They used to call
him
the young genius
now they call
him
the old recluse,
holed up in his
shack on the Mad River,
A garden of grow
in the back corner,
Always a **** for me and you.

He sits out on
his little patio
those bottle fed
cats
all running around
chasing ghosts
this way and that.

Pink camillas
white roses
silken dried out hydrangeas,
Spirits in the faces of the flowers.
Red berries
the bird's bar
a bar fight breaks out every evening.

We visit him there
on Friday afternoons
sun setting
sun high in the blue sky.

He finger ****** his
way through life,
Where ever he stopped,
People's lives changed,
He, searching for the words
to heal others pain
until compassion fatigue
set in,
Now he can only relate
to others
in small quantities of moments
too much pain felt
from
without within.

He is like his river,
a madness,
always different/always the same.
The sanest person we ever
knew.
Just watch your eyes, though,
with a look
he'll see right through you,
All your secrets will be revealed.

The young genius
the old recluse
if you need some healin'
go ahead and see'em,
He'll give you just a
hint,
Even if he's not feeling,
He'll take you down to
the Mad River's shore
give you a glimpse of you
and
bring you back home again
for more.

Shaman's on their way
have nothing much better to do
and nothing else to prove.

Why do we go through
all of this stress?
So easy to forget.

Smoke a thousand
cigarettes,
Another ****
another hit,
another poke,
Another whip,
another mindfield to avoid.

A ****** cut,
A ****** mind,
A ****** mouth.

Not just another disembodied
mind
in the ether's ink.

Skin & Bones & Flesh
until
that
sharp and shooting
pain
so easy to
forget.

Sunrises in your eyes,
Silences of the dawning skies,
the grace when you stride on by.

  Soft songs
your child sings in rhyme.

The rainbow
when the rain is still,
the silence of my heart when
I lay with you -

Birds that fly so free,
the ocean wave
as it drifts towards me.

Winds blowing high in the trees.
Sleep as it descends on me.

Beauty in the flowers
we hold within.

Nature's course,
it comes and goes,
we know.

There's beauty in
our harmony
our poetry
our one singing voice.

There is beauty
in the lives we
live, as they
run
their course.

I can project any fantasy
on you,
I don't even have to know you
really
I can love you truly
fondly, dearly
internal chemistry
hot hot hot
inside to inside
mingling
in
the early early
morning
in the late late
night.

You are my pixel cowboy
on a Saturday night.
I know you need a
woman like me
to believe.
I can pretend to
satisfy
your every need.
Magical love in 10 words
what's there not to believe?

Turn it on
turn me on
light me up.
We never go backwards,
We always go forward
each interaction
starts us anew.
It's perfect for me and you.

We can get it on
get it off,
We can meet
I don't have to be there
who said I wasn't
the perfect woman
for a cowboy like you?

Virtual love,
an endless Western horizon
now that's our song
sing with me baby
we'll stream our dreams.

Came to me in a dream,
The internet of the unconscious
the place
where dreamers flee.

As I lay down,
Eyelids shutter's close
deep dark night falls,
Into the interweave
we are delivered,
Into the collective unconscious
we go
coast to coast,
In synchronicity's archtype's flow
where all the
heroic demons and fears
dwell and go.

Awake?  A dream?
A Balinese on LSD.
The boundaries fall
as the currents of the interweave
take us all.

When we hear a voice
we look around
to
see if anyone hears it too
otherwise how are we
to know
if it's a dream or if it's true.

The interweave a current,
We only enter unconscious
or
is it
when we are fully being?

We don't know.

We are swept along
on the night riding songs,
Our voices sing in
colors vivid, strong,
Sparkling in the black sky
lightning of consciousness crackling
the thunder of life
echoes in our ears
ripping us asunder,
To emerge
on another side
in another way,
Not too different,
Not too the same,
Irreversibly changed.

Our hands we hold
as we plunge, plummet
into the white current in
the dark sky
broadcasted to
the tumbling
rotating
universe
the interweave
a transit to
anywhere
you might imagine,
Don't fear,
Courage is here.

The imagination
runs so wild
call it what we will,
When we make our return
from the interweave's
milky way,
All we will
really know
is
that
for those
deep dark nights
when the eyelids shutters' close
after connecting
to the interweave
I
with each other was
free.

Pay your quarters
pay your dimes
you're paying for laundromat time
slowly spinning
forgotten
by
Einstein's Theory of Relativity.

Minutes become hours
and
there are still too many hours to go.

Any math class
intense gas
organized religion
waiting for the tow truck,
the bus
in
the pouring frozen rain.

Sitting in the E.R.
with a cut finger
waiting waiting waiting.

Sitting in the hospital room
with an elderly distant relative
you hardly know,
their funeral too.

At the grandparents house
with endless repeats of Judge Judy
on the t.v.
t.v. droning monotoning on and on and on.

Any work day
perpetually two thirty or three,
in meetings with presentations
with more presentations to go,
you're trying to be productive,
but all you know
is
laundromat time
slowly spinning.

Any night of insomnia,
betrayals endless loops,
anxiety rolling through,
following you from one cigarette to another
three o'clock
four o'clock
four-twenty.

Home movies of endless barbeques
I know meaningful to you.

Pictures of people's
cats and dogs
a hundred more to go.

Eight and a half months pregnant,
kiddie soccer on a Sunday morning at 7:30,
the middle school brass band
Friday night at nine,
yes, that's me
passed out and snoring,
laundromat time
a warm blanket
has
put me under.

Anybody else's endless fascinations
say
pictures of weather,
laundromat time sets in
as the
eye lids flutter
narcolepsy sets in with all of this clutter.

So the next time
you're standing in line
and the woman in front is telling
the clerk
every detail you never wanted to know
you'll think about these poor lines
and remember
you're spinning in laundromat time
forgotten by Einstein.

In fact these poor lines
must be feeling that way too
I am going to do you a favor
and
get back to you later.

Walking along the river road
Was my friend and I
Along side in clear reflection
The Mad River gently floated by
While my friend and I
Spoke about loves
which had come and gone by.

