I can't not desire
my heart on fire
for your perfume
permeates the room
I'll stalk you tonight
just a perfect flight
always arrives on time
bar stool next to mine.

Death is ill timed, never expected
  and awkward for those left behind.
  Funerals are Death's surreal plays.
  Tears won't always come on cue.

  It's bad luck to talk about death.
  We speak kind of the dead. We don't
  talk of their human frailties.
  We deny our own sins and theirs.

  We forgive the world for our sins.
  If we never lived in your creation
  with temptations forbidden we'd
  never suffer birth and death.

Pink Floyd
     Pulse Concert 1994

   The drummers insane
   so glad that I came
   light extraordinaire
   alive in the atmosphere
   Pink Floyd troubadours
   cleanse us in abattoirs.
Strip our skin from within
and feed the devil our sin.

Reduced in flames
an urn of cremains
no coffin necessary
no fake grave to bury.

I stroked her headstone gently
  whispered to the dead show me
  asking for a preview of death
  when I finally take my last breath
  will I haunt my lovers tears of rain
  or will I chase away Cancer's pain
  from Halloween Queen named Kellee?
  Are we blinded by light or can we see?
  Do we suffer forever or are we set free?
  Will our shadow creator ever let us be?

Written by Phoebe Waller

    I would say ****** into liquidation.
    and I ****** up my family
    and I ****** my friend
    by ******* her boyfriend
    and sometimes I wish I didn't
    even know that ******* existed
    and that I know that my body
    as it is now really is the only
    thing I have left, and when that
    gets old and unfuckable,
    I may as well just **** it.
    And somehow there isn't
    anything worse than someone
    who doesn't want to **** me.
    I **** everything. Except for
    when I was in your office.
    I really wasn't trying to have ***.
    Either everyone feels like this
    a little bit, and they're just not
    talking about it, or I'm completely
    ******* alone. Which isn't ******* funny.

poems scattered around the room
in my never ending fool's errand
as poet laureate of Watercolor's
perfect world of happy accidents.
We drool and weep out of context
but scratch a portrait of Sexton
dead in her car in the garage.
We copy Plath's ****** scene of
geese escaping winter to warmth.
We endure cures of our lobotomies.
Brilliant light was smothered.
Grey men 4 years old on knees.

Our desires for Eden's apple,
promises of every knowledge
brought me to this ugly place
froze on this building's ledge.

Never satisfied by just living
tormented by my carnal needs
I could never fix her wound.
It never heals, always bleeds.

You say you love me
will you dive to the
bottom of my soul
collect ugliest sins
bury them forever
in the potter's field
of my broken heart
and lie next to me?

I'm belligerent and lazy
unkempt and very crazy.
I'll die trying to rhyme
serving my prison time.
Break my poem to pieces
nailed to a cross like Jesus.
Bloodless corpse alive again
forgive poets our mortal sin.

They had to be walked.
The sky burst open in a shower
and angry lightening all about.
They had to be walked.
I had a drink for courage
and what the hell if I die
struck by a bolt of nature.
They had to be walked.
We went forth and waded
ankle deep in a flowing
creek in the hood and
I listened to the 1812 Overture
by Tchaikovsky.
I had to write this poem.
The music demanded it!

It's always the same answer.
Whats wrong do you know?
Just rare expensive cancer.
Best chance killer chemo,
a snake charmer dancer
or a card from the Tarot.

I'm riding razor edge of my mind
kids and a fat wife I left behind
then I fell in love with the others
biology chemistry bookmark lovers.
Guilt will never set lovers free
keep us in public squares in pillory.
Nothing is at first glance as it seems.
I will always chase my broken dreams.

Daddy sets our worlds
one against the others
meat in butcher shops
praying for the mothers
tears like rain falling
dancing with their dead
stockbrokers buy and sell
blood that's always bled.

Years have let it all play out.
  Many actors  the same worn line.
  The parts don't change that much.
  I'm homesick for every piece of time.

