got in the way,
between his wife and him,
then the kids before his
place of employment,
he lost everything,
but his bike,
some spare change
& his cold ones.

We sat pow-wow-style
exchanging our war stories,
admiring the ****-filled room
full of swirling nicotine-smoke.

We joked with each other,
wondered about
loose lips sinking ships
& figured it wasn't these types
that sunk such vessels,
these ones ruined lives.

Waifs & wisps floated
miraculously about
while cheap perfume &
broken English
wafted our senses.

Desperate dripping
honeycomb-eyes
searched for
potential customers,
rot gut whiskies flowed
& disappeared to ease
the ******-tensions.

Everyone was there
to either ****
or to get drunk
'cause the
decor & atmosphere
literally ******.

We hung out on the edge,
in the border towns,
creating havoc,
a little bit of mayhem,
injecting Boone’s Farm,
perusing the streets
with insurrection etched
into our skins,
crying acid rain.

Imbibed,
flying higher
than the highest kites
& fluttering in the wind,
we walked scarecrow-like,
against the grain.

And if you looked in our eyes,
you’d swear we were touched,
touched by more than
anything sacred,
not from above
but from far below,
in a place near Hell’s gates,
we doled out pain.

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 ******.

I wish
I could
bottle you.
I'd dip
my fingers
& lick
my digits
forever.

I read somewhere there's a smart *** born every twelve seconds
& one truly sensitive person
every sixty.
No wonder there's so much insecurity around,
it's boundless.

Loosely packed sweet-herb
Flame burns purple-haired buds
Swirling nirvana

She told me
boys were always
part of her curriculum.
Seeing her in action,
I truly believe her.
She rocks me
like someone
who's earned
a PHD.

It's pretty hard
to describe
without
getting frisky.

The sounds
that she made
while he ate
his delicious breakfast
were catlike.

She purred
so contently,
didn't even notice
his face was a mess,
as she was taken away,
lying somewhere else,
in a different place.

Gracefully she moved
un-hooded, so open
to the rhythm of his soft-chewing
& he never had it so good,
filling his mouth
with her moist-goodies,
satisfying
his early morning appetite
to greater heights
of soothing pleasure.

Usually I fry your eggs,
but tonight,
I'm going to scramble them.
We can make some bacon,
hot sausage again?

I want to break loose with hell,
roll like a tumbleweed
across the endless plains,
blow through nameless towns,
become a sweeping rain.

I want to fall in love with
the Queen of Hearts,
bedroll with faithless tarts,
shoot lead lightning from
my itchy fingertips
& rustle cattle.

I want to live
my life on the run,
ride fast
like the wind
on a trusty steed,
hold up banks & rob trains,
guzzle red-eye whiskey
to **** my pain
& not end up etched
on an oaken tombstone,
somewhere unknown,
decaying under
the prairie sun.

Take a little break darling,
you're the one in charge,
calling all the shots.
Make your way
to the back room,
stand against the wall
in between the stock shelves,
and dream about me.
I'm right there with you.
Can you feel my warm breath
on your delicate pretty neck,
imagine my hard form
standing behind you,
loving you
into beautiful submission?
I am in heat for you.
I need another break doll.
Break me.

It's done in steps,
rather robotic,
with an inhuman element.
One round.
A .338 Lapua.
One chance,
(maybe two).
Fear is real.
Surely,
it's
better
in bed,
it's not gravy.
Kapow.
Game over.

Cut knuckles,
cracked fingers,
shoulders on fire,
cramped feet
& a lower back that kills.

Some say you
are the devil incarnate,
an evil witch,
poisonous to everything,
anyone who cares
to come close.

Well that **** doesn't matter to me,
people can say what they want.
I've been flirting with disaster
since Hell began.
In fact, they call me
Satan Junior.
But in reality,
I'm just a good boy
gone wild,
walking on the edge
& I crave black magic...
so bring it on,
put a spell on me,
witchie-poo!

I don't need any light
to view my handiwork
when I'm with her.
I've gone over
all the nooks & crannies
of her sweet form
and every
conceivable
loving-action
I'm going
to do to her
in my wanton-mind.
Bring on the night
Baby!

We crossed over
into the hinterlands,
burned trails
to unnamed  
watering holes,
those dingy places,
where we
lifted our hands
backwards,
tilted our heads upwards
to the gods
& drank copiously.

There was no law,
only disorder, but
nobody ever got in our way,
so we continued with impunity
to play wildly.

