There's a terrible storm in my heart.
    It's fire and ice. There's no in between.
    I live the best I can in the middle of it.
I floor it before I lose all my nerve.

We poets watch the world our eye
    glued to a microscope. We pick it
    apart and we lecture in slow motion.
    We examine nerve ends as blood explodes
    when your soul mate breaks your heart.
    We've felt your pain and suffer with you.
    We are undertakers dressed like clowns.
    We are clowns dressed as undertakers.

I shoot up and live death awhile.
  I keep dropping dead and come alive
  and die again and death holds the
  best dreams for us living zombies.
  We lose families. We lose ourselves.
  We wish prayers helped or AA or
  sponsors or your heart and soul.
  I dream of our first night *******.

Susan had the house and
child support and alimony.
Rick had a young love and
a condo and bills that left
him short of breath and
missing old comforts.
He lost his hair and then
his mind and died alone.

To be or not to be?
   I paint a black halo around
   your blond hair at midnight
   while you hide the moon from
   me and I wonder at your games.
   It's all intense; music, acid,
   *******, the beautiful things
   I've known, but  not seen lately
   We wait naked in the dark for
   dawn's first vague glimpse of
love in our eyes. We stare blind
and reach into the dark for lovers.

The war was won the men came home
   broken but ready to fill the cradles
   and cry on the shoulders that matter
   and smell of the remembered perfume.
   They spent the venom into wombs to
   bring buddies back from ugly deaths.

I'm a son of god.
I'm a broken drunk
puking in gutters.
I'm your ex.
I'm your lover
always hungry.
I buy your drugs.
I smell your incense.
I feel your pain.
Be crucified like me.
Escape the tomb then
we'll compare scars.

Now I love low light and shadows.
     Night is my flattering friend who
     understands the ugliness of aging.
     My skin turns purple as my veins
     capture hold on my thinning skin.
     Onion skin. Thin translucent, like
     strong wind could rip it off bones.
     I was a fetching beauty not too long
     ago. Full sun on the beach I had
     men staring agog. I strutted and
     knew they didn't have a chance. I
     decided who would plant their flag.

You can't rush a still's chemistry.
Mountain folks know all about
revenuers and they're reaching
for our wallets. Taxes is just a
word for robbery. Leave us to
ourselves. We scratch a living
from the rocky soil and barely
eat from day to day. We dance
to banjos and fiddles and love
in the hayloft to fill our needs.
Our mountains cradle our hearts.
Hardscrabble is our legacy.
We have hearts of coal
and love our mountain!

We kissed our fierce goodbyes.
I got on the troop plane and flew
to Viet Nam to **** commies and
keep our freedoms safe.
Jungle. Moist with poison life.
Snakes in tree limbs and frogs
with deadly skin. Not Kansas.
We wrote less and less. I knew
you had needs I couldn't touch
10,000 miles away. You wrote
a Dear, John but I was too tired
to give a **** 10,000 miles away.

He's dying in his bed above his bar
    where juke box plays soundtracks
    of life and people dance out loud
    laughing and living fierce desperate
    lives below his death bed. Life on fire!
    Reggie dies quiet. His bar closes
    for his Memorial. All his customers
    remember Reggie and forget bar tabs.

I'm an old poet with a young heart.
  I'm Scrooge on Christmas morning.
  I'm George Bailey at the end thankful
  because it's a wonderful life after all.

I'm ageless as the ruins of Rome.
I live in the white cliffs of Dover.
I'm the Pyramids and Great Wall.
I'm the tiny voices in your head
that never leave you alone and
chant your failures out loud in
bed with lovers never satisfied.
I'm Death's brutal echo forever.

Paint me in watercolors.
  Bring me back to life.
  Hues of laughter and desire,
  light inside brilliant light
  husky brawling of youth
  half naked, sweating, proud.

Tiny dress and **** me shoes
       bring me back from the dead.
       I was sleeping in a graveyard
       inside the cavern of my head.
       You made my heart beat again.
       It throbs wild like a beast
       hungry for the promised sin
       starving for your siren's feast.

We've all gone crazy lately.
I don't wear a tie or cut my hair.
I smoked some hash and lost my
mind a little bit. Save me from
a world I don't recognize anymore.
I dress like a clown and eat drugs
to keep me up and down and level.
Friends are straight or hippies each
seeking their very own Nirvana and
I walk a tightrope above insanity.

