Sometimes, I think I feel too much, like I crossed into a world of shadows; like there's been some kind of mistake.
Life seems to sharp, to vivid,
too right there in my face.
I feel like a stranger.  It's as if I were on a bus, and out of the tinted windows, things looked vaguely familiar. I pull the string and get off.
It's the wrong stop, it's the wrong world. The bus has disappeared;
there's no way home.  I used to stand on a bridge that a river flowed under. And off in the distance, high atop the ash trees, the eagles were nesting. They were so beautiful and serene.
I can't watch them anymore. It breaks my **** heart to see all the concrete and construction inch closer and closer to the little slice of heaven they found in a piece of nature
that seemed vaguely
familiar.

I want to make love to you one
more time, lying lavishly on those old blue satin sheets.
Silky smooth, like cheeks of angels; dangling our toes off
the end of the bed in sweat
drenched ecstasy.
Just once more, I want to
amble down the grocery store aisles, trying to decide what to make for dinner.
You, looking at the hamburger helper boxes, me, trying to decide between Thai and Italian, the kids, screaming, "Hot dogs, hot dogs."
I can't change time, but baby,
If I could, when the other woman came to me with her
snake dance, I would laugh and turn my back and run home to you.

Alone in the woods on a late spring day.
Pensive, I passed time.
You were stopping wet that
April evening when the rains came.
Even after 10 years,
******* you was like unwrapping a present on
Christmas morn.  I was always
surprised, and never disappointed.  
I feel
anointed to find someone as
beautiful as you.
The touch of you and the taste
of you, is forever my heart's
sunrise and my dreams come true.  
Enraptured by your two
lips, I could sip on your nectar
forever, or until I'm alone in
the woods on
a late spring day.

It was a four horse race at
Santa Anita.
I was with my old man and
little brother.
I put everything I had on
the number 3 horse to show.
His name was Dusty's Diaper.
Shoemaker was aboard;
the shoe for God's sake.
It was a sure thing.
All he had to do, was not
come in fourth place.

I learned that day,
in a horse race,
anything can happen.
I was 12 years old.
And like horse racing,
In life, anything can
happen.

Amidst the California evening,
On our way to the car,
I thought my Dad
Would live forever.

You can hear them scream at night,
the men, locked in,
over at the hate factory.

It's a kind of purgatory.
A winter time
for the mind.

No light gets in.
No love either.
But you can see it all below
through the bars
on the window.

There's a passion that burns
within me that's never
more alive, than when I'm
In the garden.
And in the garden of
love, my favorite
flowers are the tulips.

They're especially inviting
after a bottle of Chianti
on a hot July night, with
John Coltrane seductively
blowing from the CD player.

Equally captivating, is the little
bud that lies North of the
tulips.  And with the right
amount of attention, the little
bud, the pea in the pod, creates
a nectar of the gods that tastes
sweet, like honey to my soul,
like maple syrup to my spirit,
a heavenly sap that flows like
the beer on tap at an
all you can drink club.
Like Dylan Thomas at a
pub in Wales, my heart sails drunk on the tulip's fine wine.
And then like magic it occurs,
when ovulation yearns for
procreation, and on those nights,
On those nights...
I could spend forever in
the tulips.

Sometimes we think
that the party
never ends;
that tomorrow
won't come;
but sunrise always
cracks our illusion,
until one day
dawn's sweet light
shines
no more.