Silly clown
paintings litter
the wall of
the blessed
shame…
of Jesus with
a .38 revolver
riding on a horse
of midnight.

Looking out the fishbowl;
The bumbling bees, buzzing to serve the ravenous queen.

Music is the meaning of this monster called life.

- riddles of rock and rap -

- beautiful ballads -

- sightless sounds -

- lyrics of lonesome love -

music makes my memory magical.

- I think I love music.

There is something fresh and poetic,
With a blind man eating his walking stick.

Standing at a bus stop on a thirty degree day,
Wrinkled face, open mouth, hair of gray.

Dark sunglasses, fingerless gloves,
worn-out shoes, and that coat he loves,

Just eating his walking stick,
And I drive by, just that quick.

“Mumble-mumble,
bumbling stumble…”
You utter and stutter.

“What?”

I sputter,
and out you flutter.

let’s stay-up all night – immerse ourselves with one another
let’s play all night – we touch without touching
let’s kiss all night – lock our lips and throw away the key
let’s lay all night – on the hood of my ford (or the floor of the beach)
let’s stay-up all night – and fall asleep under the warmth of the sun (or the coziness of the covers)
let’s talk all night – and dream the same dream
let’s live all night – for every night we live

Living in me is pain
and its known – the wretches of
wretches, are just wretches,

– Remember that! –

The pain of a hundred needles
thrusting into the brain of a miserable
lonely man, prickly pine needles
sit restless in the cavernous
flesh sphere – tears falling from
the glassy entrances to misery.
It doesn’t stop, doesn’t stop –
The torment goes on and on –
No release, no breaks no freedom –
Its constant and persistent, the torture
of falling naked into a cactus over
and over again.
The plight of the sad man –
Is the treacherous trek
that is all too familiar
as the road turns and ascends
the blindness sets in –
the sunsets, the moon snuffed out by the clouds
filling the night sky.
The sad man reaches the peak –
His destiny brightly lit by the frowning sun
Nothing lets him stop, he is forced
to continue, seeing, hearing,
feeling, tasting the tears forming
and falling from the thought of
meeting another anguish-latent destiny –
The wretch of a wretch is just this sad man.