Me an' my truck
Goin' on down the road
I think o' yer cheatin' heart
And I lose my load

Down in Tennersee
I met me a girl
Her name was Billy Joe
Hot ****! What a thrill!

But she broke my heart
It was just my luck
Now alls I got left
Is me an' my truck.

Funny how these small things happen
Little ripples in the pond
Spooky  turtles poised for snapping
Just beneath the sweet reflection/

Funny how we seldom notice
What we do to cause reaction
What effects we leave behind us
As we blindly stagger on/

Funny how the Big Things linger
All disguised as normal silent
Meanwhile little ripples grow
While we lean back, smiling, napping/

Meanwhile all those spooky turtles
Gather down there in the cold
Surfing upside down to bite us...
(Little things get bigger....  Honest!)

Want.
Starve.
Is.
Love.

Bite me, Baby.
Take me down
Into your viral, hungry Limbo.
There we'll eat
The noisy neighbors
Wander through the streets
All night.
Naked but for
What cloth hangs on
To our slim decrepitude.
Bite me, Baby.
Hell don't want us.
Heaven's iffy
Anyway.
We won't need no shoes
Or money

I run this muddy track on these big old shaky wheels
With numbers on my back and a helmet on my head.
I drive around in circles and they call me "Crazy Ed".
I drive. That's how I stay alive.  I just like how it feels.

I've got a batch of children and a drop-dead gorgeous wife.
She puts up with me when I leave to tinker on that wreck.
And all week long I'm trucking, gone, to earn an honest check.
And still she cheers for me each Sunday while I risk my life.

Someday I'll hang that helmet on the hook there by the door,
And toss away this mud-caked suit with "92" on back.
I'll give that gorgeous wife of mine a kiss, and *****-whack,
Then play around (in circles!) with my Kids there on the floor.

There he sat
All dark unsaddled
Brains quite addled
From the blow

Brigands laughing
All about him
There to clout him
Should he run

From his good eye
Squinting sneaky
Peeking out
From swollen brow

Primrose Pete
Considered options
Acquiesce
Or fight or flee

Counting up
The five marauders
Such close quarters
Peter smiled

In a wink
The first two fell
Hellbound from
Pete's shining blade

One was cut
From prow-to-keel
Didn't feel
The lightening slash

Two was dead but
Still a-stagger
From Pete's dagger
Through the throat

Pete then turned
His one good eye
Upon the three
Left standing there

"Knock ME from
My gentle ride!"
He chided them
And took a step

In a flash
The third man died
His manhood hung
From Peter's blade

Number four
Jumped up in-close
They danced a rosy
Final step

"One last waltz"
Said Primrose Pete
And short and sweet
The blood ran hot

Last of all
The Highwaymen
The fifth of five
The last alive

A tall man
Taller quite than most
With ghostly eyes
And hammer hands

A man who felt
That pain was fun
This one-on-one
Was just a tryst

So they stood there
Eying up
While trying not
To give a tell

Of their planned
Last brave attack
While Pete held back
To catch a breath

All at once
The fight was on
That bloodied lawn
Would find no peace

Both men fought
With all their might
From Noon til Night
On into dark

No Moon sang
The stars shone mute
A suit of cloud
Hung o'er the fray

Blood and dark
With ought a sound
Save the pounding
Steel on steel

Come the Sun
There on that field
Without yield
For Honor's sake

Cut for cut
Both men held true
And on into
A second night

A third then
Into a fourth
A fifth of course
They battled on

It's said that
Both men died that day
T'was slay for slay
Though neither fell

He fights on
Old Primrose Pete
His ghosted feet
Still dancing true

With his blade
Of shadow pure
Against a worried
******* dark

And it's said
On summer nights
When the wind
Is right and odd

One can hear
Old Pete's mare
Out there braying
On the moor

And beneath
The old hag's whinny
If you skinny
Up your ear

You can catch
Old Primrose Pete
Sweetly dancing
With his sword.

You always insisted
That
"You"
Was a proper pronoun
But
That
"We"
was not

This clears up
Much of the
Mis-identification
I had
Mistakenly
Believed
About
Love

How many times
Can I lie you your truth?
My honesty is suspect
And my hammer is soft.
How many nails
Must I pretend to pound
Before you see
That nothing holds?
I cannot see your definition
But I can raise my words
And ante up
Knowing that both of our best bets
Are riding on
A bluff.

