...and upon the heaps
of discarded symbols
that once bore all
meaning
a new world shall rise
enlightened
and free

It hits me so hard
Like someone hit
me with a bat
Right in the pit
of the stomach This
feeling inside is so
hard to see, Like a
stranger in the dark
park.  I feel like
I need to just be left
alone or just flee but
the other me wants
someone to care. Its
like the real me
checked out I don't
know what this
replacement of me
is all about. Shes new
She doesn't know
whats going on.
Shes got all wrong. I'm
frightened, scared to
death. This is all so
foreign. The rain is
a pour in. My head hurts.
It's all goin away.
Only to come back
some other way
on another day

Rain
Pouring
From ripped
Clouds in the sky
Darkened days of March
It rains
Not

Drip
drip
droplets

Of a sweet nourishing drizzle

Not
Sad lamenting rain
Like tears f
                    a
                       l
                         l
                           i
                            n
                             g
On an empty world

This rain is
Washing rinsing cleansing
Flooding                                        eroding                            destroying
Opening

lubricating           exploring                               flowing
                                                  Exploding

Torrent of lust

You see her there

Right in the middle
Between innocent youth
And tired old age
The redhead
The harlot

Open
Welcoming
Eternal

You see your fantasies
In her mysterious gaze
Your carnal longings
In the fire of her hair

Open
Alluring
Mature

You see her confidence
In her ***
Her experience
Her empowerment

Open
Provocative
Determined

You see what she'll do
To you
You see her
Touching
Lustfully luring you in



You see her
The redhead
The harlot
Your mistress
She is there
In the middle
Between youth
And old age
Always

I am her

I am here

I am eternal

Thoughts, that's all I have
That's all I am
They move through my
brain like a car on a freeway
Sometimes I just want
to set up a construction
sign Block out the traffic.
My mind jumps like a
grasshopper from one
subject to the next. My
thoughts are scattered
like lake effect snow
falling from the sky.
Why do I Keep writing
them down? It's not like
the thoughts are
attached and make for
a beautiful thoughtful
poem. I keep trying to
convey my thoughts into
something brought
together with beautiful
imagery or with deeper
meaning. That's what
consumes me. I must perfect
my poetry. Make something
out of nothing. Attention
is not what I seek I just
want you to take a peek.
This is who I am. Making
a masterpiece with words is
what I feel I need to succeed .
Making something worthwhile
and not fade away like
another boring meaningless
day. Catching dust like some
old textbook no one cares about
anymore. Here I am breaking
the dam and here now the
thoughts they are flooding,
flooding drowning me. Drowning
deep deep down within the
blue sea? Like that hasn't been
done before. For obviously
this creative way to put my
thoughts together has become
such a big chore. For if you only
knew for these thoughts
are so hard to ignore

He began with all living things
On the first day of anti-creation
Killing all; be they beggars or kings
No judgment just pure negation

On the second day lights went out
There was no longer night nor day
Only darkness was present throughout
Not a shadow not a tinge of grey

All this darkness destroyed vegetation
Photosynthesis ceased to take place
Everything was beyond devastation
Gasping and lacking in grace

The fourth day destroyed solid ground
He made sure every rock all the stones
Would sink and not ever be found
No one would ever unearth old bones

On the fifth day the clouds were unmade
Rain reunited the sea with the sky
In a marvelously heavy cascade
So the second last day went by

On the last day he reversed creation
Of Heaven and Earth in one blow
It was much easier than damnation
And God sat there and enjoyed the show.

A fragile ray of light
Reflected briefly
In the darkened pond
Beneath us
As we punctured fate
And I let you in
Like an earthquake
For hours shivering
Awaiting
Welcoming
Tsunami
And death
That little death
And the resurrection

It all begins
With pronouns
I becomes the subject
Of my project
Adding you
And collectively we
I choose you and me
And I exclude the he and the she
Until I am certain of we

You and I pick verbs
actions

Inflect them to match
fit
begin narratives

Transitive verbs take objects

You touch
tickle
tease
taste
take skin
*******
lips
me with words

Words have become a clause
But still a simple construction
So, you tickle me where?

For this you need a preposition
To position your tickling ammunition
Do you touch
tickle
tease me ON my *******
*******
thighs
buttocks
****?

Do you feel me INSIDE my mouth
****
soul?
Positioning is envisioning.

Then you use adjectives
To modify descriptions of
Sensory inscriptions
So, gentle complements touch
Soft and passionate kiss
And you become superlative

And adverbs elaborate experience
expression
exploration

You fill me deeply
thoroughly
violently with all that is you

But adverbs can also mean time
Not sweet or cursed time
Or time denoting age
But timing is always important
And grammar dictates
That
Time adverbs are placed
As a beginning or an end
Like a lover's embrace

Thus,
This morning, you woke me with
A demanding "here and now! " and I will reciprocate this, tonight, I vow.

Conjunctions are sentence connectors
And sentences behave like detectors
Bodies balancing with and, but, or
Otherwise subordinate
And the scale tips towards
Conditioning hypotaxis
Making actions a complicated praxis

(before my mind can connect, you will have to pursuade it /pursue it)

But we coordinate conjunctions
Equally
I touch you
You touch me
Exploring
Exploding sensory functions

So, together we cry imperatives
Completing our ****** narratives

Moaning
Whimpering
Begging
Yelling: Please... bind me!
touch me!
bite me!
take me!
come!

Oh! Please, come!

I love the English language... ;)

Saint Jude says what's up
been in Boston all night
having coffee and tea, I bet
you're doing the same
in Tibet or wherever

They tried everything
on you: the secret arrests
burned Rumi books
poisoned coconut water
giraffes with broken faces

Loneliness is the door to the traps
but you know
who you are
I know too when I see you
on the coast

as still, as skinny as
one of my African statues
as lithe as a palm frond or a jellyfish
You were always going to get free
you were always going to get free

Don't tell me there are plenty of fish in the sea
When the silvery, slimy things hang from coral reefs
And are stuck in frayed netting
Not yet frayed to the point of breaking
When they drown in oil and choke on garbage
Scaly flesh peirced by razor blade teeth
Captured and smothered
And beaten and gutted
Frozen and thawed and chopped
Stewed and grilled and covered in salt and sauce
Tossed and sliced and torn and diced
Delivered to my table in a trice
Don't tell me that there are plenty of fish in the sea
Because one of those fish could be me