the scab
cracks and bleeds
dead skin covering
raw flesh
a painful mistake for the
entire world to see
I want to peel it off
savor the exquisite agony
be done with it finally
but the wound is too recent
I'm not ready to be rid
of you
quite yet

she lies
     amid a twisted and
       sweaty sheet
  a goddess basking in
     naked glory
  her silky wetness
     coats my beard,
     white and hoary
I grin,
     lay next to her,
   in mild conceit
as her body
   trembles in final throes
  of lascivious
     ******* delight
  low purr from her
    lips
  as my passion ignites
she gives
     me the look that I
     cannot oppose
     pushes me back,
  her head
     between
  my legs, a
   playful bite
  lets me know it's
     my turn

the man
who lives above
stomps, bangs his doors again
I wish he would realize he died
last week

little
nugget, wide-eyed,
hairless, with red-faced wails;
you just ate - why are we awake
tonight?

to live
     every day
     in morbid dread
sharp cold spikes
     driven deep into
          the chest
anxiety
  conditioned,
  learned, pressed

screams

     in my head,
          and yet
               remains unsaid

ballad
from the eighties
vibrates my car speakers -
for a moment I'm reminded
of you

young men
dance with bullets -
spill blood and fight in war;
sent to their deaths on the whims of
old men

disease,
poverty, war -
hatred and bigotry
everywhere; yet each day birds
still sing

i was already dying
   when I met you
the
     cancer
eating away at my body
one
  cell
     at a time
for a year, in clandestine
   hostility
my carcass was animated by only
        the hope of love
        a yearning for
            something sensed
            not seen
     but then
    your aspect fell
       upon me
  savage, yet serene
proclaiming your love
   with all that you were
and the
       healing
           began

dolphin slaughter
   in disingenuous and exquisite
Japanese inlets
hunger as an epidemic
   in the shadowed corners of
the world
putrid and rotting flesh
rampant disease
gmo crops making us all
     fat
these are things to
          worry
about, to fret and rally over
   yet here
I sit, wondering in
      mild horror
why I write better poetry
with
    two
       shots
of whiskey
  in my gullet
than when I am sober

in the center
of my garden of thought
is an
     inky black pool
an obsidian mirror that ripples
     and grows
with each
          and every
hurt, pain, and torment I endure
circling the pool
     my verdant hopes
     my violaceous loves
     my carmine furies -
their blooms crawl, intertwine, creep
  in a mass of emotion and impulse
      pushing ever against the center
where my garden meets that
     ebony pond;
a barren desolate blight
  of decay and hopelessness
the vivid chromaticity of my
   emotion
in perpetual campaign against
          the void
        that forever
    threatens to
               consume
                    me

summer sweat
hugs my whiskey glass;
runs down my back

his frail form
offers a salted tribute
to the warriors lying
dead and dying on and under
his geta.  A thousand
clacking sounds rise up
into the stormy seas as
these tiny samurai know
defeat once
again.

the false dawn
banishes
     false hopes
of finding sleep
ahead of the rising sun
transient glow accompanies
     first blush birdsong
the cardinal's aubade
     ushering
          greeting
     the brush's first stroke
across the canvas of night
twitching limbs
     bloodshot eyes
          nonstop freight train of thought
               all
                    night
                         long -
these afflictions allow me
to witness the lonely beauty
     of today's sunrise

I know
the feelings she
stirs in my ***** when I
look at her are wrong 'cause she's my
sister

when they're
eating my brain;
I hope they choke on my
fears, self-loathing, and mostly my
regret

the trial
is over; the
debate’s just beginning
they’ve all just earned their Facebook law
degree

they frown
at my tattoos
as I ride past their church;
I think if they had stones they would
cast them

my scar
etiolate
but my vigor remains
I stand unbowed, unbeaten, and
alive

the fog outside my window creates
miniature halos around each
streetlight -
mocking me with their
barometrically-induced
divinity
how the **** can a streetlight
find God when all I find
are more reasons to dislike
my fellow man?

every day, all day,
on every channel
(CNN, MSNBC, FOX, ABC, NBC, CBS)
I see hour after
hour
of so-called news about
the latest boogeyman Arab,
celebrity pregnancies,
something else that
causes cancer,
a book that will
change my life,
or a heartwrenching expose
on teen drugs use in
suburbia.

hundreds of hours of
"news"
every day.  We talk
so much and still
fail to communicate.

And all the while, the light
outside
my window reaches enlightenment
without ever
saying
a
word.

“Sorry babe”
I breath fire as I stare
down at her naked
body - the twisted sheets
damp with futile sweat -
“I have
  whiskey ****.”

"We're way
past
the point of no return,"
she said,
refusing
to look into my eyes
as she said it.
"I gave up on
you
a long time ago.  I'm in
love
with another man now."

There were so
many
things I wanted to say
right then. So many responses
on the tip of my tongue.

Some were
angry and inflammatory.
I didn't tell her that she
was the
*****
who lied and deceived me
for months while she
secured
her future with another man.

Some were
hurt and accusatory.
I didn't tell her that she
had unerringly found
every
***** in my armor and had
mercilessly
exploited them.

Some were
loving and pleading.
I didn't tell her that she
was my soul mate and that
there was no problem
too great
for us to overcome - together.

I didn't say anything.