In altered states,
we mated
with unknown devils
who ****** us dry,
left us crying as
broken down dogs,
barking at the moon
& swearing oaths,
promises of silence,
what happens
south of the border,
stayed south of the border.
And it did.

She's gone forever
Strawberry jam has lost flavor
Stay down Mister sun

The muse left her mark on me,
but you can't see it.
It's buried deep
down inside me,
in a place where I hide
& contemplate
the meaning of the universe,
write endless verses
to recreate her meaning.

But maybe there is none.
Maybe it is what it is
& we meant nothing.

I think I know the meaning
to the ancient mystery,
it seems so clear to me.
Can't you see it too,
my fellow odists?
Broken hearts
are just what they are,
painful reminders
of what we lost.

And now,
sad poets
only
have written words
to tell the others
of such travesty.

It ain't right to break
a heart like that,
but who hasn't been tricked
or treated
to that
kind of behavior.
The sad fact is,
that holiday,
if that's what you
want to call,
ain't never going away.
So save your candy
for a rainy day.
Whether you like it or not,
they're going to come,
sooner or later.
Knock knock.
Trick or treat...

Life was fuller then.
I remember the path we cleared,
it led all the way down to the creek,
through the laurels and ivy.
Those were precious times
we had under the cloak
of the chestnuts
and the swirling maples.

You could hear the running water
trickle over the granite steps
and catch glimpses
of the inquisitive fox
that thought it
was camouflaged
by the fallen timbers.

I cherished the nights,
full of cicada-sounds
and blanketed by the stars,
we sipped genuine sarsaparilla.

But somewhere along the way,
our dreams went south.
They became shattered
like the broken rocks
wearing splashes of lichen
& ancient mossy jackets.

I am still at a loss
when I hear the wood spirits
imitate your laugh.
That's the hardest part
of missing you,
the way you giggled.

The look of your icy blues
raging
with fire
has never been duplicated.
Your kiss was the rarest.

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.

The crazy world moves in nanoseconds,
mountains, terabytes of nonsense
move at supersonic speeds
along the info-highway,
traded between
infinite faceless entities.

What of our raw emotions,
those fleshly feelings,
the electrical synapses’
causing such great commotion,
stirring the wildest imaginations!

And who really reads philosophy anymore,
what person respects the words of a poet
when it seems to be all about the net these days?
For after all, everything you read there
is surely the gospel-awful-truth,
such total madness
exploded into a billion+ clusters,
cataloged into whatever floats
our boats.

It seems the real world is sinking
into advanced technologies,
synthetic pied pipers ply us
with their artificial intelligence,
humming dangerous notes that taste metallic,
with everything made somewhere else.

O human-kind,
my kindred,
please tell me,
where are the true artisans,
where are the keepers of the authentic minds,
where are the hopeless romantics with beating hearts?

Where are they?

Do you really love God
with so much hatred in your heart,
alabaster skin
cut to the bone,
bleeding shades of deepest crimson,
you are the universal child,
the testimony.

Buffalo Bill was tweaked,
a real *******,
making a skin outfit like that
& dancing around like a super freak,
pinching his *******
& screaming at captured chicks
to put lotion on their skins.
What a sicko.
For real.

Though the bullfrogs sing
sweet soothing melody,
I cannot sleep.

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

The last time I saw McIntyre
he was missing his face and choppers.
I think about him all the time,
traces of him linger.
I still have our bunker pictures.
That's how I want to remember him,
when he had skin with whiskers
and a full set of teeth.

I can barely see
beyond this tiny screen,
only hear the tapping of keys,
choosing letters passionately
to form these fluid-thoughts.

It's times like these when
my imagination runs wild,
amok with vivid desires,
sensual-things glowing,
making my heart,
my skin
burn
like the sun.

Somewhere there's a million and a half spirits dying,
one's a black magic woman,
casting spells for all the rest.

I confess,
I'm naive about such things,
the dark arts,
things that go bump in the night.
But can one in a million and a half
be wrong?

Teach me tricks,
burn me a candle,
I need you badly
sinful woman!

My take's a bit different
about loving a poet.
I say do it, get one and hang on.
They'll teach you everything
from living real
to getting ******.
And it won't be a status quo ride either,
one where you hide inside,
thinking about dreams,
you'll be the center
of their entire universe.
And even if it's only for awhile,
what difference does it make.
Going out in style
is better than being fake.
Start a real fire...burn with a poet.