The plans are everywhere. How to
   live the American Dream. Be born
   on her soil in projects or mansions.
   Tame your anger like a stallion and
   ride it hard chasing the dream forever
   until you rope and tie it. Live it.

I'm almost 71 years old.
I'm lost in a changing world.
I still have hope for progeny.
I still believe in True Love,
Santa Claus and happy endings.
I don't think I'll ever really die.

The clocks all move backwards. tock tick.
My skin is parchment and my heart beats
in slumber quiet as a mouse.
I might have died last night.
I was old and palsy struck. I don't
think anyone is ever ready to die.

The mad dog foams and hates down
  the dry street in Maycomb and we
  need Atticus to put the bullet in
  its skull to put things right again.

Above a billion staring faces
  the world just disappeared.
  Time stopped. We ceased.
  Our souls bled into black ink
  stains and dreams were lost.
  Neither a bang or a whimper.

I want to scream to the world
at 3am and wake them all from
dreams and complacency.
Look out your windows and
feel the flames licking at you.
Don't cower. Fight. Save us!

I'm older than dirt and you are
breathing on land for the first
time. I want to shake my finger
at you and say get off my lawn.
Please understand I stood in
your frames of life seconds ago.
We're born in hubris and die
in sorrowful feeble humility.
I wrote **** poetry at 20.
I hope I write better **** at 70.
The poetry I read from young
poets here is amazing.
Your poems will steer your
generation. Be the conscience.

They want to be heard for the poems.
Algorithms have no eye for Bukowski.
Dylan Thomas would have been ignored.
Genius has no formula to chalk on boards.
Poets want a public square to nail their
personal crucifixions and bleed out loud.

harvests can be bountiful
    they can be wanting
    I've known you both ways
    and I know elegance no matter
    always a pleasure when we dance in
    ballrooms or barns or not at all.
    One of us will kiss the other's hand
    goodbye in a casket then dance alone.

I'm frantically looking for my *****.
  It's hiding behind my chair like a cat.
  Like old lovers we feel comfort again.
  Don't tease me like that. I need you.

Did you ever see the perfect woman?
I did. She was always on a movie screen
and larger than life itself. She shimmered
and spoke loud like a goddess might.
The light was perfect for her and I lost
my heart that night in the dark and swore
I would look forever to find her and I'd
kiss her in a final scene every night.

Nature's fierce ****** finally spent
  we dare to leave our caves and stare
  at her debris. Neighbors in pieces by
  we don't know what. Picasso painted all
  of it years ago...madness on a canvas
  in our streets among us living dead.
  How can we explain it to the children.
  How can we sleep with the nightmare?

Anger Leaves Jagged Wounds
  Its wounds are horrible, never razor clean.
  Like a monster's dripping jaws tearing at
  the flesh with a mad hunger and thirst for
  blood never satisfied, always wanting more.

     Wounds Leave Jagged Anger
  A child is rained upon by anger until he
  crawls to safety in a dark silence of his
  own creation where he ponders how unfair
  it is and learns to lash out in his own anger.

I was lost inside myself. I was at
  a party, loud music and beer a
tiny madness tugging at my mind all day.
  I walked naked from the bathroom.
  They wore costumes.  I was
  the only one to come as you are.
  Only that not understood
  is truly irresistible.

Run away from me first chance.
I'm dangerous. I love you in ways
you've never known. I kiss you in
places you've never been kissed.
I vow to break your crystal heart
I'm your Aphrodite *****
I will be forever missed
you beg on knees for more.

Left behind with stuff we didn't need.
We found you as a puppy and kept you
safe and loved you 'til we had to scram
and left the stuff we didn't need.
Forgive us our sins. I ache for you.
The day will come I'm left behind.

She lived in a big house with her sister.
  They'd been there all their lives in Glendale.
  Ohio.  She was a dear woman who thought of us
  as her own children.  She was a spinster Aunt.

  She spoiled us and had a wicked sense of humor.
  She always welcomed me, even with my ***** wife.
  Seduced away from my 2 kids by this wicked beauty.
  She seemed to understand men's devotion to lust.

