saccharine syllables float
from warm lips in
the red
of the sunrise morning,
       shining
through cream colored shades.

blue tulips lie
on the windowsill,
       waiting
to be walked in on.

love roams
over the stairwell and
beneath the cupboards,
permeating a house,
       a home,
a life.

fingers write
on mirrors opaque
from morning showers,
       hoping
you will read them and smile.

my own eyes glide
across pages,
under blankets,
       anxious
for you to join me
this autumn dawn.

Angular shafts
of shimmering
April light
charge
each atom
of the morning
with rhythmic
Parisian
energy

good weather
is like
good women-
it doesn't always happen
and when it does
it doesn't
always last.
man is
more stable:
if he's bad
there's more chance
he'll stay that way,
or if he's good
he might hang
on,
but a woman
is changed
by
children
age
diet
conversation
***
the moon
the absence or
presence of sun
or good times.
a woman must be nursed
into subsistence
by love
where a man can become
stronger
by being hated.
I am drinking tonight in Spangler's Bar
and I remember the cows
I once painted in Art class
and they looked good
they looked better than anything
in here. I am drinking in Spangler's Bar
wondering which to love and which
to hate, but the rules are gone:
I love and hate only
myself-
they stand outside me
like an orange dropped from the table
and rolling away; it's what I've got to
decide:
**** myself or
love myself?
which is the treason?
where's the information
coming from?
books...like broken glass:
I wouldn't wipe my *** with 'em
yet, it's getting
darker, see?
(we drink here and speak to
each other and
seem knowing.)
buy the cow with the biggest
****
buy the cow with the biggest
****.
present arms.
the bartender slides me a beer
it runs down the bar
like an Olympic sprinter
and the pair of pliers that is my hand
stops it, lifts it,
golden **** of dull temptation,
I drink and
stand there
the weather bad for cows
but my brush is ready
to stroke up
the green grass straw eye
sadness takes me all over
and I drink the beer straight down
order a shot
fast
to give me the guts and the love to
go
on.
from "poems written before jumping out of an 8 story window" - 1966

I lay awake in the still of the night
While the crickets sing in the pale moon light
I remember how it used to be
When sleep would come so easily
I would drift upon a cloud so shimmery and white
I felt like an angel taking her first flight

That was before the clouds turned grey
Before my innocence was ripped away
And now the darkness fills my skies
With nightmares that trample my mind
Dark visions of anger and pain
Demented creatures lost and insane
Endless falling ,spinning out of control
Why can't I just let it go

Please God if you hear me grant me this gift
Peaceful dreams of a life well spent
Give me back my soul and take my hand
Please give  me back to dreamland