When to my horror I did see
A child
a floating by
I dropped my back pack
And in to the river I did fly
Reaching down to grab that child
To safety, on this day, he would not drown as long as I'm around
I pulled him up and gently
I laid him on the ground.

Before we had a moment
Before a word could we say,
I saw another child
a bobbing, rushing, down fast this way
I jumped back into those frozen waters
I held her to my breast,
A sputtering
A muttering
I laid her on the grass,
There was no time to take a breath
Before another child down the river
floated my way.

I repeated my actions over and over
Went down to that river each time
Until as many children as I could gather
And lay them along side the river's
shallow shore.

Exhausted, now I stood
My friend sat on the green green grass
a crying to that noon time sun
We looked at each other in desperation's
silent hum.

One more
Two more
Three more
Four

A floating and a struggling they did come.

I didn't know what else to do

But I started running up the road
I knew the headwaters were
Up the road
Just a mile or so
or
so I thought.

In the distance I heard my friend
Calling my name in despair
Thinking that alone, I had left him there
To fight this futile battle.

To the headwaters I needed to go
To find out and stop this parade
Stop who was ever
Throwing these poor children
To the hell of the Mad River's
Watery grave.

The headwaters are just around this last bend
My friend's voice still echoes
The children's cries are sounds
Sounds I will always hear.

When I get there
I will tell you what it is
I found
I found awaiting there
Throwing all of these children down
for in this life to drown.

From the snow caps a melting,
The desert's valley floor
Through the farms
Past the city streets
To the ocean's mouth, it's final release
The Mad River flows
Taking our children as it goes.

Maybe baby
You'll come on home with me
maybe baby
our love will find its way

Love will take you
by its hand,
you'll fall full throttle
under its command
love will make you see
open up your heart to me

Maybe baby
you'll come out and play with me
maybe baby
our love will have its day

Love it rises
love it falls
a roller coaster ride
for the
heart
the mind
the body
all

Maybe baby
our love will set us free
maybe baby
we'll take a chance and see

Love it sings
love it dances
love romances
It puts you in
blazing
ecstatic trances

Maybe baby
we can find our way
maybe baby
today is our day
maybe baby
you'll come on home
with me.

Fire
fire
in the sky
burned so bright
burned so high
how was I to know
it was the end of time.

Meteor predicted on
its way
flashed incandescent
as it made its way,
shattering into a
million fragments
atmosphere burning
fires starting
nuclear winter
envious of its
power.

A lone figure
on a hill
never knew
such loneliness
as this,
took your hand
and
one last kiss.

The meteor bright
brought the end of time
rendering all of our
fears, petty jealousies
brutalities and stress
our issues
our loves
irrelevant.

If I had known this
before
freedom wouldn't
have been that painted
she-male *****
seductively calling
to me for more -
but could have been
a moment before
that meteor made
its call.

The fires have melted
the stars have
been renewed
the planet continues
its spinning around
the sun
the deepest ocean fishes
continue evolution's marching orders
while a cell phone alarm
flips on
and
the icon shows "no signal"
while beneath
the rubble a
malfunctioning relay
finally finds
that call made
hours ago
and the phone
rings and rings
beneath the
ashen snow
until the last
silence
no one is home.

Mother Earth
finally restored
to
its
silence
once again.

You open
the
fortune cookie
and
there is
nothing
inside

Relaxed?
Not yet.
Each step forward
takes you further down
inside,
expands outward the mind,
to find this internal
moment profound.
Now
calm peace and warmth
with each breath.

Peace and harmony
for my being
Peace and harmony
for my friends and family
Peace and harmony
for my community
Peace and harmony
for my country
Peace and harmony
for every living soul
Peace and harmony
for our dear planet.

Extending outward
our mind's eye sees
it all.

Peace and harmony
for our sun and solar system
Peace and harmony
for our Milky Way galaxy

Peace and harmony
for the whole wide universe
in
this moment of
being
in
this brief moment
of
conscious living.

"Next".

He exchanged his
routines
for the
long dusty road,
he exchanged his
jeans
for a long white jacket
he called it the "white robe."
His hat said "Home"

He took off on the
road only travelers
go.

He had a pretty girl
he was was going to see,
then he knew
he would have to leave.

He stopped saying much,
mainly "thank you"
and "please".

He had exchanged
his mind set
for a new set,
his confusion for clarity
his narrative for poetry,
many said
it had led him astray.

He exchanged his
fullness for emptiness
and
began to take it all in,
the old dusty road became
the only way he knew at all.

He would stand in perfect silence
and
hear it all.
He would stand in perfect stillness
and
travel it all.

He exchanged his awake routines
for dreams.

He traveled here and there,
where ever
that dusty old road
would take him,
some places made sense,
some were flashes
of total innocence.

He had exchanged
his expectations
for creations.

He could love you on the road,
be with you
but with you
he would never go home.

Rumor has it
it was his fatal flaw.

He had exchanged
success and failure
for
experience,
he avoided many a cliff
many a fall
in having it all.

You won't find him
hitchhiking
panhandling
soliciting or pandering
selling drugs
or
in bed with your mother.

You'll find him in the whispers
you hear
in the rainbow aura
around street lamps
on night time
deserted streets,
the meteor at midnight
the green flash at sunset.

He had exchanged
staying for going
and
he was on his way
with dust devils
blowing
behind him.

The child of the golden light
sitting in the sunshine room
in the dark factories of
madness' tombs,
Your gentle sweet breath
creates a breeze flickering,
as one candle
lights another
in lilac scented jasmine,
Our shadows are cast on the walls.

While in your lap sits a
Clay bowl
with Icarius images etched,
whispering for you to behold,
The cup holds countless opportunities
for inspiration,
Little Tinkerbelles
you hand out freely to those
who lighten up the darkness,
for those lost in the cold
for those lost without a home
for those who swelter in the heat
of their own madness
for far too long,
for those who come alone
who are there to help as best they can.

This rare clay bowl of Tinkerbelles
Who bring magic to the cold nights of our world
the Queen of Hearts
Handed out souls to those
whose souls had been lost
with this light of hope
inspired those who
give at all costs.

