A lot can be
accomplished
when you pull 
the covers over your
head, and just listen.
Tune out all the
distractions and *******.
Let the silence guide you.

Do you see all the
colors whirling around in
your mind?
The greens and the reds?
The indigo and violet?
They are thoughts forming.
Grand, artistic, unbridled thoughts.

People will desperately
try to distract you, and keep
you from this place.
They are a stranger to it.
Phones will go off.
The crowd will knock
at the door,
don't answer, they will
always be there.

Your job is to create in
your beautiful, dark womb.
There is a spark,
electric alchemy going on.
Don't question it.
You are an artist,
and you are giving birth

I'm an athlete.
I can throw and catch,
and run in the sun-
all shiny and bright.
And you just sleep, sleep, sleep.

Look at me, mama.
I'm a writer.
I do poetry and stories,
all pretty and pink,
and all you do is,
sleep, sleep, sleep.

Look at me, mama.
I can dance.
I'm lonely,
I'll move to France,
meet a woman, and get married.
Look at the ants crawl through
the spilled red juice on
the grass, nature everywhere,
as you sleep, sleep, sleep. 

Look mama,
Look at me, mama!
I have children now,
all good and wise,
you're a grandma.
Why don't you wake up?

Please look at me, mama.
Open your eyes.
I'm lonely and afraid.
I'm old now, and cold,
and you still,
just
sleep, sleep, sleep...

I used to play this
game
with my second 
wife.
It was called,
guess the fruit.
We did it in
the morning,
that way, we had
breakfast and ***.
Succulent and sensual.

She would lie naked on
the bed-blindfolded.
I put a Miles Davis CD
on, then went to the
kitchen, and roughly chopped
various types of fruit:
Peaches, Pears, and Pomegranate.
Avocados were too messy.
I would grab a handful of
various types of berries, and
assemble them all on
a plate.

By the time I got back to
the bedroom, she was 
squirming around, and squealing 
like a squeaky toy.
I'd take a piece of fruit and
lightly rub it on her neck,
she would yell,
"Banana"
"Nope," Id' say.
I would dart it across
her lips, and work it
down her neck...
ease it across her pink
left ******.

She coos, "Peaches."
"No baby, but you are close."
I would make light stabs
down her belly to the top
of her golden mound.
By this time she
would softly moan.
"Fuckkkk...Blackberry."
"Yes! You got it."
Then I would pop it
in my mouth, savoring the
juice and the sweetness.

The game would continue
back and forth until
we finished the fruit.
By that time, we were more
than ready to make love.
We went at it like
dogs in heat.
the sweat and fruit juice
mingling on our bodies,
illuminated by the
morning sun, breaking
sad through the
window.

I am single now, and poor.
I can't afford fruit.
And even if I had a woman,
it would be hard
to play, guess the Mickey D's
dollar menu item.

This could be 
the last poem I
ever write.
I hope not,
but it's possible.

If it were my 
last poem,
what would I want 
it to say?
Wow, not so easy.

Poetry has been a
loving wife, and I 
will miss her on
all those sleepless
nights, when dreams
don't come.
Writing poems have
kept me in touch
with all the harsh
pain, and all the 
sublime beauty.
Both are supreme
teachers. 

Poetry has opened 
my ears to the
sounds of the
earth, the whispered
rush of the creek
running over stones
and sticks.
The cries of my
children in the
night wanting
their mothers'
milk.

If this were
absolutely my
last poem, I would
want it to bring
some joy and be 
a bit less sentimental.
Oh well,
guess I have to
write more.

Here comes another
classic case of
writer's block.
**** soft,
I spew
across the
white pages.
Maybe age is
catching up
with me.
Time has been
a friend,
but I'm only as
good as my last poem.
I long for the days
when songs filled
my heart, where every
part of me smelled
the rain and the
wet dogs, and the
streets of Spain.
The pain was always
fodder, the joy, the sadness
the madness of love and
*** and passion.
The rancid anger and rage
became the words of
a sage when I broke
out the notebook.

Not tonight though,
I will wait for the
******* and the blood
to simmer in
the red dot on the
white snow.
Patiently waiting for
the hemorrhaging of
the soul.

