I had a good time with a friend of mine
walking the hills of a wild flower field
paying no attention to the time
we were caught on a blanket during the sunset
with love on our minds
she closed her beautiful eyes
and imagined the stars were holes
made by the tendrils of a porcupine
poking through the frail fabric of the sky
then imagined them poking at her eyes
she took off running as multiple flower pedals took flight
I stood there engulfed in the cloud
and lifted my arms, I felt connected to everything now
I chased her out into the clearing she found
she spun till dizzy and I caught her right before she hit the ground
We lie on our backs looking up at the migration of dust
then realized you and me became us
the sun was no longer to be seen
and the stars seemed to imitate all that she appeared to be
she was a galaxy lying right next to me
I could feel that certain spark, that particular feeling
but I was distracted by the sky resembling my bedroom ceiling
She held my hand until we came down
and the stars remained stars and not exactly what we are
but everything we were around
We ended up on some separate couches back at my place
but when we woke up we were still high on yesterday

everything I've felt inside of a woman
I have felt outside of a woman
*** is superficial and can distract every moment


we've let our lust mask true love
our hearts go empty while our heads fill up
just because you look into a mirror
and like what you see
it doesn't mean you're happy

I'm at a place where I feel I could live forever
knowing what true love is and trying to spread it around
for us all to enjoy, together
being a good person isn't enough
we all could do better
the ship we're on is sinking
and it has got me thinking
that maybe the remedy is in the reason
for being a ****** human-being

I took the quickest route to your house
a typical Thursday evening
I turned into your cul-de-sac
you ran out of the front door
wrapping your legs around my waist
and your arms around my neck
I carried you back to my car
I sat in the front seat admiring all the you are
as you put your seat belt on
I've never felt more at home
we headed to my house
frolicked around in my front yard
we laid on our backs staring up at the stars
we realize the chemical reactions we are
she looks into my eyes and says "I'm ready for you"
then we did what any teenager would do
we made a memory we'll carry our whole life through
I gazed into the eyes of someone I loved
as we watched our spirits blend together above
you held me as close as you could
I will always believe I knew exactly where that feeling was coming from
we ended up back at my house
I felt proud when it was you I was sneaking out

I sat on the edge of my bed
three feet from me, in a chair
sat the prettiest brown haired girl I've ever seen
with a beer in her hand
saying things that interest me
as she pushes her other hand through her hair
carelessly telling me intimate details about herself
as if she trusted me, like I couldn't have been anyone else
I just sat there calm and still, watching the smoke trail off of my cigarette
trying not to notice how perfect she looks and how strangely fine this feels
I felt privileged to be in this room, loud music and smoke filled
she laid down on my bed as the night closed in
it was normal for us to sleep in the same bed like friends
but it seemed a bit different this time
we were closer than normal but it seemed right
I was prepared to fight the good fight
then I looked down at her
and I'll be ****** if she didn't have love in her eyes

when I disclaim that
there be no poem today
I suggest you
put me in the dock,
hit the chess clock,
to time the length
tween my lies
sit me down in
the witness stand,
to better see
the holes in me,
from which word seepage,
grey matter leakage,
blackened white slush mush,
covers my face and hands,
and with fingers splayed
in the V
of a Spock like Cohenic blessing,
I make

my beginning and ending
Commencement Speech,
a recitation of incantations,
an eye on the pyramid inspiration  
of cockeyed cantorial hymnations

Like this:

there is only one Godhead
that the spirits that allow me
breathing space in this world
and the one yet to come,
demand of me, worship -
It would be at the altar
of momentary fears
that clarify the whole,
the unifying principle,
that my blinded eyes,
my Pharaoh hardened heart,
my closed and deafened ears
see, soften and hear and believe!

I am slave to the
Gods of Poetry,
their truth, my lies,
stirred in one ***,
and as I live and breathe
I am rewired
with a new poem every day,
an addict who cannot obey,
who cannot afford to pay
the judicial costs
of the cease and desist order
of his own common sense

Jan 2, 2011 10:05 AM

The Heart Has No Bottom

Nor a top,
It is not an
Enclosure, a pen, a cell, a jail.

It is not bottomless.
It is neither round, oblong, it is not even
Heart-shaped.

The heart is shapeless,
A constant cloud bending to loves windy direction,
Reshaping as needed.

The heart is just a notion,
But its power,
Sense-stationary, sensational.

You move about the streets of life,
The heart, prowling for more,
It can only add, never subtract.

The heart, just a metaphor,
For the essential oils of life,
Which need absorption constant.

My heart but a notion, ill defined
It is love without boundaries,
Thank me not from the bottom, or the top,
Just
Come visit me, inside, stay as long as you can,
Within whatever you wish to call it, or
Wish to shape it...

I, uncap it, call it,
**Amor-phous.

Pieces of October leaves struggle as they hang outside my window
As if Halloween had ****** all their life away.
A sip of coffee
A shock of caffeine
A whiff of air
None could bring them back to life
Even in the realm of my imagination.
Cars pull in between the  gaps of thin whites,
Painted white lines, so faint,
As if they had been smothered by history
The dust on the window panes
They don't seem to bother me
They don't make a difference
No, not one bit
The world in all its effort to reform
Its endeavor to change to that which is contrary to itself
To me is simply nothing
And will be nothing
A dull block of clay will never acquire the perfect shape it desires
Just as a myriad of dying October leaves will not cease to be abandoned by its branches.
My coffee is stale.