The Queen of Hearts
has left the room
down the highway to a distant land
All her bowls of inspiration, courage,
compassion and hope
neatly packed
I watch your U-Haul
sail down 101
I walk back to my dark end
and notice at
my feet
one last clay bowl
of splendor
left behind,
As I pick it up
I know it's a role
I can never live up to or play
in your way.

But one spinning light
a remnant left behind
remained
encouraging me to
try with another
and one more time
perhaps I can pass this gauntlet
on
to another.

Her sweet work
will never be done,
whether here or there
but perhaps if done correctly
with a true heart,
the darkness will be vanished,
everywhere.

Farewell, farewell.
Your sweet breath remains
lights the candles
one by one
Tinkerbelles of magical inspiration
handed out freely
to each and every one
Your enlightened legacy.

For this moment
And in this time
and space
Your bowl
Your inspirations
are
Alive with grace.

Is anybody out there
Is anybody home?
Is anybody out there
Is anybody home?

The lights are shinning in my eyes
I can't see a thing,
the silence is
so deafening,
I can sing,
I can dance,
but
My words are falling
into dust and ash,
Is there anybody
out there?
Is there anybody
home?

I know there are
so many times
I know I need to
be alone.
I can hear my
voice a whispering
I can hear my songs
being sung
into this empty silence
even before I have
begun.

A satellite without a planet
a planet without a sun
a motherless child at the park
without a room to call
her own,
a life without a tomb,
Is there anybody
out there?
Is there anybody
home?

A heart without
a lover,
empty pages
without a story
time with no beginning
time without an end.

A freeway with no exit,
a ticket without a destination
a sunrise without a plan,
soaring with no place to land.

It's hard to be a god
in this universe alone
and all your creations
have taken the first bus home,
as the house lights fade
and
the last intermission is done
and
no one is listening
and
no one is home.

far too long
should of left
hours ago
don't know what
I'm looking for
don't know what
I'm waiting for.

Friends sit
talking, all well
known to each other,
I don't know
a single soul.

I was invited
by a friend of a friend
I met on the trail.

The party has come
and gone
but I'm still
hanging on,
standing here
playing
this is the church
this is the steeple
with my fingers,
open the doors
and
there are all
the
people.

Stuck on pause.

The music is done,
everyone
said "goodbyes"
people headed to bed.

It's dark,
the celebration is done
the wedding had come
and gone.
The band's playlist
lays in the dew on the grass
the ***** was put away
the last bowl had been smoked.

In the distance
I can hear the
scents and sounds
of other music,
the occasional laugh
over the freeway
sounds, acoustics through
the canyons
on a
Southern California
night.

I've stayed here
far too long.
Home is where I need
to go
a direction
I
do not know.

The driver
she wears mascara
the
last remnant of her humaness
she's always been a
little blessed
she's met her death
many times.

You can hear
her coming on
the winds
freight train sounds
through the Jeffrey Pines
this train isn't
Bound for Glory
this train's bound
for eternity
a one way
ticket with
no return.

Though I've always
rooted for reincarnation.

This train
stops for gamblers
midnight ramblers
**** addled ******
addicts caught between
nodding out and cleaning
the refrigerator with a tooth brush.
Even saints on board will stay.

The oblivion express
your going to hop
on board when your
ticket is punched,
the ticket taker
laughs and smiles
his last glimpse
of humaness.

She's the driver
he's the turnstile
they were once
an item
before they were delivered
to their
new careers
never to see each
other again
except through the
glass of her engine.

The fire is stoked
the express becomes
a local
stopping for each
and every
daily passenger
you can hear that
whistle blow.

You don't know where you're
headed
you just know
you gotta go.
Her mascara drips down
her face
you and she
the ticket taker
too
there is no escape
the oblivion express
just around the corner
and
on its way.

Your lavender love
it falls to pieces
falls to pieces
everywhere you go.

Your lavender love
hits the ground
and scatters
all around
all around.

You walk in trails
of flowers blooming
in all the sounds
of harmony
a magical touch
which heals all
pain, and words
which soothe
during midnight
rains.

You come on the
breath of the winds
you leave that
same way
too.

Your lavender love
it falls to pieces
falls to pieces
every where you go.
Where it comes from
where it goes
I really don't know.

Your lavender love
it falls to pieces
everywhere
we go.

"Soldiers Heart"
Two brothers on their way
one wore blue
and
one wore gray
one came home
one stayed behind
one mother mourns
on a November's day.
212,938
bled and died
on
American soil.

"Irritable Heart"
14 years in the Philippines
far too many days
4200 died
so many miles away.

"Shell Shock"
Johnny got his gun
alive in the tomb
of his mind
no eyes
no ears
no arms
no legs
a beating heart
an active mind
alive
with memories and sensations
Paths of Glory
leads
the way
and 53,402 stay
while one came home.

"Battle Fatigue"
291,557
perished.
Nagasaki got its bomb
six million died
before our fathers and grandfathers
liberated them.

To the 38th Parallel
we did go
where old soldiers
never die
they just fade away
with
time.
33,746 died.

"Stress Response Syndrome"
Apocalypse Now
Jacob had his ladder
in
the jungles of Vietnam
Full Metal Jacket
Born in the USA
homeless veterans
now aged still pay today
while 47,424
lay in their graves.

"Post Traumatic Stress Disorder"
My daughter
my son-in-law
bring it all
back home to me
Navy Medics
seven years
they traveled with the Marines
picking up the pieces
as they went their way
many too many trips
for all those young
troops
now we are
seeing
their heroism
proceeding
despite being afraid
a price
dearly
we all pay.
5,282 and still counting.

Willingness
or
Willfulness
We find our place
in
this universe.

I began as a spot
of mud
flipping off a comets
rushing tail
frozen in ice
I survived the fall
a few moments of
organic molecules
landing on one
vast continent
integrated
into a minuscule
whole
I became alive
alive for this time
and
all time.

But

There were forces
moving inside of
me
call it what you will
continental drift
tectonic plates
powerful forces
which fragment me
over time.