**** to
some
is
erotica to
others.

A feast to
me
maybe
a snack
to you.

We see things
differently
through filtered
eyes,
with varying
experiences.

Open
minds
think beyond
good and
evil.

She rubs the ache from
my back, as the
morning sun
breaks through the
blinds.

She gently kisses
my lips in the
long hot summer,
and brings me
piles of leaves in
the fall.

She doesn't smash my
fragile-glass ego,
nor leave me wanting
in the night.

She births me
hundreds of
children that live
forever.

And she stays young,
while I grow old.

Please excuse the boundary
of my sadness;
it's not normal, I'm aware,
maybe, even maddening.

But, the horses need hay.
They are hungry.

Long evenings
full of shadows,
surround my blood
stained lazy bed.

The horses need hay.

Let's gather our
senses, and get to
the fields.
Make-believe we
have purpose and
direction.

Isn't that
the mindset we need
to overcome the largest
lie of them all.

Although my
body
dwindles more
every day,
my soul and
emotional strength are
renewed moment by
moment.

And even though
fall turns into
winter, and I
feel the icy
wind in my
bones,
spring will come
eternally to
the core of who
I really am.

And for that
I celebrate.

(Graphic erotica 18 or older)
Set me free --
I’ve been waiting for you to,
These nights in the castle                    
You’re too distant.                                
It’s too easy.
I’m afraid to tell you                                          
what I’ll allow -- what I crave.                                    
We read,
We talk -- I sing for you.
I love you, even.
But you’re holding back,
I don’t know why.
My family is gone,
No one is coming for me.
I’m afraid only to tell you --
There’s more to me --
Wildness, wretchedness, and pain without end.
I'm not afraid of the darkness,
From it, together we have everything
To gain.

I’m caged as well, I want to break out,
Eat raw meat, and breathe
In all life has to offer.
Pain has defined me.
The bars are strong on
Your cage and I see your
pain...I want to touch
It, and make it go away.
**** it far away,
Mine as well, does love even exist?
My childhood was a horror show of
Apathy, money, and privilege;
But no smiles or touch.
Debauchery surrounded me,
People were to be used for our
Base desires.
I will punish us both for being born.

Maybe you want a simple girl
Extravagant dinners and clean laundry
Such things bore me, I’m afraid
You might think me monstrous
All I’ve done is toil away,
Giving myself over to Sisyphean labors, and
Endless inhuman favors
Surrendered to unfit Masters
Who paid for their titles, treating
Me like a commodity to use up,
Beat down, and throw away. I
Indict my own male relatives
Who should have protected me,
And beseech God for a remedy
To my loneliness and misery.
My gratitude overwhelms
For this interlude in the castle.
You’ve been good to me so far —
Your care is starting to show, yet I
Am electric at a dream I have of
How much further we could go, still
You seem reluctant, what must I do...

I need a monster in that
Bed, but not in my heart.                      
I want to ******* hard                          
And drive the                                                  
Demons out,                                                             ­                 
Drowned in the pink.
Pound it dripping home
To the core of the tulips,
To the bottom of the
Swollen rose.
Love is a rotten pig
In the dung heap of life.
I want no part of
It ever again.

I see you looking at me
With a different energy      
it scares me in the exact way                      
I want to be.
The day stretches long,
With an endless banal sun.
I’m molten inside --
Tropical, with inhibitions
Melting down.
You can save me
Right now,
As I kneel in front of you,
I open my mouth, and
Feel the cage
Door opening.

Freedom,
As you take my ****
Into your mouth --
Do you feel the heat, and
The power?

I feel it all at once,
Like a conquistador
But benevolent.
I keep my eyes open,
The world blooms
From simple
To magnificent.
I’m not like
The other maids,
I’m not sure if you knew.
I do everything
Oh so happily
Like it’s forever new.  
******* being
My favorite feast, so
Please! Pull my hair!
Don’t be gentle!
Make me drink it.

You ***** ****.
I’m taken to new
Heights with this
Different side of you.
My precious darling,
Take all of me, as I ****
your mouth.
I feel like the Marquis De
Sade seducing the
Chambermaid.
Let me taste
Your juice.
Lie back and
Spread your legs.
Your ***** is divine.
Like ambrosia, your
Swollen **** begs for
My tongue,
Do you feel the edge of
Death as I close my hand
Around your throat?
*** my sweet angel.
*** Venus, ***.

