She floats above my life with hidden purpose
Casting glances over her pearl white shoulder
Occasionally
To see if I've noticed
To see if I've fallen for the ruse
Taken the bait
Given in to the pursuit.

She knows I want her.
She's aware of my need.
It shines in my scent,
My wounded trail.

She floats above my life daintily
With estrogen seeping
Wiggling and shadow-boxing with my heart
Casting her lures,
Fly fishing,
Teasing me from my mud-******* existance
Only to snag me

Razor barb hook tearing through the soft tender meat of my soul

She checks me out and tosses me back
And as I sink into the murky depths of my maleness
I cry out
"Try again!  Size isn't everything!"

But she cannot hear me above the whir of her own motor.
And she trawls to another pond.

God cut Existence into eight even slices.
     God was Italian, after all...
     Rome, and all that...
     Jesus was a fluke...
But the wine trick was good.

So God passed out the pizza to the worthy:
     A slice to the Needy-
     A slice to the Humble-
     A slice to the Rich
(But he picked off the pepperoni.)

God gave a piece to the dour, unbaptized;
     A slice to the children-
     A slice to the Fallen
     On their way to Hell
(It's a long ride, and God is Forgiving).

God looked down into the box at the Last Piece:
     Angels hovered, drooling...
     Seraphim, Cherubim,
     Arch and minor-winged First Born
Salivated above the Cardboard Holy of Holies.

God just laughed and shoved it into His Omnipotent Mouth.
     And He Screamed!
     Rivers ran dry!
     Oceans parted!
"**** cheese is HOT!"

She moves at quantum levels
You're not supposed to see
And if you sneak a peek at her
She flips from sine-to-three

She changes colors often
Her blue-shift echoes red
I caught a glimpse of her and now
She's dancing in my head

She moves at quantum levels
With paranormal grace
She stands still on the dance-floor as
She jibes from space to place

She doesn't feel the rhythm
Her beat is zero-G
She moves at quantum levels which
You're not supposed to see

She'll dance with God or Devil
She'll dance to any key
She moves at quantum levels which
You're not supposed to see

(she sometimes wears a frilly-thing
  which peeks out from her jeans
  She shakes at quantum levels in
  The spaces in-betweens)

Here's a little ***** ditty-
Ain't too long, or sweet, or pretty-
Kinda' short, won't take much time-
All about a gal I knew/

She was tall, bout' five foot nine-
Met me in a ***** alley-
Up there in that cold-*** city-
She was half as drunk as me/

What occurred then I'm not privy-
I woke up with sirens blaring-
Handcuffed in my skivvies, moaning-
In the lock-up. without pants/

Now I do a shameful dance-
wondering who just bailed me out-
Out there sits a hungry Chevy-
(better than a ***** alley!)

Though sonnets often wail of love, or loss,
This sonnet calls to all the Joy of Life!
Just got the papers from my (now) ex-wife.
She signed them. All those years a simple toss.

I fell in love with her at one hat-drop
(I love her still. I always will.  It's true.)
She set the bar for all the women who
Might try to catch my eye, from start to stop.

The way her tress cascaded, and her kiss...
The bliss I oft succumbed to in her smile...
The miles we walked together, she and I.

Though sonnets often rail at Love, or Life,
I'm happy that she's finally let me go.
These tears will pass tomorrow... (sonnets lie.)

Dark is not the absence of light,
but the reflection
of those things
right
behind you, sneaking.

She  ...is the Goddess of my four-in-the-mornings
... is the Florence Nightingale of my debilitated wanderings.
...does not judge.
...simply pours as I ignore the menu.
...always returns just in time to top me off.
...wears that stained, pleated apron like Aphrodite wears the summer wind.
          (With that spittle-slick pencil
          Balanced so precariously behind her left ear)
She... renders quiet absolution, with creme, and sugar.