I come together
I divide
but the cycles
don't stop there
like our love
as all these
parts and particles
slam back together
in a single mind.

Pangaea!  I once
called you home
it was the only place to be
I knew who
and what I
was
but I have become
divided and split
even my dreams are
fragments of scattered
lands.
My center can not
hold for long
as competing desires
beg to be known.

As eternity picks
me up and sends
me on my way
as I scatter back
to those solar
winds
disintegrate to
a spot of DNA
whisked off this
planet
and arrive on
the back of a
sailing comet
frozen for eons
long
to once again
through happenstance
fall
onto a foreign
planet -
home again to
my private
Pangaea
unity
begins the
cycle
all over
again.

Of death
aren't you?

Sick of hearing about it
talking about it
seeing it,
family members
strangers
friends
aunts
uncles
parents
next of kin
all I feel is dread when the phone rings.

Pablo may have been weary
of chickens
but
I've had enough
death
to last a lifetime.

Every night on
the daily news
the death report
reminds me
every time you turn around
there's another tragic story
you're going to hear.

I'm sick to death
of death
in the movies
on
t.v.

You know what I mean.

You know what?
I'm sick of this poem
I'm sick of thinking about death.

It's 8:06
I
declare it officially
dead.

The poem, I mean.

The fever came on
me late last
night
no it wasn't Ebola
it was you tonight.
Obsession of the mind
a sickness rolled
in
had nothing to do with you again
but something from
within.

There's an aching
longing that will
make you sweat
you'll build up
an embarrassment debt
if you let that
fever take your
mind.
You'd better hold
on to what
soothes you inside
otherwise your going
for a ride
boiling inside.

Take a cold shower
get some ice
distract your mind.
I just don't think
you have the
time.
This fever is burning you up inside.

Just don't ever let her know,
she can't fix it
anyhow.
The fever will pass
the quiet will
come on back.

You did nothing
that
can't be undone.

It's the
old
Blah Blah Blah
it's gonna
drive you mad

It's the
Blah Blah Blah
every time
you turn your head.

The mouths are moving
but you're not hearin
a word
their saying,
like
a dog listening to Russian
it's all
Blah Blah Blah
Bingo
Blah Blah Blah

My partner's complaining
My children are whining
Your parents eyes are dialating
The teacher is lecturing
the bosses are gesturing
the customer is complaining, irate
the salesman with smiles
is bombing your face.

You're told
you're not good enough
fast enough
right enough
tough enough
too slow
too late
you know what they're saying
but
all you are seeing
is
the old
Blah Blah Blah

I'm looking
into
every one's
eyes
they all seem surprised,
I'm not really sure
what it is
they are all really doin',
all I'm hearing
and probably saying
is
the
Blah Blah Blah

My year of Burning Man
began
with butterfly wings
flapping out on the playa
in a high desert black
moonless sky
speeding up the relentless winds
just enough for me
to hear it call my name
and
make this change
where life
becomes a vast array
of
giant machines
Las Vegas style
in this black rock desert.

I have lived among in my days
of sustained isolation
before the people came
to construct this
city of lights
and community
where we all belong
and participate
in this life art project
free from the rules
that restrict us
as the giant sweat lodge
of the desert
alters our consciousness
frees us.

In my year of Burning Man
the relentless winds
blows the mundane into the insane
and
before entering that last gate
I kiss myself goodbye
knowing
I'll never see myself again.

My  time
becomes an art project
and the very nature of reality
heaves and sighs
like Pyramid Lake,
the spiritual center of the Paiute people,
which you pass on by
on your way to Burning Man skies,
my internal waters
turn over,
as does the Lake
as the top goes to the bottom
the bottom to the top
and the creative residue
which had drifted
on down
begins to arise anew.

In my year of the Burning Man
I never have to go to the circus
the circus is me
a universe inside
a universe tall
a universe wide
at Burning Man
nothing is small.

The costumes come alive
behind thousands of eyes
the lights in the desert come alive
while the thumping bass
shakes
rattles you inside.

It's a masked costume party
where the masks don't hide
but reveal all that you are inside,
inside out.

My revolution comes
in a tanker truck
of gasoline
on a Saturday summer-fall
night
and my flames
climb
a thousand feet high
into
the Black Rock
desert sky
in unity
one cosmic cry.

The dust's breath
sticks to everything,
every one
every masked body.

In my days
in my Burning Man year
my eyes are now
perpetually wide and amazed
within this vastness
that for this moment
and all my days
from my birth
to my death
that
I have been alive.

Sitting in that tiny room
you call your
office
sweating in sweat
heater blaring
chills of regret.

Inflammatory response
tightened up
tripped out
grimace has become
your middle name.

To steal from Bob Dylan
"there must be some way
out of here"

No wonder
plunging head long
headaching
heart breaking
into red brick walls
second story shaky
jail cells flaking
one too many souls
borrowing one soul too many.

We don't really
get it our way.

Bursting out of all that gray
making your way.

The streets will be
calling your name
to be the light angel again
drifting into dark
consciousness to light
the way.

Descending
back into
that
twisted tiny room
you call your office
in a modular tomb
and the only window
is
sleep.

The air gets thicker
as my room gets darker
I can barely see my
name
my identity fades
as I evolve and change
until I become unrecognizable
even to myself.

We think we are
what we always will
be
time in the midst
stands still,
the illusions we weave
can only deceive
until the truth
is told to set us free.

In this life
everything we believe
we know is a dream
the power of ego
deceives us into thinking
we have more to win
or lose.

We puff up like
parrots
reciting our lines
of
sorrows or joys
in hopes to find
one moment of truth
but it's only for this
brief time.

I kick the rock
I lay with you
to remind me
in
this warm embrace of
your sweet arms
I finally
remember
I'm really real.

Midnight on I 80
passing by Truckee
heading East
towards the lights of old Reno.
The snow starts blowing
around Floristan,
Sierra Nevada
winter
following me
all the way down.
I'm looking for a big truck
to
get behind.

Riding on the crying road
every
Sunday night.

Wondering
if I am creating
gratitude or regrets
for
my future self's past.

What am I doing?