Ethereal: A Commissioned Poem


This one knocked me askew! What do I know of
"an ethereal world created through the poetic imagination."

I am a flea of simplicity, a blunt and direct man, who scribes the small, cherishes the little, grabs the middle.
So many here are so far linguistically superior, when matters light, airy, and heavenly are involved.
Hell, I even call god, my buddy, by his first name when ****** stops by to make confession.
But first take nine minutes, patiently, to listen to this, all the way to the end.
http://youtu.be/xxTF2umRtqY
Then, and only then, read.

— ethereal (adjective)

light, airy, or tenuous; "an ethereal world created through the poetic imagination;" extremely delicate or refined: ethereal beauty; heavenly or celestial; gone to his ethereal home; of or pertaining to the upper regions of space.

My ethereal is:
Autumn leaves, piled,
wet and slimy,
stench rotted.

Human waste smeared,
in the the diaper
of the olden, enfeebled.

Burnt flesh,
the sulfuric acid kiss
from a rejected hand.

Cigarette smoke stains
yellow post-it's stuck
on human skin.

Men who live in cardboard boxes,
knowing this is
the all of their days
existence.

Scowling smiles, a
coin of death,
on the faces of those forced
to sell themselves for money.

Cursing accident traffic,
until you pass the overturned car,
see the car seats, teddy bears,
just litter now, amidst the
safety glass highway tree decorations.

What did you expect,
some of your favorite things?

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages ******* with strings
Cream colored ponies and crisp apple streudels
Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles
Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings
Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes
Silver white winters that melt into springs

Ethereal is Sandy swollen-springs
drowning mother and child in their SUV.

Froze dead vagrants
under white pristine,
suffocating,
beneath lovely snowflakes
that ****,
no strudel for them.

Mean ones pouring punch
on white prom dresses,
ruining dreams,
such a big scream,
put it in the yearbook,
don't forget the smiley face,
*******.

State troopers ringing doorbells
with so sorry so sorry ma'am,
she is not coming home
any more.

Stop!
Why?
You all grown up, learn the real,
this ethereal is the real too.

Wipe that *** look off your face.

You want gossamer and lace?
Wrong poem.
Beat it.
Go whine about your heartbreak
to somebody else,

Ether is the aromatic odor and sweet, burning taste, derived from the action of sulfuric acid.
Look it up, disbeliever, if it matters, it is so
real.

If you gonna use a word,
then know it.
If you gonna claim
the title of human,
try being it,
earning it.

Ethereal is the orderly,
cleaning the *** of the helpless,
one more time,
softly singing.

Ethereal is a car seat, belt,
that saves a child, a teen.

Ethereal is soup,
not a folded twenty,
hot hot soup for the
lying on the sidewalk.

Ethereal is miles of flags
receiving our dead
from overseas.

Ethereal is writing a poem about
someone else's pain
in your words.
just once,
straying away from the word I.

Ethereal is saying,
hey, to the blind,
careful,
wet leaves ahead.

Ethereal is human justice,
most un-divine.

Ethereal is not a thing,
nor even an adjective.
But a way of seeing the world.

Part II

Went out into the night,
back to The Village,
Bleecker Street.
where I used to live (#308).

Heard voices. Human voices.
A Room Full of Teeth.
They sang a Partita.
"A simple piece.
Born of a love of surface and structure,
of the human voice,
of dancing and tired ligaments,
of music, and of our basic desire
to draw a line from one point to another."

It was ethereal.
As I wrote these words in my mind,
My ethereals did not battle but blend,
the ugly and the beauteous.
They coexisted in peace?
I think not.
They coexisted in humanity.

All that is delicate,
is only because there is rough.
All that is soft,
is only because there is hard,
Listen to the lines drawn from points on earth.
You cannot choose which points to connect.
For all point to
Ethereal.

Ethereal is not a thing,
nor even an adjective.
But a way of hearing the world.

I've learned that happiness
cannot be found in the form of a little
purple capsule.
I've learned that Pisa will have to wait until next time.
I've learned that the third mushroom
held in my sweaty palm was not as
big a deal compared to the other two opening my mind.
I've learned that a part of me
died that night where we ****** in a
room with no furniture.
I've learned that life is work and that
the molotov cocktail of Dubrah and eay mac
that came spewing from me left an orange tang
upon the floor.
I've learned that pain is better than numbness
and that jabbing a sewing needle repeatedly in my arm
was an educated decision.
Most importantly I've learned that together we are better than alone.

Nothing give me more pleasure
When one of you 'likes' an old poem mine,
Buried under the uncountable new arrivals.

I go back and reread it myself.

Nothing gives me more pleasure,
Becoming reacquainted,
Through you, with myself, and
Liking it.

More amazing is that someone bothers,
Wondering, crazy-making me,
What have I missed.

So when I stumble on you,
Don't be surprised if I am
Free falling through each and every one
You ever penned.

That is why I love to, love the
random walking thru this site.

Refreshes me, through you,
Refreshes me, through me.
7:20am