I’m known to be smart
always get what I want
I’m street-smart and savvy -
hey, I can deal with crowds

Why, only the other day
there was an accident
right in the heart of the Great Exotic City
and the nosy crowd gathered thick
but no way I was going
to be left out of a close view
so I shouted:
“Let me thru! Let me thru!
I’m the son of the injured victim!”

And sure enough
the people parted
as swift as the Red Sea –
you should have seen
the awe in their eyes on seeing me -
and I made my way thru
straight to where the victim was
lying before the car:
*...a ****** old donkey...

Let's get away and put the mind at ease.
Let's relax and focus upon the sweet, salty ocean breeze.
Fold up the newspaper and tuck it away,
De-stress and decompress from all that is everyday.
So let's lean back a little more in this beach chair of ours,
Stretching out a little more to get the sand between our toes,
Tucked in the sand, sticking out and sun-brown like little pieces of drift wood.
The warmth of the sun combined with ocean spray in the wind
Hits perfectly upon our changing from light to dark brown skin.
We've never been one to have an umbrella drink in hand
But our Mexican beer with lime sits next to us sweating in the sand.
So as the day wears on we'll chit and chat, talking about this and that,
Watching the sun slide down we pull lower our beat up old straw hat
To better hide what is an already sun-burnt face
In this, what over the years has become our quiet place.
It's more than true that time goes quickly when having fun,
And we barely remember where and when we had begun.
Regardless, we wonder how it has possibly gone so fast and where it went,
But not a moment would we not consider time well spent.

"Seeking the absolute, kind soul?
show me the yard stick to measure-
the absolute without the slightest error"
                **"Acceptance"

this being
dedicated to wicked woman hiding cold eyes
behind overlarge sunglasses;
sporting blackest velvet dress coat firmly buttoned smoking
long, cruel cigarette lit from glare off your cartier-replete wrist
as hordes of men in line to perhaps hold your parasol
while you read tedious course material are turned away
by singular lazy wave of the unsympathetic hand,
ashes falling & cherry red nail polish flaming across
the patio panorama like hellfire;
with hard, rangy body and cut-to-shoulders
blonde curtain to hide behind, safe upon your wicker throne;
wary of males & their hidden, bursting sexes.

If religion did not exist then man would invent it.

Religion did not exist so what happened, man invented it.

he don’t wait for night
to hop a freight
had his ears boxed and jaw busted
a time or two
by Santa Fe brakemen,
mean as steel
“Bones heal,”
he says
“I got places to go
Tishomingo,
where I bed Betty
and drink her homemade brew”
he don’t tell her he loves her, but
neither did her Mama, she sighs
he knows what she says is true
'cause his Mama was silent too
in her grave the day he was born
Daddy taught him to jump them trains
when you can,
not all this jabber ‘bout bein’ a man
keep rollin’ on those tracks
don’t look back to be a slave
to what’s behind
train’l take you where you need to be
Tishomingo, to Betty
if it don’t, that’s all right
Betty ain’t waitin’ up at night
and the train is free

I can          h ea r
a      dream,
( ( (vibrating) ) )
through my third e y e

      echoes   dan c e
from the walls,
a    l i g h t   passes
through   the prism
that         encases--
      the heart.

                              \i|o|u/
                            he tells me
                     yet I expect nothing.
                more of the same patterns

Every thing       is
a good omen,
so whispers the air
outside a bar of Narnia.

             The banana bread beer flows
              through
                      our glasses like an amber
                 whirlpool tsunami glistening in the afternoon light.
                  a pleased smile rests on a face,
             comfort,
        relaxation and a
      full mind.

Deep sleep
for a while.
Contentment is *exhaled.

I wonder what chocolate rain would taste like.
Would it fall from chocolate clouds?
And after it dried, would it leave a thick sweet brown coat on the world?
I wonder if my secret love loves me.
Would he ever want to hold me and caress my cheek?
Kiss and touch me as I would him?
I wonder what would happen if I lit the world on fire.
Would anybody notice?
Or think it was a new quirk of nature to ignore?
I wonder if the sun shines more dimly than yesterday.
Would it even be measureable?
I wonder how long we can last, and if an apocalypse would **** us all.
Would there not be a survivor?
Would there not be a fight for life?
I wonder if there is or was a god, and if so, for how long?
Would he create himself?
Could god even have a ***?
I wonder if this world is a construct.
Perhaps a mental image stuck in space?
But if so, whose of?
I wonder if a butterfly flapping it's wings in China truly creates geographic ruin here.
And if so, on what scale?
I wonder if what we do in this world truly affects our afterlife, or if that even exists.
Will this compilation, this assembly of words make any impact on anyone's life?

1)
see the yurei
the ghost of Oyuki…
hair free of the ornate pins
and scattered over her shoulders
she hovers in her white robe
her hands loose
and she’s covered in mist below her waist
she has a smile, her eyes turned inward
and you had better not wish
she’d cast her glance on you
just a look, just a glance

2)
Oyuki was the sweet love
of Maruyama Okyo
Oyuki was as delicate
as the plum blossoms outside her window
she sang songs of love
and covered Okyo with sweet kisses
Ah, she was young
and she played the shamisen
and she had such pleasing arts
and uttered such words
they lingered days and nights in Okyo’s mind
But she died young…
beautiful, like the cherry blossoms in the morning
and gone, faded in the evening

3)
and at nights
all Okyo could see
in dreams and in the dark
was gentle Oyuki, sweet Oyuki
hovering in the mist
floating, lingering, smiling
in his dreams, and in the dark
and he painted, Okyo painted
the Ghost of Oyuki
a portrait of his beloved Oyuki
and that freed him into sleep and peace
into quiet and calm


4)
but at nights
if you see
in dreams and in the dark
the form and beauty of Oyuki
floating, lingering, smiling
in your dreams and in the dark
then you must offer a petal, a dumpling
or what must please her
so she will go, that
gentle Oyuki, sweet Oyuki
or you might offer her a poem,
a soothing one
as I did, and she might plant a cold kiss on your cheek
a cold one
as she flits past, gliding away in all the mist
to see who she might catch
with no love of art, with no skill to please