she gave me her cell #,
in a crowded bar
inked upon my forearm,
"in case in my drunkness, I dare forget,"
a common come-on technique,
that reeks of all good things to come

but I failed to see,
in the little letters,
"@ your own peril"

a warning, poorly heeded,
inflaming my now unimaginable
needy neededs,
just a **** come on,
or a warring warning of tumult,
vampirish blood *******?

with cautious haste,
her number I did paste
into my contact list,
'in case of loss, call,'
when sudden notifications galore,
came unbidden from everywhere:

Are you really sure?

these digits seems were posted on a
Do Not Call list,
maintained by monks and bro's,
no, no, not a list of
what-rhymes-with-bro's,
but of fallen angels,
who knew the secrets of heaven

the price extracted for their revealing,
could cause you life long
arthritis of the heart,
per the Surgeon General,
for which the only cure,
endure, endure, endure...

the prize?

endless wonderful new poems, freely given,
but with one strictest of restrictions,
if published,
it meant your slow extinction!

that is why the world calls me
Poet of the Way,
forever trying to find a way,
to away these treasured glories

then one day,
he laughed and laughed,
when he first he read the magic key,
your poem, successfully saved on
Hello Poetry!

and now the poet endures,
even possibly, self-saved,
quite happily

i.

at the edge of a dark sky,
where the framed door
lies closed and the
rain’s smooth octaves
gather the last lonesome
heart-beat of the summer in
its mists that tap the door,

ii.

the grey air,
cloud-drawn, straps
its satchel to its back
its stones the silvers
of a silent moon,

iii.

its stones sombre and smoky,
the dead of night,
a crimson king
a blossoming flower,

iv.

where the night’s slated
roof listens to the rains
urgent rushings, silver
and shaded like a storm,

words of the air
sinking back like the
desolate waves that hush
the sands as they drown
their sorrows in baskets
conjured out of the breath
of the grey-eyed night.

v.

you kiss me and i start to
swoon, i swoon like a garden
rose that climbed once to
the sky, a garden overgrown  
with the quiet of apple-coloured
leaves, the summer with its vines,
its leaves the bright rain drops,
its leaves the visions of the air.

Sometimes
         I feel a well
                   dug deep
         into my heart
  I try to stop it
but it quickly
becomes ocean
  and overflows  
     into great tsunami
          rises over all the levees
             rushes past dams                  
               breaks down tall
                   city structures,
              edifices crumbling
           in its path
     all the squid and octopi
    skitting forth
in wild pulses,
tentacles entangled
     in doorways and rooves
        slipping through narrow
                window-openings
                   as they pour ink
                       in clouds,
                         shifting shapes
                          in cephalopod excitement
                            while blue whales
                            and humpbacks
                               breach over bridges,
                             phosphorescent jellies
                          light up
                       the dark streets of
                      my arteries
                     electric eels illuminate
                    the alleyways of
                   desolation's thick syrup
                     and I cannot stop it even
                            if I wanted to,
                   these darkened,
                     swirling waves
I am both floating and flying
like a jumping manta ray
curling around the ferries
bobbing in seahorse iridescence
weaving between buses
as if they were corals

And when the storm subsides,
colorful rockpools form,
rich in diversity
It is there,
in between the
multicolored ***** and
succulent shellfish,
in a mermaid's
       voluptuous smile
and turquoise eye
that I see you,
so crystal clear
                I could reach out              
                      and bring you to me,          
                         holding you tight
                         until the
                gentle break
     of
          morning

I can feel you
Through the rhythm of your writing

It may be
That you are singing in the rain
Happy and free
Or living in agony of deep pain

The beat,
living through each word
Your diction,
dancing among the syntax
The tone,
amplifying to every phrase

You,
I feel.
Through your writing,
I can feel you.

Your expression,
Deserves more than any appreciation

I love you
Always wishing to be there
For you
Showing you, I care

So please
Keep on writing
Continue moving me with your sound
Allow me to advance along
The flowing of your words
Surfing through your sentences

Please
Keep telling your story
Continue writing with your feelings
Allow your thoughts to develop
Into the beautiful river
Of your writing

The devil resides on a fence post,
covered in honeysuckle and black berry vines
Across the dirt road in front of my house
He squats there,
atop that post
With his beautiful grin and blue eyes
He has demples when he smiles,
and hair the colour of hay
His voice,
is that of silken sin
Offering up a drunkenness that the finest of whiskys can't give
He drowns me in satin,
posing promises never kept
He bruises peaches,
and feeds on flames
Beckoning my flesh,
with the sharpest of silver blades~A