I’m relieved
You’re pleased
With my new attitude.
Yet on the edge of release,
A hint of boredom creeps in --
Will it always be this easy
To ****** my Master?
Is it over already?  
I need something darker - more fantastical              
A slight dreariness creeps in                        
As I feel my ****** coming,                                                          ­  
But just before it breaks
So does the boredom!
I realize my heart is pounding
I’m struggling to breathe --
You’re choking me!
Holding me down with one arm,
I try to struggle and squeal,
Electricity of fear!
But I’m immobilized, dumbfounded
Kind sir, please!
Not like this!
You said you loved me!
I loathe to leave
That hot mouth on me
But you look up and break your grip,
So I sit up, renounce your deliverance
And flee!

Where have you gone
My dark angel,
My Babylonian imp?
Are you afraid?
It’s just a little death,
So you value                                      
Life more.                                            
I will find you, and when                                          
I do, My *** will swim in your
Veins, it will be your
Food and Oxygen, our
*** will be your new melody,
The rhythm by which you walk and
Move through life.
Come out my Nymph,
Come to your new Master.

From my hiding place
I see
A vision of Beauty
Your eyes smiling
Back at me
You see me — Truly.  
You read my mind even!
How rash my fear!
After all I desired
The moment is here!
I’m ready, it’s real,
I want to show you what I’m made of
So I step out and bow my head
Revealing my submission
No more mercy - please
Take me and my
Weak knees
Oh! My darling sir!
Take me all the way, please!

I gaze at your tremendous light
And passion. Your heart beats like a
Deer after the chase.
I can smell your musty ****
From the *** you want
So I signal the chambermaid
And the gardener to
Seize you, ah, and then,
While he forces your legs apart
I tie your wrists over your head
You won't be escaping again!
You naughty *****!
I have you now!
While he leers hungrily
Up your skirts
I take my knife and slit your dress --
So close to your throat
And all the way down the corset
I signal to the gardener and the
Brute tears it off you
Leaving you bleeding
As his rough hands scratch your flesh
We all look at you trembling,
Flushed, drawn out, and naked --
That's when the chambermaid
Pulls a long feather from her apron
And runs it over your eyebrows.
Then around your mouth, open in fear.
While the Gardener looks at me hopefully.
I nod, so he takes his big dumb hands
And squeezes your ******* hard
Moaning like a feral dog.
Failing to look at his Master again
He slips his night shirt off
Leans forward and shoves
A hard **** in your open mouth
Growling "**** on it, you filthy ****!"
With utter, savage delight.
You take the head of it in your mouth
Whimpering, yet ******* it tightly.
He moans louder, thrusting violently,
With sweat from his forehead
Dripping on your face as
You look to me for mercy.
You find none, so he takes license
And ***** your mouth so hard
Writhing his hips, as your poor lips
Begin to bruise and your throat is sore
The maid gets down
Between your legs and
Licks your swollen ****,
Your hips rise to the
Darting of her tongue.
She slips a finger in
Your tight *****, so juicy
And ***** it hard and fast
As she ***** your ****.
You lie back, letting yourself
Be taken and consumed.

What have I done,
I’m helpless now!
You’ve gone very much too far!
The fear is as delicious as
That mouth on me —
Yet I'm pinned and immobile.
The Brute’s **** is strangling me,
Even as I begin to revel in the taste
Of his lust, I can’t breathe!
I wanted you, not these brutes!
You stand far off - aloof and I’m
Crying as I explode
The brute laughs and then
Grunts and moans as he
Lets forth his sickening load.
I’m forced to swallow, he won’t get up
Instead he’s twisting and shoving
His pulsing **** on my tongue,
Barking "drink it, ****!" and laughing
As he drives his ****** home.

The ambivalence is driving me
Mad, I can’t stand to watch this brute
Handle you this way, yet there is a
Strange sense of pleasure.
Love is changing me, I see you
As a poor wretch that craves
Love, I also need love,
And this brute didn’t ask permission!
I make my decision quickly.
I pull my rigging knife from
Its sheath and walk behind
The filthy *******, grab his greasy                      
Hair and slice his jugular, as his                                
Heart pumps its last beats, blood                                    
Spurts all over your *** and back.
I have finally met my match —
I grab your hair and pull you back to
Meet my raging hard ****.
The ***** has made your ***** sloppy wet
And I slap your **** with my shaft.