Life is funny
Hurts to get into it
Hurts to get out of it
Hurts a lot
In the Middle
Of it
Hurts to keep it
Hurts to lose it
It's always
A struggle
Just to hold
Onto it
We sleep
Through
A third of it
Eat to ****
Then eat some more
Because of it
And yet
We desperately
Seek to
Keep hold of it
Funny or not
It's all we got

A bit of joy has come to me.
Some happy in a small disguise.
These students with their hopeful eyes
And brush and palette ...
I'll seize the day and let them play
With colors wet and rules begone!
We'll paint and splash on papered lawn!
A bit of Joy has come to me.
I am better for it.

Miles and miles away
Yet you connect
No phone or letter
Even better
You find me in sleep
Deep in alpha/beta/theta flux
In-Between Dream
A skinny touch
Just enough, not too much
To wake me from
You.

I stepped outside for a moment, simply to catch a breath on my porch,
and I saw that slivered Moon scooting behind those shivery clouds.
In a brief half-second I felt Her eons,
Her aged gravitational tumble,
Her pained and painted-on pagan sins of yore,
Her holy rejoinder of light against the darkness,
Her catechism of magic,
and the cold
empty doctrine
of Her orbital destiny.

I closed my eyes for a moment, to shut out Her history...
to try and catch that breath...
But She would not relent.
She was insistent, pulling my eyes open and up
and She offered me her memories
and begged in Her dry eternal voice
to allow me Her touch.

     I accepted.  Felt Her fear as our rockets bruised Her dusty flesh
     upon their uninvited landings
     and scarred her with their burning departures.

     When I had taken it all in, She disappeared behind one of those
     shivery clouds
     and I was able to
     catch that breath
     I had almost forgotten
     I had meant to take.

I watch for Her nightly now.
Even when She is obscured by clouds
or maybe just on the other side of this earth-she-cannot-touch,
Her eternal dance partner.
I open my eyes and gaze up.
With awe and wonder and respect
to let Her know that in my small gravitational way
that there is at least
One son here who thinks of her
and who understands and appreciates her tidal Motherhood

who smiles  beneath Her transient reflection,
holding that light dear,
and who, in turn,
reflects some of that light
back to Her,
with promised eye.

Bootlick Tom went out one night
To get his share of drinkin' on
He soon got into a fight
When all his drinkin' money'd gone

Out there on that beer-lit stoop
He saw that it was one-to-four...
"Almost fair" he chuckled as
He knocked the first one through the door.

Number Two was big and mean
with heavy-handed hammer-fists
But BootlickTom took out his knee
And put him in a scissor twist.

The third big bad-*** came in wild
A busted bottle in his hand.
"Well, that's not fair", Ol' Tom remarked,
And knocked him into Never-Land.

But Number Four stood by the door
He knew the outcome should he fight...
"I've got a few coins left" he said
And Bootlick Tom drank free all night.

Religious in essence
Yet so secular
And so widely applyable
Viable and undeniably
Sharp
Hard at both ends
A forged utterance
It holds a myriad multitude
Of Rude in its
Four little letters.
Oh, it can be used
In connection
With other invectives
Paired off with
Other Nouns
Like
God
It
You
But in truth
It stands tall
A giant hammer
Alone
By itself
It does not force
It
Simply
States

There is dog howl wind
behind that cold door
out there
where
all the stories
come true.

There are manic truants
running wild across
my back lawn
with
little hatchets
and bags.

There are sneaky smiley men
inside the TV box
greedy tongued
cold
begging money
and souls.

I will shut off the TV
let the dog in
lock the door
rock
creaking
dark
old
happy
safe.

No poem.
No song.
Just the title.
That should be enough.
Six words.
Two more Than your last four-
"I love you, goodbye."
I can't even find
Rhyme
Nor reason
Why.
Oh well.
So long.
No poem.
No song.

Gosh o gee I think yer neat.
Ya got nice hair.  I like yer feet.
An yer cat. An yer dog two.
Shucks! I think I's sweet on you.

P'raps weel marry up sum day.
(Whens weer old an gettin gray)
Til then heck, o gosh gee wiz
Can I just steel a little kiss?