I left you on a January night
chasing love
in a blue moon light.
Stuck between desire
and
staying home.
I don't know what's true
what's true with me
what's true with you.

I'm stuck behind this wheel
snowy anxiety
ringing on through,
what am I doing?
what are you doing?

Creating
gratitude or regrets
for
your future self.
Will the adjustment bureau
come on through?
Or
will
I like you
make it all up as I go along
with the window steaming up,
Art Bell on the radio
Coast to Coast
the sounds of ghosts.

Will I hate myself
for
being my self
or
look back with eyes
sparkling with gratitude
and
the wonder of who I was
I doubt it,
don't you?

Now as I write this poem
with my life
together and asunder
will I look
back with gratitude
or regret?

As I hit Fourth Street
the clouds have parted
stars are shining through,
I'm no longer crying
the crying road is done.
I still do not know what I have begun.

In all of these tomorrows
I see all these crazy
sorrows
haunting me
until you come on home
to me again.
Where you go
I don't really know.
You go so faraway
so often there you stay.

Your eyes are seeing
secret somethings
I'm not seeing
and
your not telling me what
I need to know.
Your voice it is a whisper
your touch it is so distant
your lost in all the echoes
as you ride away.

All of my tomorrows
will be filled
with all these sorrows
at the emptiness within
where now to begin?

I can only imagine
if there is another road to travel
another round to haggle.

We were a puzzle piece
in a perfect fit
a finally sense of home
the first I've ever known
being a poet
and a wanderer too.

I know the years
together
something sent from heaven
time it comes and goes.

I know you're on the road
living in the shadows
can you tell me darling
when will you be
coming home to me?

My night time self
hates
my morning self
it's clear as night and day
they never did get along.

My night time self
stays up too late
never sleeps
always thinking
drinking, plotting, planning,
worrying about morning self's mistakes
smoking a thousand cigarettes
one **** over the line
eating chocolate bars
at one a.m.

While my morning self
an early riser
is the one
that has to get up
go to work
always corrects
and
lectures
dedicated to maintaining the structure.

My night time self
only thinks about himself
uses
the last piece of wood
won't bother setting up
the coffee maker
he's so cruel
stares into t.v. space
muttering about love's
he's never had.

While my morning face
has to face
the clutter of night time
disgrace
bottles,
lights blasting
computers running
another ***** movie going
hello poetry splattered on the walls
and another alcohol poisoned
Jersey blonde
stretched out across
the bathroom floor
while morning self
has to shave
and doesn't know her name.

Night time self
finally sleeps
god rest his soul
about the time
morning self
from his dreams
has to rise
rudely awakened by talk radio.
Morning self has to go out and play
the straightened out games
while the residue
of night time insanity
lingers,
a film
covering morning self's
pretense at sanity.
Responsible
ethical
moral
always has to pay the bills
for you know who.

I once tried to get them together
a meeting of these two
but it quickly dissolved
into
a
shouting match
across the twilight dew
never could get them together
they were as different
as
me and me
and
you and you.

Time flies at the
event horizon.
Started small
when I arrived
barely
baby fish size
grew
and
knew
everything
I did
not
know
tho
I now
stand
elongated in the event horizon
the black hole has me in its
grasp
half-awake
half-asleep
my eyes are open
but in a trance
as images pour into
the darkness below
as pieces and particles
of the galaxy we know
and do not know
fly by.

I recall your whisper
in my ear
mother dear
the night before you died
telling me of the art to
be created in the summer
sky
I am in surrender to these
forces
as every moment of my
self flies bye.
Some nightmares
some daymares
some hearts on fire
salted tears of desire
the black hole shines
in darkness,
nothing can escape
no amount of money
will buy your way out
everything you owe will
be left behind
we can only sail
through that black hole
alone
birth or death
no one knows
some peace is made
and then
we go.

She comes to me
bleeding inside
from a thousand
individual scars
with pleading eyes
self contained
She speaks in gentle
refrains

"I don't know where
I'm going
I don't know who
I've become
I go through the motions
deaf, blind and dumb
I dance on cue
I stand in line
I've tried to be so
good.
I've left behind the darkness
I've forgiven the past
I'm far too aware of time
It doesn't matter really I don't mind
I wish I could tell
you what I find

The struggle between
my internal world
condemnation
irritability
judgement
fears
heartaches there, vile rages, petty hatreds
*** dancing on the head of a
pin
exquisite laughter
it's all there.

While my behavior is quite the
opposite
accommodating, loving, compassionate
flirtatious, curious
connection is my goal

When I'm alone I'm lonely
when together suffocated
the best distance is
from here to there

I wish I could tell
you that I mind

The storms still
come and go
luck rides the
tides
each day the
sunrise

This human stuff
is all too real
it creeps up on you
so you don't know
how you feel

Which is why I've
come to you to
speak my mind
they say you are the
complaint department
the garbage collector

I'm bleeding inside
from a thousand scars
that's not to say I really mind."

They say the healer
must heal themselves
so of course I ask
"How can I help you?"

Hold on
Hold on
Hold on to the light inside
before it's gone
Hold on to the love you feel.

Darkness is coming around the bend
The plagues are moving in on the winds
The wars are raging in retaliation’s name
The sun is burning,
shooting solar flares our way.
Hold on
Hold on
Hold on to the wisdom of your mind

Life is precious
Comes and goes
Time is an illusion
That we all know
Lovers, they also come and go
Hold on
Hold on
Hold on to the light inside
The mandalas in the faces of the flowers
call your name.

Against all odds
Against the deranged machinations at the hands of the gods
We’re mere humans
Standing at the rim of the stars
Staring out into space
In this brief
Time and place  
Throwing sand at the waves
To  protect the
Sand castle walls we built,
As children at the ocean.
Hold on
Hold on
Hold on to the light inside
Childhood joy and wonder
Before it to comes and is gone.

I weep these tears
For the innocent sorrow of all mankind
Who has always been so sick inside
And never remembered to hold on
Hold on
Hold on
To the momentary flickers of all those lights inside

Hold on
Hold on
We all know what’s coming
Darkness to each and every one.