So I was right to be afraid! But I know
You love me truly
You’d never hurt me - would you?
The chambermaid runs out and it’s just
You and me - ******* wild and free.
Suddenly you slow yourself
And cradle me so tenderly.
Your face in my hair, you pull me close,
Then everything goes slow.
You hold me a long moment
But then your energy
Is ferocious all over again —
You ****** into me harder
It hurts me and I cry out —
"I’m yours forever!
Even if I die!”

If you die my darling, I die as well,
My love for you transcends the ***.
I weep as we come together,
Ecstasy, rapture,
I’ve passed your ******,
I’m in your soul.
And you in mine.
I know we should flee,
But I need a few moments more
Inside of you, looking
Into your safe eyes.
Footsteps approach, like the
Black horse of destiny.
A wretched voice calls out --
“He’s the one!”

With agony in my heart
I realize it's too late
You captured my soul while
Death stood at the gate.
Despondent, I release you,
Desperate, I rise up.
Naked and ******,
My Glory shining through
"Gentlemen!" I cry, with anguish in my voice
"I lit the flame myself!
I carried the brutal torch!
I kneeled before my Beloved
To worship his throbbing ****
You mustn't judge me, sirs!
A simple maid I am not!
I stirred him to untamed lust
Gave into delicious
Humiliation -- splayed out for
The household to see
My unbridled flirtations,
We played with death!
I led him on!
I wanted Love more than Life!
If you must hang him,
Hang me as well
For Death must need a Wife!

She knows not what she says.
We are drunk on love.
I did the crime, a brute kills a brute.
Nothing more. I’m your man, take me,
And leave my poor angel alone.
I would die for her,
But I’d rather live,
So here is your chance to
Holster your weapons and go
Home to your families.
No, you say?
Then I shall send you
To hell.
Join all the rest of the brutes
Gentlemen, and
Join me as well.

The man rushes the authorities,
And a shot rings out.
His new heart is fatally
Shattered this time,
He drops with a thud to the floor.
She wails and runs to him.
She kneels and clutches him to
Her breast, weeping,
You can’t die,
I love you,
She whispers.
I love you too, my angel,
Now go and love some more.
These are his last words, and a
Smile lies dead on his
Pallid face.

She screams at the apathetic soldiers,
You took my soul and my life!
It is you that deserve to die!
And now -- this very night!
The breath is leaving my body,
I long for obliteration
Life is now impossible
An ugly abomination
I cannot bear his last words,
Go and love some more, he said!
Ah, but my passion has turned murderous
Now that Love itself lies dead!
Reaching out one last time
It appears, for her lover’s hand
She quickly took the knife from him
Turned, and charged the men.
Her glorious warrior’s cry, and
Her unashamed nakedness,
Aroused anger in the soldiers
With their predictable expectations
In the final ****** their guns convulsed,
Delivering her with a volley of bullets
Into her waiting lover’s arms,
Their blood flowing together
In rich, loving rivulets  
Of passionate dark red
Flowing together, briefly
Warming the concrete floor.

It was as simple as
turning off a light, or
crushing a bug.
He realized early
that reality had
a brutal side;
band aids didn't
stick to his heart
so he checked out;
he disassociated with
the scenery around him,
and created a kinder
world, with no
brutality or cruelty.

And then one day
he built a
sailboat made of
cardboard and silk,
and just sailed away.
There were no
shadows as he
smiled at the
putrid, bright sun.

And now the real test begins,
sink or swim, pass or fail.
Well, it's not an exam in
the true sense of the word;
I won't receive a grade or
a score.

This is life,
at its grittiest, goriest,
glorious best.
This is death;
crawling closer with
every wheezing, and
scrawled stroke of
the pen.

I have plenty of nay-sayers,
and my God,
I wouldn't have it
any other way.
Every good drama
or piece of fiction, or
any ******* life worth
living needs strong
antagonists, and to mine
I say this:
sometimes, you have to
walk through the fire
to get to the other side.

