a cloudburst, penetrated our world
with thrusts as deep as the eye of our
storm, coasting over us in heaved
passion; unleashed with each
dip and sway

bombarding...

our core in showered felicity; tasting
euphoria's longing, titillated to the tips
of our toes; saturating her soft spots,
her rain and I were one curled, pelvis
to hip

sliding in out as hands caressed in rhythm,
wanting to taste her rain once again;
cultivating in her delicacy, nibbling tautness;
remembering moments our lips said hi

besieging me...

as her raindrops seeped, causing our
steam to rise, each drop in hunger;
I'd delve deeper into oblivion,losing
myself in raged deluges of her

rain's cloudburst...

Dark branches dance against an aluminium sky
as dusk taints the edges with blue.
The last crow warns of death as it passes,
it's cry echoing along the shoeless streets
and down to the brook where once laughter played.
Storm clouds gather in furious array
shaking thunderous fists at the earth below,
their forked tongues tearing the atmosphere
as the first droplets spew forth from their ragged mouths.

Her steaming kettle  

window into wetness of what was

whistling jets conjuring self-precipitation

There, go memories

dewy laden long gone

Vexing saturation making tea time’s solitude

weep childhood, weep marriage, weep motherhood

ululating swirls in her cup

No amount of saccharin can sweeten  

sipping whimper’s brew

Her hour of orange pekoe empties

This really isn't Heaven
and it ain’t exactly Hell
A fleeting glimpse of
freedom at the bottom
of a well.
They say they’ve got
the answers in their
jaded Holy book
And they tell me I’ll find
Jesus if I stop and take
a look.
Existence is a strange thing
and death is stranger still
And they say there’s no
religion in those tiny little
pills.
But what the hell do they know
in their ivory covered halls
When the devil’s on the
rampage and he’s got you
by the *****.

And the pain is never ending
in that cold and empty pew
God has left the building
he’s got better things to do.

rain,
peaceful, calm  
pouring, pounding, dripping
cloudburst, drizzle, vapor, condenses
murking, glooming, falling  
shimmering, thin
mist.

I feel like I'm the grass and You're the rain, because the only time I grow is when skies are gray
We both know this is true, that I'm brightest when I'm drenched in You and
Now the sun shines and brings the rays, and Your water dries up and the flames will blaze
I need to be soaked in You, to stay alive, or else I'll start dying at the roots, I won't survive
Could have guessed the wind was all it would take, to turn thick to thin and fog to mist and rid me of my haziness
You left too fast and all I ask is give me back my overcast, I get comfort in shade
The heat is beating down and random spots are turning brown
I'm warm on a summers day but that's never been enough to make me ok
I'm dehydrating, with each moment passing, it seems this might be everlasting
We used to have the best front yard on the street, then You left, now it's filled with sticks and leaves, and dirt
I'm weak and withered You know **** well it hurts and
The weeks will pass and the months will turn from the day you let that fire burn
In springtime I hope You'll return with a downpour that will quench my thirst

Barreling through town
in the depth of night,
earth’s colossal magnets
hurled jagged fire spears -
flashing and ripping the midnight sky.

Whirling torrents whistled
and lashed against the glass.
A blinding fire bolt
Shattered an old rock maple -
quaking our shelter to its footings.

Cosmic strobe-lit concussions
stuttered and roared across the nightscape
like a feral timpanist gone mad.

The frenzied cacophony
subsided at last -
rumbled off  in the distance
as the storm lumbered on
like a barbarian horde
off to sack another village.

*July, 2007

superb partaking of private delicacies
yet always keeping track of the skyline
keeping senses alert, never fully falling

I allow myself to get hurt each time that skyline changes
not because I enjoy the pain
but there's just something about you I'm not willing to lose, not that easily
so, I swallow ******* and suppress the ego and take the whipping words readily
whatever it takes

there may come a relinquishing moment when I can just give and let it all flow
free fall, like a kite almost

but for now, when shadows may come and place arms round the heavens
****** sun rays from abode and kiss the air into a messy cloudburst
and leave the sky taut with approaching footfalls of fiery thunder claps

I take it all and want it no other way
I accept the paradox fully
the pattern has been set
it is consistent

this mega beautiful skyline over me hovers so discreet in plain sight yet blind to all
I see the veins on the back of your hand, and blood veering sideways towards impossible thoughts
yes
a line upon the horizon tells me never fear
a stringent fire walk simply tests the mettle coil
discoveries in life confirm nobody is alone

as deep and low as it gets sometimes
the highs, oh! the highs outfly the roof
take what you need from life now and from me
yet take your sweet time
until the day I see your eyes reflected in that skyline
and your lamp beckoning on, into this frame

your skyline tastes so good

An iridescent collection of condensation forms
the warmth that once was, fades with fluidity
weightless blades begin to dance passionately
rumbling collides with the earth below
supple gems fall in tempo, bursting with brisk nectar
clarity blooms as filth washes away
leaving pure balance to reign.