O darling,
fill your wondrous-mind
with the beauty
of my rosined bow,
as I finger the strings
with warmth
& vibrancy
you do know
the feeling,
the kind that floods
& burns your flesh
with that hypnotic
sweet-****** tune.

Life is back on track again.
I'm so glad I got it
out of my system.

It's hard to focus
when my dam fills
up to the brim.

Cracks begin to appear
before the dam-buster
shows up to
release my buildup.

Once its expended,
normalcy begins the day
or night, whichever,
it's business as usual,
and life is good again.

I woke up cold
back on the slab
in my tiny cell.
My head was pounding.
The last thing I remember
before I dozed off
was Mister Suit
asking me baseline questions.
Then it was a series of flashing memories.
Sparks flying,
Screams.
Voices.
A thrashing body.
Bright blood splattered
against
the pale yellow walls,
a face without eyes.
I guess the pink pill worked,
what are those ******* control boys
going to do now?
Nothing's traceable.
Me 1.
Them 0.
It should be a wake-up call for them.
Long live Moonstone!
I know it's not over yet.

It was classic,
just like Delphi said it would be.
Bright lights
(I mean bright),
yellow walls
(shades of *****),
a low hum
(in the bass range).
Mister Suit
sporting a razor-thin mustache
sat stoic at a long black table
carrying a wry grin,
his eyes shades of pitch.
They unshackled me,
hands pushed me down
into a chrome chair
with a firm red leather cushion.
Screams came through the wall
from the room next to us.
I sat there just as stoic
across from him
with a wry smile
of my own.
It felt like a scene
from a stereotypical sci-fi flic,
it wasn't though.
This was as real as it gets,
these guys meant business.
Guys like me were trouble
for the Control Boys.
They'd find out soon
I wasn't a pushover.

The walk to the 'Brain Hole'
was shorter than expected,
but the muffled screams
from behind locked doors
I knew would be here,
so they were of no concern,
and besides,
the fix was in place.
These hooligans
had no idea who they
we're messin' with.
You don't just sign up
for the Moonstone Project,
you get selected.
Galactic insurrection
is a serious business
with serious consequences.
And besides,
I still had the pink pill
hidden in a safe dark place.
What, me worry
about a few brain ******* machines?
Not me.
This was going to be fun.

You spread me so thin
I was barely a taste
& now,
only traces of me remain.
Am I forgiven?

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.

Smooth like hot butter
I slice a piece of sweet bread
It never grows old

You zipped
from pretty flower
to pretty flower,
collecting your rare beauty.
Your wings were exquisite,
your sting so enticing.
Then you infected me
with your tasty nectar
& I'm still buzzing.

Jimmy told me
they were giving out
Actress-of-the-Month awards again
down at the local chapter of the VFW.

Down there, those
stodgy old codgers
sit around
drinking vast amounts
of aged whiskey
mixed with soft drinks
& watch Turner classic movies.

Last month, Marilyn
won the coveted honor,
but the jury is still out
on this month's winner.
I bet it's going to be
Sharon Stone.

Some of them burnt crosses,
pushed atom buttons
& gave them gas showers.

And there's nowhere to run,
when they got you by the *****,
cooking in the fire.

The trick is to pack punch.

And who can blame me
for such wanderlust,
none of this is my fault,
I carry it deep in my chest,
my heart pumps hard,
it's genetic.

I come from along line of fierce nomads,
who blew like grains of sand
over the endless dunes
of never never lands.

They were dreamers too.
Scorched by the sun
tested by hellfire,
some were liars,
lied to protect the bloodline
from unsavory foes.

And did you know
we breathed the same air
as Caesar & Alexander & Genghis
& lesser warriors.

A spectre resides within me,
tormenting me relentlessly,
disrespecting me in my sleep,
does this haunting have no end!?

There's a ringing
in my ears, just before
the pain sets in.
A constant-thumping,
a sharp-stabbing
behind my eyes,
disrupting me
from a glorious
deep slumber.

Then the panic sets in &
I must soothe this beast,
before I am driven mad.

And O what decisions!
Two or three scoops
of Colombian,
Kenyan, perhaps
some Guatemalan!?
Black, cream or sugar!?
What will suffice
this evil tormenter,
this wraith of the night!?

And O Dear Lord,
I cannot think clearly,
how can anyone
so sleep-deprived,
so panicstricken,
make such choices
this late, so early
in the morning!?

Dear Lord, please
help me make it
through another day,
please make
it go away!

Just black......

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.