She wants me to
believe that her
bibulous moon calf
copulates with
her in her slumber.

She's too far
gone for me to
**** with.

The poor thing got
lost in the escape.
And she was still hungover
from the childhood terror.
Her personality was
ruined--redolent with
the first flowers of
madness.

She made a pretend
world, full of delusions.
A house of cards that
was laden with
lunacy, her insanity
became safe and dependent
on her never taking
responsibility for her
actions--she was a
pawn for the adage,
Hurt people Hurt people,
like Blanche from
A Streetcar Named Desire,
and
Don Quixote,
Her world crumbled and she climbed
into the abyss,
when she looked
deeply into the
mirror of reality.

Dawn will crackle with
madness, and a sad
soul sickness, that
breeds an all too
familiar
incomprehensible fear.

It's such hard
work to get that
click, to be okay;
to see the squirrels and
smell the leaves,
to lick the lice off the
sparrows and the grackle.

I'm back in rehab....never give up.
I just want to thank the hp community for all
the love and support...it's sunshine
in my dark night of the soul.

All my Love,
Thomas W. Case

I passed out on
some apartment
steps downtown.
Too much beer and
****** the night before.
two cops wake me,
and take me to jail.
when I got out the
next day,
they gave me my
clothes and property.
I had two ****** left,
and ate them while
changing out of the
tangerine colored jumpsuit.
I stepped into the
bright sunlight,
slipped on my ray-Bans,
nowhere to go.

I take 3 steps forward, and 1 step back .
I was sober almost 4 months.

Doing swell, the job, prolific writing.
and then, wham, A bottle of Absinthe in two hours,
Not even Van Gogh on the box or the worm wood could
make sense of the garbled words I wrote.
**** Hemingway and Fitzgerald.  And Stein can go to Hell.

I danced and drank,
****** and sang,
like some kind of
warped god,
like I owned the night,
pretending tomorrow
was a decade away.

Dawn proved me wrong,
and once again,
reality received my
waking eyes.

And when the morning
proved too much to
bear...
I danced and drank,
****** and sang
like some kind of
warped god
all over again.

Which season shall be my victor
in this sick and silly world?
Will the icy kiss of winter
freeze my early fate?
Or maybe the hateful summer
with its raging humid air
will bake my broken spirit
amidst the August fair.
Will death come in the green of spring
against a bouquet night?
When robins return, and poets yearn
for lovers not in sight.
I hope in fall the inevitable comes
to a soulful Irish tune
while watching a glorious sunset
fade gently away too soon.

Life wears me out with
its twists and turns
and hairpin curves.
I keep waiting for a long
peaceful stretch of
highway, bathed in
the rising sun;
a golden wheat field
to the left, a moss covered
pond with dragonflies to
the right.

The road turns to
gravel and rapidly
climbs uphill.
There are signs along
the way that promise
the world.
The road becomes narrow,
turns to dirt,
and ultimately disappears.

Dreams lost,
like golden fields
of youth.

Hay bales dapple
my mind;
if only that
appaloosa could
nibble me now.

Dandelions and clover
for the
pretend wife,

a **** dog and
lots of lonely
acres for the
real boy.

I look at the pictures of us, and it's like looking at a paper graveyard.
The smiles, so frozen in time, so distant and temporary.

My memories are of cut flowers,
laid at the altar of us.
Bright and then fading, losing petals
like prayers scattered over fresh earth.

Your eyes have lost their shine in my mind.
I can barely taste you on my tongue.
My mouth starves at your garden.
As time slips away, the pain becomes like
an old rusty machine
on an abandoned farm.

We disintegrate and decompose.
A gentle thundering rain swallows us
in hazy downpouring sheets.
But a new life is carried
through turbulent groundwater currents.
A sprout, seeking root on fertile ground,
where fleeting moments of new joy
will be captured again and again.

And through the death of the old,
we embrace the birth of the new.

Just in case you
couldn't
guess, it's not a
a fair fight
or a level
playing field.

It's you with
boxing gloves
and them with
machine guns.

It's Van Gogh
throwing his paintings
out the window
to stop the hecklers.