Should we add the words together
Counting up the wrongs and rights
All the sweet, entangled nights
And all the sorrowed mornings?
Or can we simply start anew?
Let loose all those anger-moorings
Tying us to pain-gone-by...
I can try, will you?
See, here, see my open hand
Sweetly offered, angered not,
Gentle callus on the palm,
Strength of Love within it...
See, here, see my open heart...
Throwing words away.

There it sits
Hollow
Mildly reeking
Of yesterday's fare
Teasing me
(like that **** squirrel)
With empty promise
With hope that You
With your thumbs
Will soon see fit
To fill it

I will wait
Wagging
I'm still waiting
Do you see me here?
Being good?
(Unlike that **** squirrel)
Yet still it sits
Licked clean empty
Unholy vessel
Staring at me
Here I wait

Horrid Bowl!
Old crock!
I will move you
With my nose
And my paws
(Oh!  That **** elusive squirrel!)
Yet there it sits
I should leave
Go smell something else
As foul as you
To roll in.

Three Bones lives in the olde dark wood
Three Bones up to nothing good
Way too many teeth in there
Three Bones smiling everywhere.

Three Bones watches children sleep
Waits until their dreaming's deep
Then he creeps into their beds
Tearing into little heads.

Three Bones steals away their dreams
Laughing at their slumbered screams
Nightmare is his stock and trade
In this dark midnight parade.

Three Bones lives in the olde dark wood
Three Bones up to nothing good...

Off to the left of my inner sight
I spied a withering shadow
With hope for a
Long-lost dance.
Was it just a wind,
A willow-whisper,
A light trick.
Or a chance
To waltz
A lost soul
Into
the
Into?

I do not worry
About the Hurry-Folk
Who drive by
9-to-5
or
5-to-9
depending on their employment
While I find
Enjoyment
Just peeing
off my front porch.

Shhh...
There's something...
Sneaky
Out there.
Shhh...
It's got fingers.
And tooth.
And hungries.
Shhh...
It's dancing
All floppy
And dark
Shhh...
It's just shadow
Thickening
And thirsty
Shhh...
Don't let it know
You know
It's there
Shhh...
Don't wake yourself up.
Or you'll
Miss the monster.

She was the only son
Her father never had.
Her legs were lean and long,
Alas, her eyes were bad.
And then at Sweet Sixteen
Her Father drove her mad.
(A sicko is a ******, after all.)

And after ten long years
They set her on the street.
With a pretty dress
And new shoes on her feet.
And so she looks for Daddy...
Or any fresh, new meat.
(Cuz an axe is an axe, after all.)

Word.
Thing.
Stuff.
Trouble.
Heart.
****.
You.

A poor boy on the sidewalk
watches through the window
as the angry speakers gesture
on the T.V. in the store.

He knows that they are angry
by their scrinched-up ugly faces
and their heavy pointing fingers
and their hands out
always hands out
wanting more.

He knows that they are speaking
of the world and all its problems
and of little people like him
stealing T.V. from the street.

He leaves the silent speaker
screaming anger through the window
and he radars out the sidewalk
always looking
just a little
bite to eat.

What internal music played
As he drew his brush
Softly saturated
Across the Wait of White?

How did he slow the wind
And tease it
Lure it
Into the pale cerulean wash?

What power did he possess
To stop the Sun
To halt the spin
Of the world before him?

What fierce invisible nail did he use
To affix his Now
So long ago
To My Now?

There is quantum stillness
In the flow
In the ebb
Of this flat dimension.

There is distance unreachable
Behind his eye
Beneath his hand
Proffered to us.

There is a God-Wink presented
Intangible, firm
Solidly translucent
Within this window.

Who was this mortal Creator
With Birth-breath
Of colored magic
And patient soul?

This wall is a cathedral
To His cathedral

Through his honor
He honors us
With one note
Of his internal hymn.

