Out of my flesh that hungers
and my mouth that knows
comes the shape I am seeking
for reason.
The curve of your waiting body
fits my waiting hand
your ******* warm as sunlight
your lips quick as young birds
between your thighs the sweet
sharp taste of limes.

Thus I hold you
frank in my heart's eye
in my skin's knowing
as my fingers conceive your flesh
I feel your stomach
moving against me.

Before the moon wanes again
we shall come together.


And I would be the moon
spoken over your beckoning flesh
breaking against reservations
beaching thought
my hands at your high tide
over and under inside you
and the passing of hungers
attended, forgotten.

Darkly risen
the moon speaks
my eyes
judging your roundness
delightful.

Hades escaping the first leaves of virginity
The realm of Io scattering molten silica
In degrees
Water drops from God’s shoulder burst and buried
Her eyes at my scar;  she stops the bleeding
Sucrose sun whetting the crest of a bee
The dutiful molecules of my shirt sleeves
Zaccheus in a sycamore tree
Her words on a southerly trajectory
Crawfish in my grandmother’s stream
The Battle of Moon Sound beaching infantry
A northern gannet nesting her babies
The decibels of smoldering wood beams
Flesh constructing hairs in the breeze
Molecules muddy as I try to breathe
Ghosts approaching the Andromeda galaxy
Stars floating to the top of the stream
I      N      F      I      N      I      T      Y

A mad ride,landslide always surfing,never reaching, never beaching on the shoreline,
waves and cosines and the sum of my times are strewn across the ocean floor,rising,falling always calling me on and on,
summer's gone the storms are here,three cheers for winter, splintering the dashboard of the sky,looking reverse as I stop to converse with back to back and Jack, the frosty chap,doffs his cap at me ,then freezes up the sea,my home.

Foam and latte are the order of the day,the words are set,I'll get the tab you get the cab and let's go somewhere for a mad ride,landslide..
and so it carries on.

Dark death skirts beaches in blood red,
as coffee colored swells wash in more
carnage to the shores;
we are blindly poisoning our waters.

Toxic plumes of red tide cover the seas,
beaching whales and seals,
manatees, and fishes;
we indiscriminately **** our sea life.

The brisk breeze off the Gulf
brings the smell of rotting death
that is all around;
we are blindly killing ourselves.

Our lifeblood,
the seas and its inhabitants,
slowly slip away;
we disrespect nature.

Mother earth mourns
as we continue
to ****** its inhabitants;
we are dying.

Sometimes it's just a conch shell
I am tired of holding
to my ear.

The birdsong outside my window
fills me more than your affection
ever could. When I say I am in love
with the entire ******* planet,
I mean it is impossible
for me to settle down.

I am not the type to sink
in the river, I want to float
on my back through the bloodstream
of the Earth and let the moon tell me
when it is too dangerous to go
swimming.

I never learned how
to swim. I am far too cautious
when I talk. My body is self-conscious
about letting the chlorine of
a summer pool touch me, fill me
like you used to.

I guess that's why I'm leaving,
love. The open air is a much better lover
than the sea. I would rather burn
inside the marrow of a far-off star
than feel alone at the bottom of the ocean,
only fish to guarantee I'm still alive.

Love is Pluto,
drifting in space searching
for something to hold onto
never knowing it is in orbit
circling something it will
never get to touch.

I wish I'd never touched you.
Never felt the sandpapered scars
that fold inside the creases in
your wrists. Never let you think
I had fallen from heaven, I wish
I'd told you I'm searching
for a way to float on top of clouds
without needing a God to tell me
I'm happy.

Maybe I only loved you
when you were unhappy.
Maybe your shoulder blades
never contained the wings I thought
I could see when the lights were out.

Baby, you were the ink
pouring from Shakespeare's
****** quill. You were the barnacle
in the sand waiting to take in
the blood and screaming disbelief
of a child, you were the whales
beaching themselves in one sorry attempt
to taste the grass.

You were the one
to always keep sinking.
It was your sandpaper
I held under my tongue
hoping it would rasp
long enough for someone
to tell me I was bleeding.

You were always
bleeding, especially when
I was gone. Now,
you breathe smoke
and still tell me it's me
who needs you.

Notes of rain
on a tin roof
mystify me

I try to put words
to its meaning

As if it is a calling
I listen to its tune

There, sometimes
like a scent of remorse,
a violet storm

Or a flash of a smile
so brilliant it pains

Night stirs the colors
about me with its ladle

But I can’t paint fables
or the whispers that follow

Dreams of love seem so real
for such a short time

I mean to imply something
larger, more inclusive,
grounded and wild

Something that reaches back
into stories we can never tell

Because we are the arc of them,
we are their breathing

Beaching ourselves on lonely shores
wanting only to be saved.

It’s lovely to live on a boat
So mobile a dwelling and remote,
But beaching in sand
To dock on dry land,
Is nicer than bobbing afloat.

Diabetic Floridians have traded their pancreatic souls for jelly rolls
while shimmying bloated groove things from crooked Citrus Bowls
to kick placenta-shaped globes through two sissified posts of goals
and fondling each other in and amongst obelisk football field poles,
in practice for the third to man righteous slots in State cheese doles
to boldly sashay on promenades with dogs called women for strolls
only to dine upon nature's bounty of termite larvae, slugs & moles,
from countrified cities and urban meadows to ship-beaching shoals
where myopic quasi-goats possess proto-goat gumption to eat trolls
In national shoe economy sectors it's advisable to rehabilitate soles
Remember the Maine, to hell with Spain, explore passages or holes
as it was in 1943's Hit the Ice twixt Elyse Knox & Patric Knowles,
allowing Lou Costello to be raked over the flick's proverbial coals

Sat on the beach looking out to sea.
Memories in my mind, running free.

The blue sea ebbs and flows.
The white tips of the waves glow.
The sound of the wave is noisy.
The wind is blowing breezy.

The wave begins its inward journey.
Picking up speed, it becomes very loudly.
The wave begins to peak and crest.
The wave looks majestic, at is best.

Its journey nearly over, as it begins to fall.
Its reached its destination and crashes to the shore.

The wave once a thing of beauty is no more.
Its role in life is to live and breathe.
Show people beauty that brings you to your knees.

All day people and children play in the sea, swimminig and surfing freely.
But never take the sea for granted be sure you know the rules.
Being unsafe at the seaside is really not cool.

Lost in my memories of beaching days.
There is no better way to say.
I love you Dad and miss you so.