It's Janis falling
down
the stairs, lonely
and
broken
looking for love.

It's Morrison seeing
the game for
what it was,
wanting to disappear
in France and
write poetry,
then dying in a
bathtub with a
witch in the wings.

It's morphine dreams
and thorazine days.
It's the tiger
declawed and lobotomized
at the zoo.

It's the lobster
cursed with
precious meat.

It's the statue of liberty,
burning her bra
and impaling
working class men with
her stiletto heels.

It's Gogol
dying after a
prolonged fast,
because a charlatan
told him
it was evil.

It's the elephant
domesticated by
the cage, but
still dreaming of
the Serengeti.

It's the dolphin in
a Hollywood
swimming pool,
a shark in your
coffee cup;
it's the criminality
of releasing the insane
from their cages to
wander the streets of
Santa Barbara.

It's pathetic and putrid,
a setup up;
the perfect tragedy;
a crime that goes beyond
denunciation.

It's what they will continue
to do to
you and me
until someone or something
intervenes.

To get back
in the game,
I need one
good hit.
A horse with
early lick;
that has more
heart than
Joe Louis
and Jake
LaMotta
combined.
I need decent odds,
at least 8-1.
The racing
gods have to
smile on me
one more time.
At least for
6 furlongs,
and then baby,
I'm back in the
game.

When the
naked branches
blew in
the late
autumn winds,
our love died.
How I long
for the days
of spring,
when all was
alive with
newness.
We lay beneath
the willow tree
and dined on wine,
bread and love.
God,
how I miss you.

And then
the night
comes flooding
in, like
a spilled beer.

Fear is a
rabid bat;
fatally
infecting.

Loneliness is
an ice cube
in a bathtub
melt-
ing
slow-
ly.

Love is a
flat toad in
the road of
life.

Hope is a
broken dish,
an empty
pocket,
a shattered dream.

Life is a sparrow
in the cat's mouth,
an abscessed
tooth, with no
antibiotic.
It's a whale
in a frozen
ocean;
an eagle in the
city.

Insanity is
digging for the
courage to
continue
day after
day
after day.

Pure fire of
the soul,
my heart rages
against the
mind and safer
thoughts.
This flame, this heat,
seeps into my
veins and pumps
a surreal kind of
sensitivity throughout
my being.
It's all consuming;
with a breath and
life of its own.

This impetuous imp
cares nothing for
common sense, and like
a babe to his
Mother's breast, I want to
drink up all life
has to offer,
every last drop.
There is a thirst that
can't be quenched,
a hunger that's never
filled
and like a wolf after
the ****, I want to gorge
myself on a lifetime of
tomorrows
forging my way
through a lifetime of
broken dreams
and childhood
schemes gone
awry

You chatter away like
an angry squirrel,
I watch you scamper
off and finally resemble
a fading flower.

I just have to write.
**** everything else.
I've suffered for my art,
and there's no doubt that
I will suffer more.
We all have our agony,
that's life and I accept
my plight.
I am what I am
(as Popeye would say.)
And I couldn't change
it if I wanted to.
I remember one night,
staying in an abandoned
house.
I wrote some poems on
the walls.
I saw the words in
the moonlight through
a broken window.
Even though I was famished,
I hadn't eaten in
three days,
at that moment, I became
full and complete.
I knew right then,
as long as I had the words;
my words, I would never
feel empty again.
My black satchel full of
writing and the clothes
on my back were all
I owned.
I had no idea where I
was going at dawn,
but I sure the **** knew
who I was.

Judas betrayed Christ with a kiss.
As a confidant, Brutus stuck
the knife in.
The betrayers are
out there,
thick as buzzards,
waiting to crush your
dreams, like crackers for
their big bowls of bones.
At least Jesus knew what
was coming.
I can't tell my
friends from my enemies.
Someday soon, Ill find
peace of mind, and the
betrayers will feast on
themselves.
They always do.

When the agony
of dawn awakens
me.
I think of
drinking
***** to arouse
the muse from
her slumber.
But I don't;
instead, I slam
three cups of
coffee, hoping to
jolt the old
***** from her
lethargy.
If the caffeine
doesn't do the trick,
I grab a few of
our favorites:
Bukowski,
Neruda,
and Dylan Thomas.
I pace the floor
and read out loud.
Eventually, I feel her
begin to stir.
I yell,
"Is your fickle *** ready to work?"
And then the real day begins.
I know this sounds crazy,
but the muse and I
wouldn't have it any
other way.