When I was wee my feets was small.
They found no grip, I'd trip and fall.
I'd stumble bumble left and right
From morning sun to bed-time night.
But as I grew my feets did too.
They grew out of both sock and shoe!
And when I slept they grew some more.
They grew right out my bedroom door!
They grew right out onto the lawn
And when I woke my feets was gone!
I sat there scared within my bed
Just wondering where my feets had fled.
Did my feets go out on a trip
Along the Mighty Mississip?
Were they stomping Kansas corn,
Or hanging ten in Californ?
Hiking in Saskatchewan
Or Yucatan or cold Yukon?
All day long and into night
I worried of my Feets's plight.
Worried that they'd never phone
To tell me they was coming home,
Worried that I'd be bereft
Of both my feets, the right and left!
And so I pictured my two feets
Just wandering dark Parisian streets,
Or alleys in the south of Spain,
Or freezing in the Russian rain,
Or separated in Des Moins
Without the calf, the knee, the *****!
But wait! Hold on!  What's this I see?
I'm such a goof, oh silly me!
I did not lose my big old feets!
They were just sleeping 'neath my sheets!

To sew a shoe
A simple thing
To do
Or to stitch a sole
And nail a heel
For a Gentleman's
Stroll

A thimbled poke
A tug of string
A knot
A dozen brads
And a hope
A whisk of shine
For some Lad's
Trot...

Upon this bench
My tools of trade
I work
To ****** a soul
One shoe, by shoe
They all walk down
My road.

A Lady's boot
A slippered foot
Some lace
I'll fix them all
I have the time
They all pass by
My place.

If you could count all the stars
Every one
You would still be shy
By a few
Even the far away ones
Of how many times
I think of you
Shining.

Should I write a poem of sappy love/
Teenage emotion gone on a sneak-away ride/
Visigoth hormones usurping my pen, again/
Sad memories of those girls, oh, those girls/
High School dances like small caliber holes in my heart/
No exit wounds, the lipstick bullets fester in me/
Music so loud I can not hear her giggle to her coven/
About the way I tried to kiss her/
In the gym, in public/
Where all the Cool boys might see?
Or Should I, forty years later, just walk my dog/
And whistle as I bag up her ****/
Enjoying the evening as we walk/
While she wags and is happy to be here/
Beside me, regardless of my haircut/
Or the horsepower of my car?/
Why start now? I never cared then/
About them, the Loud Pretty ones/
With the guns aimed at my heart/
The only thing they knew how to do was shoot and run/
Where's the fun in that?/
Come on back, ladies.../
I have years of dog-**** waiting for you.

I have washed my ****** hands      
in the hope colored stream
of my own karma;
a futile attempt.
The waters cleansed my hands
But stained my soul with
The leprous audience of
The singularity of my being.

I have waded souldeep
Into the stained waters
Of my own karma;
A quantum baptism.
My sins and triumphs
My denials and truths lain bare,
Visions which burn into the circle
Of all that I was, am, and yet to be.

I have become the hope colored water
Of my own floundering fate.
I am the circle, the enigma;
I stand within and without.
I encompass myself
And wait to be born
Into a new solitude
Of radiant wonder.

Cats is funny
On the floor
Too darned quiet
They don't snore
Silent even
When they yawn
Bite and scratch
When stepped upon.

Dogs is better
When they *****
Wake 'em up
And they so happy
They ain't jealous
While you're at
The molling of
The Scornful Cat.

Well let me tell you bout' Amazing Grace
A Devil body and an Angel Face
When she kneels down on the barroom floor
She offers up forgiveness and a whole lot more

If it's redemption that you're trying to find
Her Absolution is one-of-a-kind
And I can attest that She can Blow Your Mind!
My Sweet Sweet Amazing Grace.

Her Patent Leathers are a sight to see
(If you look closely you'll know what I mean)
Her double pleated plaid skirt can knock you down
But then she'll raise you up boy
Without a doubt.

   She's such a Cutie
   A real Beauty but
    You wouldn't take her home to Mom...
   Daddy wouldn't mind it
    If you thought that you could find it
    To sneak him in the backseat and tag along...

So let me tell you bout' Amazing Grace
A Devil body and an Angel face
She'll let you baptize her all over her face
My Sweet Sweet Amazing Grace
(Gimme an AMEN!)
My Sweet Sweet Amazing Grace!

O, I believe there might be something out there we can't see.
Some Cosmic Orchestrator or Supreme Divinity...

But why would it be calling you, just you and you alone?
If It's just all-so-powerful, it knows to use the phone.

I really see no reason, there's no reason I can see
Why God would bother calling you, and never ring up me.

But then again I'm just a simple man who won't define
The wherefore and the whatnot or the mind of The Divine.