Let’s make this pact
In this room
We’ll hold on to the light inside
Until the last candle is done
And the last breath blows out the light
And whispers lovingly
“Good night.”

Hold on

You've rattled my cage
You'd better get out of the way
You've woken up the beast in me.

Sleeping soundly
for so many years,
the vultures
sat by
its side
figuring after that last breath
no other is going to be sighed.

I had paid the mason
made promises to the poet
they were working on its headstone
writing out its epitaph
all in very serious tones.

But
your vacuum eyes saw too close
your breath crept on to mine
your words spun fantasies
your hands shook me awake.

The beast's eyes popped open
this is where *** and love
love and ***
become confused
because
the beast
can't say
and
he can't see
and
doesn't remember what was written
on his epitaph.

"Don't feed or tease
or rattle the cage
better to let him sleep
that way,
that way
everything,
everything
will remain the same. "

When the tide comes in
the tide holds back
for
no man
no woman
no child.

It keeps on rising.
You're going to get your feet wet first
your ankles are next
but
it's not stopping there
your legs and thighs
your stomach too
as
panic
starts to set in.

Your will won't stop it
Your prayers won't stop it
Your love won't even slow it down.

Ego disintegrates immediately
but that tide still rolls on in.

Some will try to hold on like
flags in the rising waters
some will swim
others will run
some passively will perish.

This tide, like change, will not recede
and those that survive
are those that ran to higher ground
as the water receded from the land
for they
knew exactly what it was
they were seeing.

Through lines
attach themselves to me
I'm a zip line zipping through the canopy.
Zip lines
through lines
My life in dots and dashes.

There was that darkness
before I was born
don't remember much about that.

Parents were through lines
for a long while
then they died
grandparents before
they all had their time
through lines
zip lines
strings
the true string theory.

Homesickness, school, bullies, too
the Sunday Night Blues
riding those zip lines
through lines
what are you gonna do
they aren't leaving you.

*******
Resignation
private fantasies
too private to tell
through lines too
on  the old zip line.

The voices in your mind
that's been a through line
through and through.

Poverty that was true too
that's what happens when you
peak too soon
and
you're a late bloomer too.

Children, the through lines
children of children
and you too
through lines zipping through
along the old zip line.

Poetry, a through line
sharing secrets
sacred circles
those are through lines too.

Body parts
hearts, limbs, lungs, guts and toes
though those tonsils
had to go.
Every breath
Every heart beat.

My through lines
your through lines
we all got'em
parallel points on parallel lines
I can't say
I know we sometimes together zip
along that same highway
then one will fade
and one will go away.

But where we all meet
each day,
I can say,
in the molecules
of every breath we take.

For all the lady poets
whose songs are sung
who dance on fire
when the night comes
who are willing to
go to the heart of the matter,
whose desires erupt
behind the smile
who hold secrets
and shadows,
who can turn you
into slick wet stone
with one word,
one look
one touch
one tap on the shoulder.

Who hold you between
their finger tips
roll you into a
tightening knot of
desire and fear and apprehension
and
bring home your reality
far too clear.

For all the lady poets
who know you too well
who know that shell
who can crack you
in a moment
and never look back
or
love you into life
or
leave you child like
stammering and wondering.

For all the lady poets
who love you too well
who are with you
for the moment,
know your
heaven and hell
and
open their words on these pages
a sweet treat
a sweet longing
a sweet surrender
the lady poets
can spin you
twist you
and
put you back on top.

The lady poets
hold the keys
have the words,
vast universes inside,
hold on
it's an exquisite ride
better buckle up
hunker down
hold on tight
without the lady poets
I'd never make it through the night.

Poets
write words
meant
to be spoken
to
one's self.

She sits in the
claustrophobic room
of her mind
dust ribbons blow
in the pale light
of
waxed candles
burning Jasmine
and
reminds her of the passing of time.

It is not long
before
she finds the hidden bottle
on the dusty cobwebbed shelf
with all of those desires
banging against the opaque glass
begging to be freed again
to run their course
of course she is afraid
as her trembling fingers
circle the cap
too late.

One touch
and
all those desires put aside
are free to roam
and fill the room
with
their moans
and
take control of what once was the freedom
that only lived in her mind's eye
she descends into her personal
heaven and hell
a pleasure center
alien to all she's been sold.

Dressed in black
in the casino
she puts it all on red.

She finds you there
she leads you out
to
the moon lite bay
where she steals your voice
and
leaves you
the wolf
howling at the moon.

When desires are freed
they pick up speed
she is, of course,
filled with remorse
so alien from her former course.

As her longings devour her
a tiny light of hope remains
and for the day
into the bottle tightly capped
her desires,  put away
once again remain.

She walks out of that
claustrophobic room
the candles burned down
only Jasmine smoke remains
the lingering scent of the bay
the echo of a wolf howling at the moon
lingers in colors of red and black

And to her husband
she briefly smiles
and
says
"Good morning"
once again
and
decides whether to go or stay.

Long Valley lay outside my bedroom window
high desert Northern Nevada,
each sunrise
rose
brilliant red
spirals
spires
exploding
in the passing dawn,
to
the petroglyphs
we were drawn.

The asphalt became a dirt road
then the dirt road ended.

Along Long Valley
like some drive through zoo,
herds of wild burros
cattle
sheep
grazing
separated by Pinion pines
the white sage
the dust devils
and the tumble weeds
and a 52 Studebaker body
perfectly preserved
in the high desert dry air
one could only wonder how it got there.

Long Valley had its own expanse
its own vibration to the air
distinct and unique
filled with wonder
way out there.

The petroglyphs
10,000 year old drawings
at once was
the shores of ancient
Lake Lahontan
you could feel it there.

Trying to decipher
the lines and curly cues
circles and swirls
stars and shapes
of
an alien consciousness
from another land
another time.

This was no one rock
but
acres and acres
of generations
communicating with one another
the rocks worn away
from thousands of years of sitting
forming perfect lounge chairs,
perhaps sitting alongside
some receding shore line.

There were  stone rock walls carefully stacked
mysteriously standing  scattered
in the desert
no one knows what it really means.