By the time I was 23
Mom and Dad were
both dead.
I know it sounds
strange, but I felt
like an orphan;
like Oliver Twist.
Real love has
eluded me ever since.
like the goldfish in
the tank
at the Chinese restaurant,
when I reach in and
try to grab one.
Growing up, I thought
my parents would live
forever; of course that's
absurd, but even back then
I was a dreamer.

The birds started
singing at ten to four
this morning;
coaxing the dawn on
with their song.

The *** would be
great on the clouds
I saw yesterday.
They looked like
rows of fresh
cauliflower.
Every position would be
a little miracle;
perfect depth and
perception.

The sweat stung
my eyes as I
smoked in the
sweltering July
sun.
I wish I could
live in the clouds...
No job
No taxes or tired back.
Just relaxing in
that puffy white
perfection.

Her heart was
my port, as I
sailed lost in
those
vagrant waters.
Her eyes were my
lighthouse
through the
fog and the storms
of life.

Oh, how I loved
her
once upon a time,
when I was lost
at sea;
she was my shore,
my harbor of joy.

The nights are darker
without her,
and the Stars
hide their sadness
behind the clouds.

I am
older now...
colder
now
without her touch.

When people annoy me with their
constant complaining or their
non stop arguing, or even worse,
their illogical demands:
"For the last time, you can't buy
***** with food stamps."  Or,
"There is no way a crow took the
rent money out of your hands and
flew off with it."

What I do is close my eyes and
pretend they're squirrels chattering
in squirrel language.  
Then they don't bother me so much.
I just want to reach out and pet them,
or give them a handful of nuts.
It's not hard; half of them look
like squirrels anyway.

I've been to
a place where
the hobos have
no soul
where everything's
jaded
tainted,
bought
with the cost
of a dream,
where ****** cry
plastic tears,
where fears
rule people,
like Caesar over
Rome; like turf
In the
Astrodome.

Oh someday,
someday baby,

we'll all be
home

Hope migrates to
sunny island shores.
There is no sorrow,
roses always bloom,
and the birds of paradise
fly forever free.
The salty ocean
cleanses the rot
from the skin
and the heart.

It's a lost planet;
all jacked up on
caffeine and pride.
The slime from the snail
tastes like jasmine
and tangerines.
When I think about
death, I picture all
the billions of
people who have already
died.

Death is
just as known
as life.
Death is not a mystery
to the dead.
It's as common as
paper clips, and
grasshoppers.
My Mom and Dad
know.
Bukowski and James
Dean know.
All three stooges
and Superman
dine for eternity
with the worms and
the rot.

This mindset steals the
fear from the ferryman,
and the river Styx becomes
a placid stream.

One of my
earliest memories is
of afternoons in
the backyard, standing on
a wrought iron chair that
was painted
lime green.
My creativity was feral
The paint was peeling,
And the sun beat down
upon me.

I was 5 years old.
and the Genesis of my
writing career began.
Below my chair was a plastic
swimming pool filled with water.
I sang leaving on a jet plane  I
I understood pathos,
and plot, and melancholia.
In my mind, I was a man
leaving a woman.
As I jumped into the pool
I could smell loneliness.
And I understood the
descent, the separation,
the sadness.

And in my little life,
and in my big heart,
under that hot July sun,
The poet was born.

The way she faked
love on those gentle
autumn nights
in the country
was one of those little
miracles that made the
trees cry, and the
flowers weep.

Sleep brought dreams
of an actor on an
empty stage...
A big crowd that wanted
entertainment.
They followed the actor
everywhere.
He felt like he always
had to be on.
He didn't like that,
so he moved to
Idaho, where he fished
for trout, and real
love.

I can hear
Them playing,
The devil inside
from the carnival
down the street.
All the bleak
eyes wandering
through the
empty crowd,
looking for
love or dope;
something to change
their perception.