The sun looks angry today.
Harsh shadows are everywhere.
Winds are kicking up and fires are
running wild. Pity the wildlife.
Abandon your homes in the hills
and hope the brave can save you.

Attica

At the edge of consequence
razor wire upon the fence
captured in our human cage
heartbeats full of rage
inside we all adjust
to fragile realms of trust
Attica was hearts of stone
Musketeers none left alone.
We swelled in riot as one
beat the guards and won
the right to be heard on TV
passion play on bended knee.
Some died on both sides.
The ending was denied.

My brain won't stop spinning.
  I've drunk my share of *****.
  What's wrong with me? Am I
  diseased? I worry I might die.
  I thank God and chemists
  I have my blessed Ambien to
  fly me into Dreamland.
  I'll live again just better.

We drink stale coffee and eat
stale doughnuts and chant
stale prayers and stale hope.
12 steps are our savior.
Find your own way out.
Behavior modification works.

If my life is a mosaic of people
I meet, no matter if a lover or
a waitress taking my order, then
it's my universe every inch along.
They disappear as death takes pieces
of the puzzle. I lost people, I'm less.

Where are the accolades?
One more beer and I'm Yeats.
Another **** I'll be Frost.
If I die on tour in NYC I'm Dylan.

Birds cawing. Rats gnawing. Cats clawing. Craving.
  Bells ringing. Choirs singing. Dead bringing. Score.
  ****** faking. Thief's taking. Mischief making. Under.
  Alice small. Alice tall. Red Queen's fall. Floating.
  Birds cawing. Rats gnawing. Cats clawing. Craving.
  Death calling. End despair. Overfill syringe. Shoot.
  Nirvana calling. Fingers reaching. Lips turn blue. Bye.
  Tears spilling. Prayers empty. Graves full. Grief.

Launch your poems into unknown
waters. Pick your top 10 faves and
send them off to the great beyond.
Leave this nest and find true flight.

Mad hatter. White rabbit. Tea party.
    Alice small. Alice tall. Cheshire cat.
    Hookah smoking caterpillar. Door mouse.
    The Red Queen. Steel yourself. LSD.
    Acid. Window pane. Loony tunes. Microdots.
    Tripping. Mind altering. I was then not.
    I have lucid moments. I'm catatonic.
    I just want to **** Alice again.

Empty wine bottles and cigarette butts.
  Old pictures of us in love and babies.
  Dust rests on every surface like death.
  I don't feel anything. I'm mostly dead.
  The only living thing is a keyboard where
  I pound tears into my coffin one at a time.

Have you ever read a poem and been
profoundly touched? Your world
trembled for a moment and you
were compelled to write  a poem
to shake other's worlds.
A leaf, a door, a poem unread.

I reach into my ice bucket.
I feel like the Titanic ruined
as I cover the bergs with wine
and crash into my destiny again.

We watched from a rooftop
across the great city
4 in the morning
lit up and pretty
a little drunk but
mostly just tired
dawn broke and
I was inspired
in central park
we made our bond
you said I love you
now and beyond
I said I love you
you answered ****
love floats in jetsam
drifts in bad luck.

Do you know the answer?
Do you even know the question?
We're all just dumb beasts of burden
when all is said and done.
I want pleasure where I find it.
I'll pay the wages of sin for it.
I'll betray Christ for the silver
or hand God to the atheists for
an hour with a pipe or needle.
Don't hate me for my addictions.

Last night's debauchery is washed away.
   The front stoop drenched in morning light.
   Blood fades into a stain that looks like Jesus
   with a wink and smile. That happens in Queens.
  
I wake from dark dreams in a room deluged
   in sunlight so bright I'm blind to my ugly
   truths from last night. I could eat a horse.
   I find the diner. That happens in Manhattan.
  
The heat is long shut off and I light Sterno
   to melt some ice for a spot of Dreamtime tea.
   Sunlight won't come this far north past 96th st.
   It knows better. This happens in East Harlem.

I lead them with my baton.
   My whole crazy orchestra
   plays frenzied on the sun.
   I hum in ****** nirvana.

We swarm to be heard.
We write to plant our seeds
in your furrows. Ideas take root.
Cocktail chatter and bedroom whispers
spread them far and wide from church
to AA to shooting galleries.
We shout words in sound proof rooms
wrapped in straight jackets and put down.