Cold , clear creek water hitchhiked from Alabama , caught a thunderstorm
just the other side of Anniston ..
It rode into Palmetto at the stroke of midnight , jumped off a wall cloud and hit the ground running !
Straight down Main Street taking everything it could carry .. Pine straw , old newspapers , bubble gum wrappers ! Oak leaves , bottle caps and fast food napkins !
The storm came and went , city life returned to normal  , a hundred gallons of well travelled transpired water now has it's eyes set on the city of Savannah ..
It'll bide it's time in the heat of Palmetto , laying in a storm sewer waiting to be called skyward ... A one way ticket on the 'Evaporation Express' ,
riding within an eastbound thunderstorm , dropping in on another little city to clean and cool the street , meet at the bottom of a hill to start the journey all over again ..

When they were entangled
in the orange coils of passion again,
she reminded him
of the moonstone.

When he and she were in a band,
at its wild crescendo,
the moonstone had melted,
a molten green fluorescent liquid,
roared in his *****,
she felt the tremor,
the spasms that comes like waves,
to embrace the shores,
wild winds, cloudburst.
"Come deep" she pleads
to him in between.
Winds still in the wings
kept roaring as if the thirst remains,
didn't he see moonstone in her eyes,
an eager glint, unspoken words,
obscene perhaps, erupting from deep?


He ate apples, she had peaches,
she combed her long hair,
with a ritualistic meticulousness.

He  spat the seeds of the fruit.
She stared at him with unbelieving eyes,
at that night,
something strange happened,
the river went dry,
in the morning he saw dead fish
amidst pebbles smooth and round,
shaped by long years of rolling through
the riverbed,  now lying orphaned,
naked without the cover of water.

*She had already left,
was the moonstone yet another myth?

The heavens were mad,
So the clouds thickened and rained,
Tearing on the earth.

Our road trip memories align
as we pass a Farmall tractor,
fire engine red and rooted
roadside in a field of alfalfa,
a relic washed by cloudburst,
a workhorse dried in sunshine,
arrested air stack,
rusted crank case,
supple spider webs
in chaste wheel wells—
immutable old machine
somehow extinguishing
in the reflected acreage
of the rear view mirror.

You’ve gotten so lost
In never again
You’ve forgotten
The symphony held
Within dark clouds,
The harmony
Of thunder

CLICK!*

Inky black pervades the humid club
as sticky bodies, swathed in white,
dig and **** at each other,
vying for an inch or a foot or a mile.
For those few stygian seconds
the heaving throng is silent,
fervent excitement and suspense
pulsating through the sweaty mass
like a coveted contagion,
until the stage lights come up,
a blinding spectacle of whites and
violets, daring the crowd to blink,
lest we miss the anticipated entrance.

Finally, the group arrives,
a ghastly spectacle of half-naked flesh
framed with vicious horns and alien body
armor—metallic spikes, blades, and skulls.
They grab their ancient instruments,
introduce themselves as the Scumdogs of
the Universe, and unleash a torrent
of notes so loud, clashing, and violent
that my eardrums cry aloud in protest.
The notes pulsate through the bar,
a cloudburst of liquid metal that
engulfs every heaving body.

Immediately, the waxen sea erupts
into a storm, thrashing and writing
in a heated frenzy so fevered and
chaotic that an uninformed observer
might believe he was witnessing a
a mass seizure—or a barbaric ****.
While the music assaults my chest
cavity, little circles open up amongst
the heaving mob, and people of all
shapes and sizes run in vicious circles,
limbs thrown about haphazardly,
tempestuous bruise-makers.
The temperature in the club rises,
as does the stench of cheap beer
and unadulterated body odor,
but suddenly, the melody ceases.

A greasy, ****** fellow joins the band,
and gives a self-righteous speech before
the first lambs are brought to slaughter.
Caricatures of political figures, more than
seven feet tall, stumble onto the dais—
forced into a faux boxing ring.
The throng howls like a pack
of bloodthirsty wolves as the entertainers
sever counterfeit limbs, purposefully
sending a shower of red cornstarch
over our hungry, eager faces.
In the midst of the flailing crowd
I am pushed closer to the stage,
and am bathed in this homage
to human nature, this gladiatorial
spectacle. It is a fight to the death,
and culminates in a beheading,
which unleashes a deluge of
costume blood into the congregation
with such force that I can taste
its sickly sweet satire in my mouth.