Her skin is full
of holes, and
she's ***** by
the dawn on a
daily basis;
wandering the midnight
streets of this
broken City.
Her feet are
calloused and raw.
That once tough heart is
soft now, looking for
love in the rabid
faces of evil.
Seagulls still fly into
cars, and spiders
spin webs in the dark.
Abandoned houses have
become her home
and her soul aches
for someone to hold.
Sometimes,
dreams float by,
like a dragonfly
on a soft breeze.

Dear mom everything thing u did for me was worth it, If I ever win the lottery I'm gonna hook u up because you deserve it, you gave us purpose even when we were worthless I knew you would never desert us I can't write I felt like I had to cuz ur not a man but you were my dad too at times  u did things for us even if we were mad dude us 3 knew we always had you, took it for granite at times and I could see it in your eyes we were disappointing you, but I told u years ago we would make it up to you years later weve done what we can mom you've raised a good man 3 of them at that, and now we're all emotionally attached your all we got in this world we love you we appreciate everything you have ever done for us thank you we love you mom.

We should have
been so much
more.
Now we're just a torn
page
in a finished book.
The memories are
fading,
but the pain still lingers.
I still smell you on
my fingers.
I still taste you on
my tongue.
Love kills slowly;
a backward glance from
an invisible god.
I'm a bird that sings,
but cannot fly.
I'm the ticking of a
clock.
A rocking chair.

tick

tock...

The saddest place I've
ever seen, is looking
out the window and
watching the rain fall
again on the
green Meadows...
Thinking about,
what might have been.

I had just came
out of an AA meeting.
I looked to the
west, and spied a
mother cat with
a litter of kittens.
Little ***** of fluff,
running and jumping in
the tall grass,
unaware of the
danger that lurked.
A large black and white
Tomcat eased his way
up on one of
the kittens.
The tiny one arched its
back and hissed,
trying to be brave.

Male cats **** the
kittens so that
the female will go into
heat sooner,
and then he can
mate again.
He's a born killer,
living to ****.

As I walked towards him,
I thought to
myself, why can't cats
be like penguins?
The father helps raise the
little ones, and they
mate for life.
Why can't nature
have morals?
He was nose to nose
with the baby, when I said,
"Go on, get out of here."
He walked slowly, and then
turned and tried to come
back toward the kitten.
I put my hand on
his side and pushed him.
I stomped my feet and he
sulked away for
the time being.
He'll be back.

It ****** me off
and made me sad.
I thought of Caligula and
Roman empires,
and felines of all breeds.
The *** drive,
human and animal,
has its brutal side.

Beneath the dark clouds, the
wheat blows gently on the farm.
I lie in bed and think about all
the loud farm machines that
will whirl into action at daybreak.
But tonight, as always,
silence is my best friend.

You slipped
away from me,
like the robins and
cherry blossoms when
spring ends,
and the fractured nights
of winter comes.
I will search the
midnight alleys, and the
mountains of Chile.
I will listen for
your sweet laughter.
I long to taste your
honeysuckle lips, and
hear your heartbeat.
If I never find you,
I will be a lost leaf
on the lonesome
vagabond wind.

The strangest thing happened
to me a while back.
I was driving a
lonely stretch of
highway.
A soft vagrant
breeze blew through
the car.
My window was
down about an
Inch.
I smelled lilies and lilacs.

My cell phone rang and
I answered it.
The news was tragic.
A good friend had
committed suicide.
A somber rain began
to fall.
The wild ride of
this carnival life
became too much for
her.
She bought a different
ticket.
No judgment from me,
I wish I could have touched
her pain, and made
It go away.

I began to think of the the
fragility of life, and how
truly fragile the
human spirit
can get.
Life can get
insidious,
with its twists and turns
and hairpin curves.
sometimes, headlong into
a huge oak tree seems
just too inviting.

Just then,
A big white bird
smashed into my
driver side window.
It was like one of those
cartoons.
Freeze frame,
broken neck with
Xed out eyes.

It was so ******* sudden
and loud,
I thought it was a pelican,
but after some thought,
I realized it was a
seagull.
I thought to myself,
It had to have seen
my car.
They usually fly
much higher.
And then I thought
that maybe,
headlong into a 69
Mustang was too inviting.
And just then,
the sun began to peak
out from
behind a big grey
cloud.