Yet still I have a doubt or two that you've heard Holy Word...
Your actions speak much louder, Sir, than anything I've heard
From your lofty pulpit where you rant and proselytize
And tell us God just told YOU all the things we should despise.

But then again I'm just a simple man who won't define
The wherefore or the whatnot or the mind of The Divine.

He laughed boy-laugh
at Her ******
Her chin was high
when she hit
the water

Daily practice was my Catholic Regimen
On those strings
Blooded fingertips
Evolving into
Callused hammers

D 5th augmented, 7th
A transitional dilly
Will be
The end
Of me

Temperance for itself was not her virtue,
Nor was meekness.
She often would boldly and loudly
Run into the fray,
Singing lullabies
Half-naked
Dragging that **** one-eyed bear
Behind her.
She wielded it like a poleaxe
Against my knee
As she dashed into
Her Nowness of being
Then out of the room,
Her new-found feet
Carrying her off
Around the next adventures corner.

Mom passed
Some years ago
Dad a year later

She hovers
On the mantle
In her urn

(Silver and Rosewood)

Watching over the house
Whispering to me
When I'm not paying attention

Dad sits next to her
Silent for the most part
Adoring her for their eternity.

Oh, Dark Science
Mysterious Gravity
I am moving
Nothing slows me
Towards that Center
Newton laughing
As I plummet
Up and outward
Her black heart
Heavy, waiting
Fractal Love
Never changing
Time slows down
I keep falling
Forever.

Love is a misfit gambol
A blind "hit me"
When you're holding eighteen.
Twenty One seems so far away,
Gambling a small tomorrow
With stolen chits.

I can't find my pockets
There
Is change
Maybe
A quarter or a nickle
Or a dime
For gum
My bike waits
Leaning
Outside with the old Gum
Of others who lost
Teeth
Or pockets
While my teeth
Smile
At the old guy
Waiting
For my money
Left in lost pockets
As my bike topples!

She did not inherently enjoy
the work
It was often wet, and heavy
To pound and scrub and rinse away
his filth
his day stink
while whistling
in her thin summer dress
barefoot out in the backyard
(the only sweet touch she knew of him, the soft grass there.)

She did not find happiness or joy
in the work
He was often wet, and heavy.

In her dark childhood her mother had lied
(Dear Mother)
"Give all that you have to him Dear child
And you will find
Some small happiness"
(Oh, dear Mother).

She did not enjoy
the pain
of his pain he scrubbed over  her
wet and heavy
as he pounded and washed away
his day loss
his filth
whistling.

The Jesus in her knuckles
wept with every twist
of sock and collar
bled with every *****
of button sew.

And one drunk morning
she found him there
snuggled in his ***** puke
neck-tangled in the clothesline
blue and quiet.

The hole was easy
She had been digging a hole
for years
wet and heavy.

She whistles now and enjoys
the work
sun-dry and sweet
pinning her dresses
on the new rope
while she enjoys
the grass tickling her toes
(the only sweet touch she knew of him, the soft grass there.)

Do not go there
Daughter Dear.
He is rough and
Smells of beer.
And I would not
Want you seen
On his loud
Two-wheeled machine.
He is not your
Type at all,
He's too handsome,
Strong and tall..
What would all the
Neighbors say
When they see you
Ride away
With your skirt all
Cinched-up high
With that Dark and
Handsome guy?
What? You say he
Has a job?
Educated?
Not a slob?
Well, I guess then,
Just one date.
I'll wait up though,
Don't be late.

There is a space inside the Heart
A hollow bit with walls and room
To let in more than we assume
Could even ever fit there...

It stretches out and it expands
To fit the open hands and minds
Of lonely strangers and old friends...
It's such a lovely spot.

We should, I think, keep broom at hand
And Spring-Clean every once or twice
To make it nice and comfy soft
For visitors who stop here.

And even maybe sweep the steps
And offer up a sugar bowl
With creme and comfort and a spoon
Next' to the coffee ***.

There is a space inside the Heart
A little nitch (with room to spare)
I often find my self in there
Just waiting for a visit.

So come on in with Saint or Sin
(The Open Heart cannot define
The difference of the two)

The coffee's warm
and so's the beer...
I'll leave a light for you.

It's a logistical rule I own
To attempt a poem
Every day
Based on a word
Or a feeling
But I wasn't
Feeling much
Today
So I gambled
A gambol
In the Webster's
And it was my thumb's fate
To find "Palpitate".
Funny that the previous poems
Both deep and sincere
Had the Heart as their center
So clear and unpretentious
And ****-near annoying
Relentless in their calling
Out to a Lost Love or three...
Old "woe is me"
Always attempting to
Circumnavigate the heart.
To go around the push-pull
Of Love lost denied
And surf away on the curl
Of swollen palpitate.