Instead, I
****** her
and sent her back to
her new
boyfriend.

the stained glass window in my bathroom is broken
I see it every time I ***
three shards of missing colored glass
bleeding non-filtered sunlight -
a washed-out contrast to the flavored
beams shining next to those jagged wounds

a more discerning eye might notice
  the scars
on two more pieces of tinted glass;
cracks that promise
to sacrifice their host, hint at
a future for the frame with less glass
and remind of it's eventual doom

I’ve often considered repairing that window
but I never do
the missing glass, spiderweb cracks  the flaws
make the window less ideal,
but more perfect

Washing my hands today, my face illuminated by
green light,
  red light,
    yellow light,
      broken light,
        and spidered light through cracks of glass
      I think again;
I really need to replace
that glass.

Bloodied fingers are badges of honor
that few men suffer themselves to accept.
Part of the debt the instrument incurs;
a separation of skilled and inept.

The mastery of half a dozen steel
strings oft becomes a lifetime endeavor.
This daring quest for musical ideals
demands commitment lasting forever.

A hollow body touches the essence
of perfection that is merely expressed
by mortal beings of inconsequence
who caress the Muse nevertheless.

Ten fingers endure torture on six strings
for melodies only guitars can bring.

Green as the pirate seas Caribbean,
her eyes pulsate with the thundering surf.
Majestic squall, power most stygian,
lurks just beneath the surface of her mirth.

The salt-filled breeze, a warm westward phantom,
imparts its lazy life to flaming locks;
brushes the kisses that from angels come,
caresses lips, a smile that faintly mocks.

Tropical dress clings to a body lithe,
swaying gently on the sand-covered dune
gazing at the sea, a creature of myth
spoken of in countless stories and rune.

Enchanted, I am drawn to my Siren.
She sings for me alone - the least of men.

My arms held high, I glorify the night
which masks the horror of the world from me;
all the death, the sorrow and the spite.
I cannot fear that which I cannot see.

The night cries only to those who listen.
Deafened, I reach out and embrace the dark,
offering my soul in full submission.
And yet, the night cries dimly reach their mark.

The sweet comfort of night peels away
leaving ugly darkness and empty skies.
The keening leaves me in a disarray.
Frightened, I listen as the night cries.

The night cries torment me as there I stay;
I long only for the coming of day.

dog-paddling
in zero gee
   my beagle

plastic dinosaur
made from fossil oil -
  recursion

in the men’s room
peeking under my stall
  - tentacles

fighting ourselves
we never see
  -- that alien ship

it’s not the video;
she really looks
like that

tiny scream
under my boot
  first step on Mars

what will be
my last sensation
before I die -
will it be the
touch
of your hand within mine?

what will be
the final taste in my mouth
before I die -
will it be your
kiss
moist upon my lips?

what will be
the very last thing I hear
before I die -
will it be your
whisper
in my ear?

what will be
the last sight in my eyes
before I die -
will it be your
face
looking at me?

what will be
my last thought
before I die -
will it be
of you
and our life together?

what will be
has not yet happened, but
before I die
I will live every day
with you
until what may be becomes
what will be

serpentine road
turns into the sun;
   my throttle opens

bullies
online and off-
they hide from their demons
by becoming monsters themselves
in vain

Alone
in the desert
of my sable anguish -
a solitary wildflower,
I weep.

twilight -
above my uncut grass
two fireflies

Sweet thing
with vacant eyes,
don't back up off of me.
**** dancer, please be my girl
tonight.

Sweaty
condensation
beads on my glass of tea.
Lazy fans push warm air across
her face.

Beneath
the tubes and wires,
past those frigid machines,
you'll see the pleading eyes of a
human.

full flower moon
in its halo -
the space station

I hate zombies
they are the infantile enemy
the foe against which there is
    no guilt
the essential
        human
questions of right of wrong
  of morality
never apply to the cerebellum-craving
undead.  It's us or them
   hunt or be hunted
   **** or be killed
they are enemies that fail to
      challenge
   our notions of what it is
   to be us
give me a werewolf any day
or rather - any moon
the tortured lycanthrope
   forces the protagonist to
choose to **** because
    unlike zombies
there's always
   a chance
   however small
   that a werewolf
can find
redemption

I worry about everything, baby
I'm a
    writer - a poet
    passion begets anxiety
it's my job  hell
I even worry about
        my worrying
my stress is recursive
mere moments only can I
    break the loop
      forget to worry
        and smile
usually it's when I'm
    with you

the room is filled with
old lady stank
the kind that assaults the nose
and crawls down the throat in
an angry attempt to
drive you right out of the building.

she says the walls are “peach”
but I can see behind the cracked flakes
that it was once yellow.
I just grunt and sit at the edge of the bed
determined to hate both colors on
principle alone

I don’t want to be here, in her stank
I don’t want to look at the cracked
and pitted
desert that was once her face
I don’t want to strain to hear her
wavering and whispery voice

Yet here I am,
surrounded
by horrific images of a ****** Christ
nailed ironically to the walls
rosary beads hanging from
every candle in the room
and the Blessed ******
fighting
for space on the walls next to her
zombie son

where’s her god now
I wonder sourly as I strain to hear
her wavering and whispery voice
relate how nice the orderly was
who
washed
her prune of a body this morning.

hell, forget the god
where was her family
or her friends
or her nut job preacher

there’s only me
carrying my own stank of
whiskey and smokes
sitting here on the edge of
her bed
listening to her stories

don't know
where we are now;
don't know how we got here.
all that matters is that I'm here
with you.

humor,
or so I'm told,
is key to happiness.
seems every time I try to laugh -
I cry.

to live
in harmony -
to exist without that
horrible restlessness in me
each day

guitar's
wailing tonight;
long, slow, melancholy.
The only way he knows to say
goodbye

they say
that we're running -
but we're just migrating;
our hopes and our dreams are out there
somewhere

Heavy
blues in the room.
Through the haze, ash and sound,
he caresses Lucille and then
plays on.