God's first heartbeat in His womb
of universe's certain fiery start
an instant I lived my giant life
forgotten with my stillborn  heart.

Beauty turns tricks
at the Motel 6
to buy her fix
a magical mix
to keep her blind
and keep her mind.
She feeds her beast
to enjoy her feast.

I saw a flying machine
over our Kansas corn and
knew where I belonged.
In the sky in heavens
life can be a travelogue.
Fly around Earth into
oblivion proving myself
until I went missing...

No need to be alone
call me on the phone
pay a temporary loan
buy my love to moan
always time to atone
the bleeding of bone

We all hurt at last
sins outrun our past
party over too fast
the gun a final blast
blood in rain a mask
know better than ask.

I've had enough living.
All taking and giving
the promises broken
forgiven never spoken.
Tally wacker won't work.
There's no more circle ****.
Our tears are all the same.
Stay warm in dead flame.

Oklahoma dust drove us west to California
  where jobs and green fields promised Eden.
  We piled our lives on the Ford and headed
  to Paradise. We joined others on the way
  a caravan of proud Okies would do anything
  to survive. Some did the unspoken for food
  and shelter along the way. Eyes wide open
  we could smell the sweet winds of Paradise.

4 English singers were
killed in a crosswalk
on Abbey Road today.
A double Decker bus
ran them down on
26 September 1969.

I met you in the bar and
I'll wander through the pages
of your life as you do mine.
Our secrets are well hidden
in crevices never found.
Only years reveal truths
as trust erodes fears and I
know you won't leave me.

There's an itch you can never reach.
   Each night is perfect. Each morning
   is a mix of shame, regret and amnesia.
   People you love warn you of danger.
   There's an itch you can never reach.
   You go on the water wagon for awhile
   but your dog dies and you need a hair
   of the dog and sit on your bar throne.
   There's an itch you can never reach.
   Lose a foot to ***** and swear it off.
   Clean and sober for a year or two but
   there's an itch you can never reach.
   Your liver is ****** as are you, so
   you keep on with your poison and Tab
   and suffer slings and arrows because
   there's an itch you can never reach.

I took your cruelty
inside my frailty
I found my *****
in your claws
endless lies
in your eyes
made you blind
could not find
kindness but I
learned to fly.

Who else could design
inner workings of such
precision so sublime
but a God's touch?
Gears and wheels
dance in rhythm
perfection always feels
greater than the sum.

Satan drove the church van
into the belly of the beast
Las Vegas sin city stays there
God's light doesn't shine here

I study my skin stretched on bone
And realize I never felt so alone
paralyzed by John Barlycorn
drunk and full of empty storm.

I met her at the ice machine
both of us lived in between
heaven and hell after all
to her room for the fall.

Screen door screams in summer heat
  just calling crows to come and meet
  and gather for a final time to end
  your family and your best friend.
  We die in broke war running away
  from treason in DC nothing to say.
  Mikie sold worthless soul for gold
  to a government of filthy mold.

Hard for me to get on the warpath
but I walk it when I am provoked.
I leave my manners at the table
like a Grizzly bear's been poked.
I'm Atomic bomb over my target
dropped before thinking it out
a million collateral victims are
melting debris and cannot shout.

Everyone fears their God.
Some say I don't believe.
Thunder breaks their resolve.
We will all soon leave
quaint fallacy behind
we see more clearly now, but
we've never been more blind.
It's driving me mad.

I saw God's spark set me in motion.
     Hell broke loose and molten metals
     exploded into a universe too big to
     imagine. Light begot light and suns
     were born. Globes crashed into globes
     stars blinked in night's black canvas.
     One burst light of a thousand suns
     blinded me in my tiny eternity gone.

Who owns my epiphany?
  Is you or is it me?
  I broke the machine
  left my part unclean
  blood or oil dried
  gears and cranks died
  screeched to a halt.
  Blame the Gestalt.