Around about and up-side in
with cotton candy tummy spin
I watch the world go sideways by
Holding tightly as I fly

Swirling in a Dervish dance
Mustard stains upon my pants
Mom/Dad/Mom/Dad tilt nearby
Holding THEIR breath as I fly

Falling smoothly into chaos
Dancing with The Devil's twin
Staying out to all odd hours
Play to play but not to win

Holding onto little numbers
Clutching at the threes and twos
Tossing all the Jacks or better
Nothing left to really lose

Pony up my hidden nickle
Lay my hand down, easy breeze
Watch the other gamblers crumble
As I win with twos and threes

Rake in all my ill-begotten
Dust the prayer-dirt from my knees
Pocket up my lucky nickle...
Jesus loves those twos and threes.

Every time I pass by the old empty house there on the corner-
I wonder-
Had I been there, in that time- not so long ago-
One sunny Sunday- in the spring step of her youth
Would she have seen me on the walk?
And if I had- with bouquet in hand- climbed those five wide steps to the door
And knocked...
Uninvited-
Would she have danced with me on that day-oh, not so long ago?
"Here but for a picnic" I would say-
Would she laugh and take the day with me?
Or would my presence there-
Uninvited-
Disturb her from her untitled words
And change things too disturbingly?
Alas it is only a romantics dream
That Miss Dickinson would allow an idyll of mine own
To enter into her pre-scribed theme
And so I put aside the thought of my hearts truth
And turn away from that empty window-as I pass by-
I will not be the one to steal those words from the World-
I will avoid those five wide steps to the door-
Uninvited.
And I will dismantle my time machine.

There were spooky shadows on my wall
From the window monsters outside
Tall
Wavering
Skinny-thick
Making believe they were only trees
in the wind
oppical delutions,
Bad-boy dreams
Mean
hungry
Skinny-thick
Making my pillow snarl
The heater growl
down there in the
Belly of the House...
Just waiting to ****** me in
**** me down
into those shadow holes
Where the Spooky  lives

I used to have a dozen hens
They laid a dozen eggs
And every egg hatched out a chick
With skinny chicken legs
And each and every one of them
They laid a dozen more
My poor old barnyard **** is tired
And really really sore.

I rescued a dog, named her "Scooter".
A puppy... she couldn't be cuter.
She sleeps on my bed
With her **** near my head
And she smells like an old roto-rooter.

Ride high on your
Blue horses
into Into.

I don't mean that.

Fix the hole I have
In my blue wall

I have no wall.

Scream happy no sound
here in the gallery

(Look!  You got a wall!)

The title alone
Leaves me wondering.
Is this lunch?
A  kitchen faux pas?
Or simply a clever way
To teach a chicken
Gravity?

I was seven.
The sidewalk lured.
The Huffy beckoned.
The hill...
The hill...
Skinny locomotive legs
Pumping madness blindness happy
Freedom flight pumping pumping
The hill...
The hill...
Baseball cards in spokes were roaring
Soaring wheels and squinting windy
Boymachine thrumming heavy
The hill...
The hill...
Swerving Fords and Chevys curving
Hopping curbs and doggie-dodging
Lightspeed hoping
Seven and no sign of stopping
Hit the rock...

Funny how it all got slow, now
Boy/machine were separated
One went one way one the other
Gravity
The enemy

God?  The Hereafter?  Jury's still out on that one.
I haven't heard any Angels weeping,
Tears of Redemption seeping into my
Sidewalk life.

You!  With the Suit... and the briefcase filled with default...
Your shoelace cost more than my last dinner.
From one Sinner to another, Brother
Spare a dime?

Job?  Would you hire me?  All streetdirt and hungry thin?
Would you take me in, clean me up all nice
Let me use your Old Spice and your razor?
I thought not.

I used to be you, you know.  Once upon a time
I had everything a man could ask for
And then one day, ****! it all fell away.
Here we are.

Sir.  I'll be honest.  Just a dollar, eight bits. Sir
I promise not to waste your hard-stolen buck
I'll invest it in the local street-trade
Safe-and-sound.

I'll be around here for the next few days in case
You feel the need to support my lost cause.
I won't follow you down the street Mister...
Got no legs.

God?  God wasn't there when that bomb took my legs
While I was dancing for your freedom fight,
Your tax-dollars bleeding out in some swamp...
Here we are.