Cloudburst cries, mizzle witness the downcast heart
drizzle may bring us the blessings
Amore! walk to me in the rain

Warm up the bed - sweat out the sheets
dance and war may content the god
l'amour touch me in the rain

Walk to me in the rain - touch me in the rain
dance in the rain, darling, make love in the rain

Cloudburst cries but mizzle and drizzle will bless
Love walk down to me with the pouring rain

The clouds roll and tear the sky.
Flashes of light
August on the highway
hot weather heat

Thump and thunder.

Under a construction hat, pour of sweat.
The jackhammer in concrete
cement spits
humidity so thick it mists.

The crew starts after sunset
no flag person on site
steamroller melting road up ahead.

A passenger says careful now
it’s coming up
dogleg
bump in the road
makes them sway.
A cloudburst, deluge
instant blindness
through orange cones
crash landing.

Thump and hit ground.

Back turned, hit from behind.
Pounding on pavement
shower of glass
August on the highway
running in rain
knees and elbows bruised
hard hat and head
cracked.

Grabble and thump and hit ground.

The roughness etched on the waves
Like scratches of nails on my Face
The drops leave the foaming sea
Like the sweat drops from my body

To merge in your passion
And in rhythmic creation
Your sighs
And cries, meet
The lashings of the waves
on the beach, like me

And
then the cloudburst
and I am still wet

I was found on my solace at its solstice-
In my prayer-
Thee heart breaking-heartbeats decries;
Uttering voices-doomed to enchanting yodel of the nights' blues.
I am deeply in pain in this earthly scintilla,
Alike sweet ole rhymes in my sonata.
Singing melodious for my inamorata!
But the suns and the moons call it quits,
Within me, inside of me..

I can't complain no more!

It's now and never..

Believing the goodness, to say the least.
Though in this broken world- still-so-exist.
Realness of somethin' ne'er cease to amaze.
Enduring thy half-moon,
Taken aback to cloudburst boon.
More-so to torrent- thoughts, serenely-outright.
How near and dear o'er this silky-cheek to your smite!

So eloquent, so breathless!

Breezes a smile that is everything to me.
Encouraging manifesto that you told to me,
Like "A fully-bloomed-flower is an answer
and a turning-point to a struggling life!"
A tale of days for love's sake
And the good-times-
Sweetness,
Sure swells.
With all my heart whereas Love spells,
Earnestly, lying in wait up to Heavens!
Down-with me here to-my home Cali-turf-now!

I was as young as air is fresh on the first spring day
I roamed around my tired, empty house,
With only the crackling of the radiator for conversation
A combination of boredom and thirst
Motivates me as I waltzed into the kitchen

Purple faded headphones blasted
A spice girls song from around my neck
I stretched my arm out as far as I could
to **** open the refrigerator
The last water bottle in front of me
I took without a second thought

Eager for the cool comfort of crisp consolation
I tilted my head back, allowing a delicate stream to enter
In a brief, abrupt moment, a cigarette
**** meets the tip of my tongue
Immediately I spat out the uninvited guest
my knees embraced the ground
With weak knees and glistening eyes
I begged my toothbrush for alleviation

my teeth were clean, yet the taste evidently remained
It lingered like chalky autumn air
Tasting like rain soaked leaves
It was building a home on the back of my tongue

Desperate I lunged for the freezer
and greedily snatched an ice pop
My trembling hands fumbled with the wrapper,
As smooth saliva slithered down my chin
The first chilling bite sent me into a
cloudburst of algid winter bliss

the foul taste in my mouth
began to tenderly dissolve
Knowing limited time was left,
it clung as if my tongue was a cliff
my hero overpowered the chalky bitterness,
just like that it was gone
I joyfully squealed as the corners of my lips
met my flushed cheeks
the rest of my hours were spent eating Popsicles,
Ecstatic with freedom from a terrible villain
And although it was cold outside,
I felt like a warm summer night

my lips feel ****
I a bit vile
I feel decisive
tonight
I'm burning down
the my oh my
Van Gogh's turquoise
inside
self portrait in the wild:
a woman loves to
toast to cloudburst

I think I might
recycle the devil
for poetry's sake,
tonight it smells
of cinnamon,
of flemish paintings