While lost in the tones
the scents and vision
of the millennium,
on the hillside
through the Tamarack
and Pinion
there emerged
four wild mustangs
at a distance
on the top of the ridge
not those that wandered
into our Virgina City yards

But wild animals
tied to the horses of the millennium.
Power and Strength
spirit gods
reminding us of where we were.
The winds blew
the black mane
of the male in front
wet from sweat
chest heaving in breath
and then they were gone
over the hill
from where they had come.

The petroglyphs were silent.
The sounds of the winds
the sounds of the small stream
less than a drop
in the once Great Lahontan Sea.

Before the sun went down
we needed to leave
driving along the sides
of dry river beds
up rocky hillsides
along the electrical lines
to the dirt road
to the asphalt
as the Long Valley
sunset shot
spires of red.

"This is Tom Clay
on KRLA
It's seven forty eight
there's a sigalert
on the Ventura Freeway
and you are already
too late for work
might as well stay home
and
get into some rock'n roll.

Comin' at you with
Baby Baby Baby
by
S Bonney and the Velveteers"

Baby baby baby
won't you step outside
with me.

The moon light's bright
if I give you one kiss
would it be all right?

Baby baby baby
won't you step outside
with me.

The Aspen it's a quaking
my heart it's a breaking
my mind it's a trembling
my knees are a shaking
like Elvis on tv

Baby baby baby
won't you step outside
with me.

You said he was your best friend
the benefits part I don't think
I ever heard again
and any way
your eyes are shining
Benny E King is singing
a warm north west
desert wind is blowing

Baby baby baby
won't you
step outside with me.

"Remember in the department store
of life
the sports department is
always next to the toy department.
Tom Clay
KRLA, LA
signing off
L.A. it's your day. "

We've become a
civilization of diseases
we build
monuments
statues
institutions
thinking death won't ever find
us here.

Our minds are scrambled
our bodies are damaged
our food is poisoned
our skies are toxic
our vices
are forces of processes
beyond our
control.

When we are not humbled
by nature's power
we inflict our wounds
upon ourselves in
the names of greed
and self protection
and no one knows
what it really means.

Fearful of the silence
we fill our skies with
endless noise
babbling on in endless
monotones, droning
while traffic stalls
at a hot stand still
idling engines
idling souls
depletion of every last glimpse
of the past.
Jam packed
in the stench
I am lost today
in
this vitriol
as anxiety, death and desperation
from every corner
screams my name.

That's why I came
to these woods
where the illusion of
peace remains
as
wild fires burn
just down the lane
as you know
as you say
its always been this way
when bodies hung
at every cross-roads
hunger, power, ignorance
and strength
all ran
the show.

I'm sick with
every disease I
know.

I float upon these tranquil
blue waters
and
we are reminded of the peace we all
really can know.

The burden of all
these lives
is bringing me down to
size
buried in the
sorrows of others
I must confide, my dear
My dreams are
filled with
dread of another day
But my work is never
done - the walking wounded
an endless line,
a samba line
dancing to a thousand
individual tunes
all of which
wind up echoing
in my mind as I listen
for those common themes
search for any magic words
I can bring back to
you, my dear
as you sit in that
four white walled
room
Speaking to a
random sound
and I with all
those questions
all that experience
all those answers
helpless in
my divide
the professional
the personal
both in total heartbreak, my dear
both only left with that
long lost loving sigh.

The dawn was no longer coming
The earth was no longer spinning
The horizon frozen.
We had moved into the deep chill
of our lives
The deep chill of our love.
Stone cold granite silence
Dancing around each other in
slow motion rotation
eyes like arrows
eyes like mirrors
words silent daggers
breath like icicles
held and panting,
volcanic eruptions seething
beneath the surface,
choreographed
hurt and rage
posing
feigning
covering up,
boiling blood
in
this frozen silence

civil, constrained, polite.

We turned around
walked away again,
alone
again,
with nothing changed
and
nothing said.

The first comment
I received
a "*******"
with a smiley face
I laughed off
wouldn't you?
Kind of crazy
kind of creepy
put it away as some one
we all know.

The second comment
came
with the usual language refrain
I was a "hack"
my words were "dreck".
The disparaging words about
my dead mother
gave me pause to reflect.

The third comment and more
began to recall
information of past
faux pas
secret affairs
one or two personal pecadillos
never mentioned beyond
the
dialogues in my mind.
Embarrassing I know.

I, of course,
went to the home page
to see
if it was someone
known to me.

No identifying data
but a picture I remembered vaguely
from a past I didn't know.

The trolling continued
relentless I would say
pulled the plug
put up a block
but
wouldn't you know

The comments continued
to come into my dreams
brutal criticism
of
every move I made
the day finally arrived
when I realized

Alter personalities were shedding off of me
like
psychological psoriasis
They were
hitting the ground running
I was
finding poems
I didn't remember writing
clothes I never bought
People kept hugging me
I had never met before
they
knew me far to well
called me many names
none of which were mine.

The silence of my nights were broken
when I found myself
in my car on Highway 101
returning from where I did not know
with a smile on my face
illegal drugs in my pocket.

How did I get here?
How did we get there?
Where are we now?

Another account opened
on Hello Poetry
with an anagram of my name.

I find my days
getting shorter and shorter
it became clear
I had become the dream
The others
had become me.

Come together people
and
write this poem

The end of war
we know it's coming

It's gotta come now
there's no more time
to
wait
The Blue Orchid
it's wilting in space.

The power of peace
it's gotta get moving
"If you're not part of the solution
You're part of the problem"

You hurt me
I hurt you
You **** my sister
I **** you too
You **** my child
I slaughter more.

"War War
what is it good for? "

Come together people
and
hear the cry
the mourners are suffering
but
forgiveness survives.

The dead don't dance
too many on the ground
listen
listen
We can still hear the human sound.

Come together people
and
write this poem
The one that will get
peace going.

It's been one too many centuries
no more time for this disease
eradication for this plague
the anecdote
only our words
can say

We can all share in this
our
Poem Of The Day.