Hell.  Hell wasn't the ***** war I got sent to.
Hell was coming home to no home waiting.
Just this sidewalk life here on the corner.
There you go...

Wife?  Oh yes indeed I had a beautiful wife.
Past tense.  Her, my legs, ****! All up and gone
But you're still here listening to my tale.
Worth your time?
Got a dime?

In my youth I'd often slip
and milk or juice would slop and drip.
"You're all thumbs" my Mother'd quip.
And I'd be sent right back to bed.

Little would stay in my cup.
I spent my days just wiping up
The slobbers that I'd often make.
"You're all thumbs" my Mom'd berate.

One dark morn my mother said
You're all thumbs!  Go back to bed!
(I dropped a rock right on her head.)

Breathe and pant
focus
push
push
wait
Grab onto something
anything
push
push
cry
People stand waiting
curious
push
push
scream
It crowns
It slides out
You have birthed so many
ideas

Cover my sins with halo gold,
my feet with olive green,
And kiss the ******
As they bury me.

Six can carry me
Out to the shore
While the gulf-sun settles
Away in the west.

Do this for me and I'll leave you my treasure
A hollow warm pocket
A painting  or two
And cast my illusions to
the winds and the sea.

Please do not cry at my overdue passing.
Laugh and imbibe
and stumble a while
and smile
at the space which
I've left here for you.

There are stairs
And sloped roads
And hills
And blind curves
And switch-backs
And dead-ends....
Sometimes.
Sometimes there are
Twinkies and hot chocolate.
And comfy chairs.
And Pop-Cycles.
And low-gravity days.
Sometimes "Sometimes" is
Worth it.

Pay attention to the dirt!
Make the effort to Jump when the Big Fingers snap!

     I see you walking with your head in the clouds, looking up
     when you should be looking down,
     your hopeful imagination miles and miles away from your
     Here And Now.

Pay attention to the dirt!

     You!  With your eyes rolling 'round in youthful indignation
     playing in your happy little Tomorrow-Never-Land
     with those greedy little fingers on those greedy little hands
     talking your talk while walking blindly through a land filled
     with obstacles which have been moved around beneath you,
     by Big fingers, while you ignorantly slept!

Mind your step!
Pay attention to the dirt!

Do the math which you think you believe in,
while the gods you don't believe in
laugh at your stumble.
Go ahead...  Hold your head high in false pride
listening only to your own mumble
of self awareness as you go fumbling
through your pockets
jingling your worthless
change.
Best you dig deeper to secure the coins you'll need
when you come to YOUR final crossing.

Pay attention to the dirt!

"Life is short",  you often say.
But you're wrong.  Life is long,
And so very very wide.
    
     And yet you ride your time on one little narrow strip,
     always looking behind you as you stomp backwards
     in a foolish attempt to delay the arrival of your own
     inevitable.

     But even when that fateful day comes, you won't see it.
     You'll be too busy looking up.  Looking behind you.
     Tripping myopically along, blissful and unaware of
     Why.  Or Where.

Pay attention to the dirt!

Turn around, bend down.
Dig into that loam of home
with those greedy little fingers...

Linger awhile there, study the sift,
let it drift through and around your
knuckles...
And Feel the Real!
Look ahead, not behind.

     Observe the curve and swerve of the Glory Road
     stretched out before you and never-you-mind
     what fades behind!

     The Past at last has passed on and Tomorrow's Now
     awaits your feeble crawl towards the Wide.
     Into the Long.
     Beneath a sky which does not forgive,
     or even promise a firm footing.

Pay attention to the dirt!
  
     let me ask you...
     what is the price for dignity?
     the cost of respect?
     There is no lay-away plan.
     No six-month-same-as-cash agreement
     on a bargain basement consignment
     thrift shop deal-of-the-day.
    
     No red-tag blue-light special
     on a slightly used one-owner
     runs-well, cleans up OK Life.

     You can Not wheel and cajole a sneaky deal
     for a piece of pride on this ride into your
     particular continuum.
    
     There are no coupons.

     There is only Not Yet
     and Self, one day/per/day,
     as you plan and execute your
     next mistake.

     As you buckle your OWN boots and walk your OWN walk
     smiling,
     into the wind of contention.

So, Pay attention to the dirt!

Pay attention to the dirt!

And you mind your step.
You mind your step.

chal, o eru.
raigh nu wandh' heh
cu aj i tdju o.

o eru
raigh wa nacca yeh
o ama, ama nay?

o At Ka tona.
ko hok ton chal.
sey o eru.

Ha, waka se
O
Ha, waka se
O
o eru
o na
o.