I dream of the one day where we meet again; anew
two from the same soul
seeing you, a past lover
as a new individual
different in appearance, different in mind
maybe we will meet once more
when you no longer support your temper
and I my immaturity
we will be cloaked in a new moon's light
seeing each other through skin and bones
forget insecurities; forget past disagreements
oh, but I am humbled
such prideful thinking it is to ever imagine another chance in this life
to get things right
I am not yet developed to receive you
so for now,
I will dismiss this as naïve thinking

All hail the Lizard King,
whose esoteric words crawl like sirens
over hungry rocks
baring teeth to the hypnotized sailor
steering his ship into the jagged maw.

All hail the Lizard King,
perched upon his Dionysian throne,
ambrosial ecstasies fill his cup
while jongleurs dance to psychedelic chansons.

At his feet
prey the nubile maidens of yore
flower-eyed and pearly-teethed.

His eyes, mighty azure pools of madness
within which Byzantine kings were murdered--
blood darts through the mysterious waters
into the hysterical white void.

Alexander the Great
sits poised like a statue
where his libido crouches like a panther
'til the aural adonis
leaps from his confines
an amorous figure of tantalizing flesh and blood
with supple lips pouting, naked muscles taut,
mad eyes gleaming.

All hail the Lizard King,
from lush lips poetic decrees
sing forth into the endless night
penetrating taverns and bedrooms and radios
and stadiums.

The electric shaman leaps from his throne
to cast his wicked incantation,
a spark from his eyes shoots to the pyre
where a lustful blue flame erupts from
the bones of the prophets.

HIs voice soothing, haunting,
the sonic alchemist
sings his siren song into the cataclysm
where we are cast in abeyance--

We follow him,
but is he only leading us deeper
into the darkness,
or does he truly see the light?

The endless night.

All hail the Lizard King.

As the poet grew tired
Of what he had seen and
What he had known,
He turned to his garden

He picked the most beautiful,
Wild and strange flower.
A Jasmine; one rare
And unique piece of perfection

As he gazed endlessly
At this pure flower
He knew this was one,
One he could keep.

A rose in a garden of thorns
No beauty as equal to her
As the poet took care, of
The lovely flower

It changed into a human,
An extraordinary woman
With diamond eyes
And flawless looks

The poet grabbed her hand
Kissed her neck and said,
‘I am the poet and
You are my muse’

You were draped across a girlfriend's bedroom wall
where a cross would be,
your arms held out loosely like an ambiguous invitation,
shielding your countenance from extraneous intrusions
under which she would sleep soundly
in the shroud of your incantation.

Your fallen angel wings beating back bad dreams
slain mercilessly
and falling at your feet.

Your lips slightly pouting, eyes dark,
obfuscating the madness and ***-crazed hallucinations
they harbor.

Hair purposefully unkempt,
disheveled sensuously atop your head,
tufts of hair brushed across your broad chest--

Bare muscles taut and taunting,
placed topographically on the poised temple--
those ready to worship bow their heads
in reverence to the sonic alchemist.

The modern adonis,
sculpted out of the Mississippi Delta Blues
and Dionysian wet dreams--
brought to life with the electric current pulsating through the microphone and its stand upon which you straddle with skin-tight leather pants--

Your left hand around its waist,
your right cupped over the phallus--
your lips part and your cataclysmal eyes
envelop the darkness before you--

Your image,
tormented and tantalizing
in an open invitation
to prostrate ourselves before you
and succumb to your hypnotic stare.

The door opens.

The drugged door
Opened , then shut
Ushered an era
Of pernicious rebellion
A voice that stood up
To stand down
Conquering
And then conquered
In death
Be sleeping
Overdosed
And weeping…

Sing your protests
Vehemently
Hallucinate the dreams
That will never come true…
All your  false hopes
Are trapped in a
Revolving door
That shall never swing back
Nor can ever swing in…

Goodbye rock prince
Sleep well
In your forever slumber
I can still feel your music
And I can still hear your pain…
But so many years have passed now..
Since you’ve made your final bow..

Yet you remain
A misunderstood icon
A tortured soul
A misguided prophet
With a sensual face…
Screaming wildly
And being screamed at
In return

Goodnight my prince
I close the door
And you are gone…
But not really gone,
Your voice will always
Sing those haunted, twisted songs
You interpreted so well…
Selling your soul for a high..
Burying your sorrows where you lie

This is the end beautiful friend. Hurts to set you free but you'll never follow me. The end of laughter and soft lies, the end of nights we tried to die. This is the end.

“I see myself as a huge fiery comet, a shooting star. Everyone stops, points up and gasps "Oh look at that!" Then- whoosh, and I'm gone...and they'll never see anything like it ever again... and they won't be able to forget me- ever.”

This is the strangest life I've ever known

My wild love went ridin'
She rode all the day
She wrote to the devil
And asked him to pay
The devil was wiser
It's time to repent
He asked her to give back
The money she spent

My wild love went ridin'
She rode to the sea
She gathered together
Some shells for her head
She rode and she rode on
She rode for a while
Then stopped for an evenin'
And lay her head down

She rode on to Christmas
She rode to the farm
She rode to Japan
And we entered a town
By this time the river
Had changed one degree
She asked for the people
To let her go free

My wild love is crazy
She screams like a bird
She moans like a cat
When she wants to be heard
My wild love went ridin'
She rode for an hour
She rode and she rested
And then she rode on
Ride, c'mon