We have surely lost this war
Yet we linger on
To gather what few wits remain
And fight another dark day

We are gentleman, at least,
Killing each other
Only in the hours
Before suppertime.

When the swollen sunlight
On the distant Standing Oaks
Mimics the blooded field below
We set down our arms.

One weary lad climbs to the top of the hill
(We take turns...)
And blows a Hollow Tattoo
Calling us all away from Death,
For a while at least.

We found comfort in His hand
Solace in His song
a small one-note
the final note...
We found Joy in His dance
Rhythm in His stillness
a quaint quiet
a final peace...
We found Happiness attended
Balance in His whisper
a small movement
a final step...
We, who were once of mud
And breath
And need
Are freed
From those confines
From that war...
The Hero Peris saved us
By His sword
Swift
A final kiss.

Don't go leaping
Into water
chasing after
Cute disaster
Noughan's daughter
Sings to fishers
Young and old
they lose their decking
All their wishes
All  untold
Skinny boy or
Old man whiskers
drowned-a-calm
by Noughan's daughter
smiling even
as they're weeping
in the deep
where they lay
sleeping.

Ages ago
There was magic
In that Lovin' Spoonful
Song
There had been
Magic
In that
Life gone wrong
The wife
That Life
But...
But...
Somehow
Years and stone
Got in the way
Rolling on
Right back

I thought I had lost you.
I looked everywhere.
You had been here, then,
In that Good year.
I sometimes thought
I could hear you
Laughing
Singing
But no...
It was only the
Hollow of my
Heart.
But then, today!
Today I found your old hand-mirror,
The small silver one I gave you
Which you left in a forgotten drawer.
And I can almost see you,
Your sweet reflection
Through the dust.

O, mi corazon! Que has hecho a mi?
O, mi corazon, necesito saber...
Una vez te senti,
Palpi tando
Hando dento de mi...
Para ahora me siento tan vacio
Y solo...
O, mi corazon,
Where have you gone?

Eight beers down
long hallway to my room
Zoom!
Fury Furry Tail Jet squeals
between my
sunken knees
with OUT! OUT! OUT!
on her NOW agenda.

Twenty dead minutes later
her nails scrawl blackboard pain
to be let in.

I wake up standing there
where  I started.

She beats me to my bed.

Now it's off to sleep, and may
I find a dream to dance inside,
to smile my eyes shut tightly wide,
before the morning prattles?

A pillow mountain, rivers deep,
and blanket castles while I sleep.
(My dog could care less, she just lumps,
and snuggles, till the day.)

Shimmering in your tomb dust
Unknown bride
Did you play
This wax and copper harp
Only for these clay attendees?
Did you love?
Does this new bright day offend thee?
Simmering in the old earth
With Regal Demise
Did you dance, once,
Just once?
Perhaps your heart is not jarred and coffined here,
But in the eye of some boy.
Did you love?
Is your antiquity for nothing?
Slumbering in the age of pages lost
To this tired, blind reader,
I wonder...
Were I to kiss your shrunken hand
Would you awaken?
Would you play again
That wax and copper harp?
Would you love?

Don't Read my poem
Your eyes Will burn
Your children
Will melt
In
Sulfurous
Squamous
Pools
Of Lust
Denied
Or torrid pages
Of words
Worth
Looking
Up.
Danger
Lurks here
When hearts
Speak.

I grew up in an old farm-house
Just a spit-toss from the creek
Joyous boyhood in the cowshit
To my Parents' deep chagrin, though,
I was never mild or meek.

I was boyhood raw abandon
I was loud as loud could be
I could dance to secret music
I would pester all the grown-ups
Questions! Questions, constantly.

"Why For" was my given nick-name
I was such a hungry youth
Why for this and why for that
I would drive my Folk's friends crazy
Seeking bits and bites of Truth

Years have flown by much too quickly
Knees are creaky, hair's gone gray
Still I ask a simple question
Same one when I played in cowshit
"Why for why for, anyway?"