Catcher in the Rye
Men all learn to lie
Women learn to cry
shrinks learn why
soldiers learn to die
angels learn to fly
we all say goodbye
regret we never try

It's a burden being a poet.
   Eating the pain of others
   sparing suffering ****
   for sisters and brothers.

I'm poor. All I have
is a bouquet of poems
I wrote for you that
won't die if neglected.

There's anger
in the chamber
no love lost
with a stranger
remind me to keep
track of every sin:
I'm trying
I'm lying
I'm crying
I'm spying
I'm flying off
the handle again.

I want to Howl like Ginsberg.
  Shock you with the ugly truths
  slap your face with my ****.
  I want to be arrested like
  Lenny Bruce for blue comedy.
  Ride the rails and be a Beat Poet
  while I wring every ounce out.
  I want to suffer 'til I can puke
  it onto the page at 3 am and
  ring your bell and hold on
  all night and wake sane again.
I seek truth in needles. I Howl!

I'm cleared for flight
   another anxious night
   terrified of the height
   and pain of a slight
   you stole my libido
   while we danced a Tango
   at closing you said no
   I died in love's rodeo.

Mad science was my forte.
I brewed the pandemic
that shook the world
into meek submission.
I have another trick
in my petri dish.

When my turn comes
I'll disappear like those
before me. I won't ask
why I must disappear.
There's a reason for it
I'm sure. She said so.

Playing with toys and jealously.
Now you spit me out in anger
no more games. No more friendly.
I feel the heat. I sense a danger.
I hear your rattle before a bite
venom saved just for me after all
I offer my vein to take your spite
pride a haughty spirit before a fall.

adrift in the sea that is humanity
    where we meet by chance in water's
    fickle movements. I want to hold you
    only for a clock tick to love you
    for a lifetime. we'll float apart in
    stormy seas and be with other debris
    clutching and touching and trusting
    in another lifetime in a second.
we believe in god and miracles
but we can't find our way home.

Marty's Mass

  He died sudden like with
  a blood infection that ******
  his heart valve up. He was
  cremated into basic atoms of
  ash reduced to a jar of himself.
  He was always bigger than life
  and the irony is blatant. Thursday
  is a mass for him and I'll be there
  somber faced and heart of tears
  to pay my respects. I want to laugh
  out loud at his stories and jokes
  he told. The man could sell you
  your own soul and you'd thank him
  for saving you! He was a Gentleman.
  That's the greatest compliment ever.

I'm a fat old lonely toad
near the end of my road.
I have no helpful advice
except to just think twice,
throw birdseed not rice,
never naughty but nice.
Cruel kids **** me in fire.
I die within my desire.
Nothing's really left.
Life is a small theft.

We haven't spoken
since one of us died,
old bonds broken.
The other one cried.

Disappearing magician
  I lose myself in a crowd.
  We wake in a bed of roses
  naked, screams upon a cloud.
  You were always Aphrodite
  just out of reach fantasy
  love is lusts faded shadow
  never noticed we let it be.

Clocks count our fleeting time
ticking our numbered heartbeats
as we die in forgotten seconds
calendars so full of life's defeats.

I don't want anybody's pity
or donations to my losses.
I've been young and pretty.
I've been nailed to crosses.

They haunt dreams and Oh!
how we cry! Aunt Blanche
drinks wine and smokes her
cigarettes and calls me Kid.
She loves me, doesn't judge me,
knows my horrible love better
than I ever could. It's in flak
that rips an airman from the
sky in wars that leave us to
bail out from burning love.

grow your hair
no underwear
smoking grass
sharing ***
wear Birkenstock's
**** the clocks
be brave, don't doubt
turn on, drop out
Michigan Avenue
we're born anew
paint a full moon
in the living room
nothing as it seems
in midnight dreams.

Can I spin gold from straw
or straw from gold
or good from bad or make
promises and break them?
I deal in snake oil and magic.
Never give me your heart.