Just out the window
On the passenger side,
Past the sign of red and
Yellow.

A wart climbs from
The mouth of hell
With the grace of
A bewildered elephant

Far from the warmth of
Home and
Picking Cheetos out of
The couch like bugs in
A chimp bonding ritual

Anatomy of
Chubby nubs and
Hulking stumps
I feel
My key *****
Is a pink octopus
Pulling tightly in my chest,
Pumping ink. Now I rest

My self-summary:
Online dating is kinda new for me.
I have no chance finding mates normally,
Being endangered in France and Germany.

Mating season is March and April
You may not find me ******.
But I’ll remain faithful

What I’m doing with my life:
Cryptozoologists trippin’ over my footstep.
Guess I have that effect.
Better check, cause’ I’m being swept and kept
From the public eye
By the FBI, but that ain’t my style.
Just drop on by.
Take a seat. We’ll do a meet and greet.
Tell you my story.

The first things people notice about me:
I got thin lips and a big brow
A nose that’s flat and black

The most private thing I’m willing to admit:
Thought of some tips: Don’t borrow human clothes.
Eat mostly rats for snacks.

What I’m really good at:**
My hobbies include banjo.
Beware! When I throw down a hootenanny
Be ready to tango.
Cause’ forest animals know how to jamboree.

distance grows with
each passing second.
dry "umm... so"s talk like
the hum of escaping air.

moments barren of
creativity. to mount
and impregnate it
with memories
would be intimate
with sand.

nothing can grow here;
for the nomad
doesn't spend hours trying
to plant just a flag.
beg and dance
for a false goddess.
he moves toward fertile land.

Now wearing his favorite shirt:
Subtle indigo patterns.
It was always his favorite in church.
Foxglove six feet above,
And he is much higher now.
Another broken machine
Crushed by the everyday grind.

Turned like a machine.
Going to work in the mourning.
A stray moment.
The sound of snapping metal frames
Silenced, before he could draw the breath to say
"What just happened?"

a lonely heart
thinks of the girl with eyes like diamonds in the rain,
and her eyelashes that float like dandelions.

thinks of the day
she ****** the warmth from the sky,
and watched the sunset down her throat.
her tongue broke like waves on the shoreline,
“I don’t know if I love you.”

lies awake,
up late, on a yearlong night
pouring alcohol,
trying to put his pain to rest,
only to watch his wounds erupt into fire,
and give birth to
a child caught in a trap of burning bones,
waiting for someone to hold him and say, “I know you.”

he wanders a desert,
chasing mirages, that are only clouds of text messages,
that swarm like nagging mosquitos,
before vultures pick him apart.
and he knows
no one wants to adopt homeless shadows
before the dawn.
and now,
deep behind the ribbed gates of his chest,
his veins are snakes in the garden.
looking to eat the end of
a lonely heart.

My Job skill is to
Take off
From long walks into
Flights of fantasy

I don't work well in a
Box, getting my color
From TV.

Race all my life to
Pack myself inside
Larger cushioned cases
That I'll call a home,
With comforts to
Soften the jewel into a stone.
The only safe zone from
The erosion of a
Career like a river, with larger
Fish  hovering  above
Me. Bureaucracy deep as any
Sea. Intense pressure always over
Me.

When everything is a cage,
I will always make my escape with paper.
My resume will be a
Blank slate,
But my world filled with
Color.

A stiff breeze
Blows the final leaf from the willow
Onto the grey St. Augustine grass.

I’m staring
From the park bench;
Building a nest
Of thorns, bottles, and crutches;
A cold spot for my thoughts to rest.

Unlike the toupe on the ducks head;
And the child chasing the fowl’s feather,
Followed by a Mother’s loving glance.

Brings a warm wrinkle to fight a stiff breeze;
Today I won’t go grey with the grass.

if you stare at the sun it plants
a seed in your eye.
that glows in the dark
show your friends
visions of the dying star
in the pockets of their skulls.
enjoy until they’re
burnt holes.

You were near;
I soft as an infant.
pierce and inject me
with a sense of purpose,
like my first shot
of fireflies and white roses
that glow and die in a day.
now just bugs that pile my brain.

The lies we shared
is the truth I love.
not the nights alone
staring at the ceiling
closed. When I know they are
burning when the sky's unclothed

See the full moon in
my room; I'd still
believe nothing's meant to be
more than a reflection
on the churning sea
that's still
pulling.

I don’t trust nature
If I shook hands with the wind,
Winter would bite my fingertips.

It took every inch
Of the stripped branches;
Now scratching the horizon
For the chance to grow again.

No color, no snow
Only straw.
Just stich all the brittle
Broken leaves of fall
Into a quilt
To clothe a city of scarecrows.

And inside,
If my house catches fire,
I will rest by the burning wood.
Outside, it’s a cold that could drive
Fireflies to return to their hive in the sun.