Here's a poem for all concerned about the ***** words I write/
Every night I wrestle with them, all the filth which I have learned/
All the strife I water down to soften up the reader's eye/
Trying not to bug or bother anyone with pristine ears/
I have years of cursing loudly/
I have scars to prove that's true/
Snotty women so offended, Bar-room tables up-side ended/
Walking home without a ride/
Deep in angry mumble walk/
Spouting each and every letter/
Feeling better as I vent/
Where I went or what I'd done/
All my sins were fun, it's true/
Hence I've put them down prosaic/
***** words from me, to you

She was the prettiest ******* the playground swing
She was eleven
I was nine
I knew that it was doomed from the beginning
Stars in Heaven
Misaligned
Her pleated skirt-fly defying gravities
I was buried by
Her tall laugh singing
Digging me deeper
Years were bigger
Steeper back then
I wonder where she swings now
High and silly-free
Or down in the dirt
Where I still play
Two years behind

There is deliciousness in this empty
This warm hollow
This Sun-Blanket nap
With distant High Speckles
And clouded Moon song

There is sinful patience here
With Dream-scare
With loud slumber
With Baby Death looming

There is Ghost-Waltz here
In the snuggled sheets
In the softened fade
In the parade of wink

Take me, Night
I will pass through you
As you pass through me
Counter wise til Dawn

And in the Bright of Day
I will remember you
Long for you
Yawning and Bluish
On my next horizon.

Have you ever been to San Francisco?
With no money?
It's like going to the Moon, Honey,
Without oxygen.
The Moon with palm trees
And a beach.
The Moon with tasty tasty treats
On all the streets
And pretty girls (?) all in a row
And Dark Delights
Even in the daytime
Waiting to take
That last nickle
You don't have.
Yeah, I left my heart there.
Just like the song...
Traded it for a bus ticket
Out.

I stand before you open now a bleak and hollow shell
A battered weary tattered piece of man
I've swallowed all my guilty pride and all my sins as well
I'll do my best to fix-up what I can
But I've had years to ***** things up and ***** them up again
And thus this may just take some extra time
So have a seat and while you wait there's magazines to read
I'll call you when your number's next in line.

Honey won't you take me home?
I've been waiting all night long
Out here on this cold and lonely highway-
Open up your Buick Darlin'
Let me get warm.

I must be a sight to see-
In leathers and these ripped up jeans-
Won't you let me inside
And take me for a ride
Down your Dark Ohio Road?

I've been standing here for hours
Watching all the cars drive by-
Don't you think Baby that I've suffered enough?
Pull on over
Let me crawl inside.

I promise I won't ask for more...
And I won't tell a single soul...
If you pick me up and let me
Go for a ride
Down your Dark Ohio Road.

I will roll myself one more Cowboy Smoke
Risking spilled tobacco
And ride into the
Valley of your words

I will leave my six-gun on the bar
Daring brave young Hooligans
To draw on me
As I seek you out.

These are dangerous trails you've mapped
With Lost Canyons
Deep
And
Dark
Replete with cause to worry.

But I am in no hurry, Madam.
Let them have at me.
The brigands and
Foul desert
All of your
Dark Designs.

I still got me
One good
Cowboy smoke...
I can walk
Into your words
By that
One
Weak
Light.

Slinky *****
with promises
prying my sleep
away
Warm and loud
Lying to me
Once I
Step outside
That my dreams
Of you
Would come true.
Let me go back
To your
Unforgiving sister
Night.

Who was it carved these lines
In ancient hand
Faded now
By sand and wind
And patient Time?

Whose voice on chiseled stone
calls on to us
Covered now
With mossy virtues
Lost,  unknown?

Should I now in my crewel
of saddened heart
And remorse
Add a stitch
Of love eschewed?

Should I wield stick and stone
And worry down
into this rock
My ****** tale
Of love unknown?

And ages hence, some thousand years
when this creekbed
sits up high
Will some fellow
read my tears?

No.  I will let my fingers roam
these runic forms
Singing loud
The loss we shared
Beside this stone.