There’s a place up the avenue
Where lovers come to fail
Look at each other with dispute
And hate is all they feel.

When they check in they always say
“I tried so hard, where do I sign my name.”
They always complain about the investment they have made
Does the room, have a place to change?
The credit card’s declined
The Hotel never seems to mind
The key is in the shape of a broken arrow
right to the heart.
The desk clerk smirks
Gets your name exactly right,
Even though you’ve never met
until this night.

The concierge will give you directions to the local graveyards
The bell hop only dances and never says a word
When you give him a tip, he’ll only throw out your words
The elevator only goes down
The only music heard is the sound
Of a solitary heart beating in rhyme
Singing the song
“You will never be mine”.

The hall way corridor goes on forever backwards in time
The lonesome sounds of whales singing
Echoes through the halls, coming through the walls
And from beneath every door.

The rooms offer amenities
The devil dancing in the pain
On the head of a pin
The walls have one function
That’s to close on in.

The ribbon of blood
That seeps through the mirror
Dances in inkblots all the way
To the sink
Which drips tears of
Frustration
Resignation
Isolation
Recriminations.

The bathtub waters
Only run too hot
or
Too cold.

There is a bed of nails
Inviting ruminations
The images of her with him
Him with her
Strobes on the ceiling in endless loops
Of anguish’s fatal tunes.

Room service offers a variety of suicide utensils
The mini-bar contains a row of empty bottles
and a syringe without a needle.

The garbage men are always out side
Garbage cans crashing through the endless night sky
The windows open to brick walls
While couples in bliss dance cheek to cheek
In the bar across the street
Sometimes they look up at you and smile
That smile.

This nightly room has become a weekly
The weekly a monthly
And if you are not careful
Stay too long
Once you check in
The check out will always be closed
At the Hotel Heartbreak
Just down the road.

We are so much younger
"we know better than that"
is
what we say

I'm in love with another
you are too

I remember you
we had met in school
You remember me
it is serendipity

We say
" we shouldn't head down that path"

When we enter the river
it is calm and flat
We tell each other
with a glance

"we can't".

One foot follows another
and
into that dangerous river
we
take a chance.

We know the river heads
to
a waterfall
and
in the end
we are bound to take us all.

We don't have a choice.

The water is calm
your lips are soft,
floating
gently down that stream
singing
"life is but a dream. "

At any time we should get out.

You won't let me
and
I won't let you.

We've made our choice.

The warm waters
of
our bodies close
puts
us
half asleep
into
a waking dream

we are hearing things.

As
the pace begins to run
I reach for you
the current is picking up speed
lost in the river moment
we were sure we would be
all that we ever need.

The whiteness of the water
is
screaming at me
the currents of our desires
is picking up speed

Red flags are on the shore
Caution Signs
are glowing
in the sun

The rocky cold waters
are
carrying us all the way through

you grab on to me
I grab on to you
there is calmness
before
we are hurling out
of control
once more

to the precipice corner
of
the water's edge

Our eyes lock
you are looking into mine
desire's fears
blind
like the sun in your eyes.

You are letting go of my hand
rolling
to
the side
I'm not sure if you smile

Your feet are falling fast
holding *******
to
the dirt path.

I look down
into
the tumbling waters
straight to the bottom
to
the rocky reflecting dark pools
of
endless
desire, longings and lies

there is no going back.

The
currents unleashed rolling
are
too fast
too strong
for
that.

Closing my eyes
holding my breath
I take
the
dive
as
a matter of fact

I
went
straight back
to
the moment it all begins
when
I flew head long into you
now
I wonder
how often will
I
play this endless loop
through

just like that.

Be
Love
Work
Play
Spirituality
along the way
Get these together
not
much more to say.

I'm recycling these nails
the cross is going too,
broken down
into
the wood from which it came.

I'm recycling you.
Nice try.

I was sure
you were exactly
my kind of guy.

No
you didn't have a car
Disability pending
that weekly motel was threatening
the rent was due a month ago
I know the manger is your best friend
and yes
I'm out of money
out of cigarettes
and I guess
you're out of time
not even time for one more line.

I thought
if I could only love you right
then
everything would be all right
hope is the hook
because
I love you
it must mean
you must really be good
until now
everything I thought
I thought was true.

Some kind of consciousness
came to me
I understood something
I had never seen
all of that
past trauma
this is what it means.

This is the last time
on my knees
the last time I take it
you know what I mean.

It's come down to this
when I die
it ain't
going to be
your life
I see
flashing before my eyes. . .

In the dimming light
those shadows start to fall
disintegrating as the sun sets
The scene begins to shift.

There's a guy in a trench coat
he has no pants
There's a woman in a wolf mask
she recently went into a trance
she started writing poetry
she started thinking she could dance
putting on the mask
put her into that trance.

Her husband's in the back
watching ***** movies
thinking he must be the one
but she knows he
doesn't have a chance.
It's why she wears the mask
she'll wake up too late from her trance.

There is a singer on the stage
naked as before
battling that stage fright
he's seeing you in your drawers
every time he starts to sing
a coyote is running around the room
he's always laughing at you
every time you think you're doing fine.

The librarian dressed in scarlet
has a **** story to tell
and you are the star
on
the walk of fame
everybody you say knows your name
while in neon on the avenue
their all laughing
and claiming your shame.

There's a smirking sycophant
begging for a war
no humility
usually means
a shadowed soul
and a tiny ***** to go along.

If you wake up screaming
from a dream
a shadow figure is hidden in your brain
their all screaming your name
go ahead and scream
you'd better
while the old crone
laughs and laughs and laughs.

Better zip it up
put it away
Halloween only comes but once a year
it's then shadows are free to appear
better put away the gear
take off those flowered knickers
all those shadows
they hold all your fears
one of these days
will they commandeer your soul
who knows?
Well you know.

There's no escape
turn on the lights
open the door
open the window
close your eyes
the dawn has come
all shadows will disappear
put on your pants
Walk out the door
pause for a moment
look around
it's all as it was before
that's a big sigh of relief
I've heard it before
I know that sound
it's the sound before
those shadows started to fall. . .