Oh, I remember so well
how your skin against mine
tasted like honey but sweeter
and softer
yes

No, it did not.

I remember when
My forehead touched yours
yes I remember
Your beautiful scent

Sweat and
*** and curly hair. It was not
not beautiful

Oh when we loved and kissed and pressed
so longingly together
and caressed each other
into the blueberry night
yes yes I remember!

In the back of that bar?
She never loved you and
You promised to stop.

And you loved me! Yes, we
talked and laughed and kissed each day
Those blackberries we shared
You did, you did!

She left you for him. You were just
one of the many she liked to see
and kiss at night

But
But
But no that can't be
Because I remember so well!
How your skin against my lips tasted like
honey but sweeter and softer
And the smell of your hair
And your body
and mine tangledupsotight...

No

I beg you.
Just stop.

Your halo starts to fizzle
Like a vampire in the sun
We’re sitting in the darkness
And no one’s having fun
Up ahead the ceiling’s
Closing in upon our heads
Just like all the angels
Who flew from heaven’s bed
We try to pretend that
We can’t see their eyes
All the coward rebels
And their sheepskin disguise
Our souls begin to hitchhike
Without a help or guide
Along the holy road
That leaves us dumb and blind
******* cigarettes
Bodies languid
Laughing like idiots
Crucifying language

The cover might be torn.
The pages might be worn.

But never judge a book by its cover.
Never know what you'll discover.

There's so much beyond what's seen.
Just need to respect the poor as well as the queen.

The words might've suffered scorn.
The theme rejected before being born.

But never judge a book by its cover.
There might be a gift for you to discover.

The healthy now the ones mourn.
Disabilities sprouting like corn.

Never, I say I never judge a book by its broken cover.
Because in the fragility hides what you must discover.

Copyright 2011

'The time has come,' the Preacher said,
'to speak of many things
Of talking snakes and ****** births
and golden angel wings
And why Perdition’s fire is hot
and whether Christ is King...'

'Hold on a sec' the poet said,
'Before we sort this mess
I think I need an hour or so
to chill and convalesce'
'Take your time' the preacher said,
'Tomorrow will be fine'
The poet thanked him kindly
and then poured a glass of wine

And then he poured another
and another and six more
But soon the flask was empty
and he stretched out on the floor
He looked up at the preacher
and in garbled words he said:
'I think I'd rather talk
about reality instead'