Onward and Upward
Trending on mind-bending signals that send you on a trip to perfect love making
For the sake of awakening the inner child making a bad girl go wild
Letting her inner child out on her worst behavior
Save the Christian values for later
For now live in the moment of every lover’s dreams
Let your inhibitions roam free
Lets heat things up with rose pedals raining from the ceiling
On this cold crisp evening go see
What cupid has left you under the tree
Wrapped up in a bow
It’s time to let go and release the thing you’ve always been afraid of but wanted to be
Exalt intimate thoughts to heights beneath where the Holiest of Holies and great *** meet
Close your eyes
Follow each of my fingers on a ride
Each pushing electrical impulses pulsating until your body convulses and goes into a frenzy
Each one
Precludes the width and the tip of my tongue
And turnpikes all the way down until it touches the inner sides of your thighs then slides…
In and out
In and out of the walls of your gateway
Just point me in the direction of the pathway
The cove the place where I lay my suitcase and we make our case to fill the atmosphere
With rotating, rewinding, refilling
Our empty glasses with wine and no fear
A cycle of love making on relentless rotation being made...right here

The Catalyst to the endless torture of my mind.

It lurks beyond the twilight waiting for the starry skies and droopy eyes to kick in and tap me out of the match of heavy weight limbs and and light weight bed sheets.

It whispers and creeps under my pillow humming endless tunes and catch phrases to remind me of the day i had laid to rest. Initiating the hours yet to come.

And I can hear the clock in the adjacent room tick tick tocking, ghosts walking. Dancing to the creeks in the floor board. Celebrating this monster that has grabbed hold of my shaking knees and restless fingertips itching for dreams or nightmares. Which ever comes first.

Just end this weight on my shoulders and the gruesome way my body aches with discomfort wrapped in fleece and cotton blends of linen on clouds. End the attack and bring sand to my eyes so I can allow my pupils to dilate with the light of the sun versus the stars and car alarms at 4am.

Bring me the horizon where the light kisses the earth and heads northbound like a swimmer coming up for air. End the way I crave unconscious states on made up highways and turnpikes in cars I cant drive in real life. Bring me the subconscious wishes from my heart and mind.

Open my heart and I wont mind if the truth spills over to cover lies. End this madness a hater cant bear.

End this unavoidable courtship with insomnia and let me sleep.

The harried life of truck driver ..
An eye witness account of kinetic America
Of supercell thunderstorms , Winter blizzards
The lonely byways of Texas , Oklahoma
Blue ridge mountains of Kentucky and West Virginia
Cornfields of Ohio , Shores of North Carolina ,
the turnpikes of Florida and Pennsylvania ...
To roadside eateries , bob-tailing at six a.m. ..
To family gatherings , special occasions minus a hard working
provider in the picture , running hot , enroute to Baton Rouge and
all points west , trying to make a decent living ...

driving blindly down the turnpike
four guys packed in the back three seats
the two lovely ladies up front
driving,
through the complete blackness
the warm ocean that is the Virginian summer night sky
they were high
and drunk
not the driver
but she still drove like a maniac
taking bends in the road
feeling the pull of their momentum
it would have been a pretty way to die

three days earlier
six young men
sit on the shore
of a picturesque canal
which ran parallel to the James
drinking cheap beer out of a cooler
and taking rips from endless shattered bongs
they swam across to the other side
running and jumping among the rocks and trees
just like they were kids again
when the sun set
and the city put on her make up
they were drunk
and they drove home after some time
speeding through the neon lights
of the wrong part of time

twenty years in the future
a man sits in a leather arm chair
nursing a neat bourbon,
he is tired,
he burns with an ice cold longing
for the days
when kids could be kids
driving blindly down turnpikes
drunk and high at the river
bending through the city like fugitives
before the bitterness
before he was so ****** tired

All I asked for was a little off the top
And if you could top me off
Now I see stupid people with double chins
I'm with stupid t-shirts and kick me signs on their backs
Completely unaware of the indecent truths of the world
Truck drivers  stopping at greasy spoon diners, ***** dives
Driving down freeways, parkways, highways, turnpikes and interstates
People eating up the **** the press put on us
Augmented *******
Formaldehyde for our loved ones
Pull the plug, push the plunger
On the tobacconist and his eerie broad shoulders
I asked to french kiss, I was rebuffed and left flat alone in a gazebo
The apathetic drive through worker told her to **** her father with an indifferent look
A bead of sweat traveled down her tempted face
Her moral spindle is low on twine
Her meds are wearing off
The roustabout is now a stenographer after his time in the roundabout and a heave **
Into a case of small pox and a bout with shingles
As the biker gets nursed back to health
And we all slowly decompose

I just had a coffee cup. It was really crunchy. My oily aunt wouldn't
bend over for the proctologist 'cause her cookies were cold & really
tender like some pig who is less of a bar bouncer than a Jew-lender,
bending for muscular dystrophy after a hurricane when turnpikes &
intrastate toll roads & various southwest lake ferries are 100% free.

Salaried employees are very affectionate.

Yoko buried Yukio is a business suit.

Saipan is populated with my kind of people: Saipanese.

Come unto me o almond-eyed slave-girl before the tolling of bells
an hour before the last-bell locking of “rehabilitation center” cells
Find me beyond oceans, dips, bumps, garbage dumps, hills & dells
Wade with me bravely thru the human variety of euphemistic hells
Respect is given as your maternal passion & immigrant status jells
be it by toll roads, Appalachian lanes, or crowned, mono-static rails
It's the wisest of the weary, living on fish heads, who buys and sells
Lies follow split lines crippling dimpled cones crying wails & yells
There is olive oil in olives, trips in travel lanes & vice behind veils

Come here to me almond eyed slave girly before the tolling of bells
an hour before the last bell locking of these rooms that pass as cells
There's me measuring ocean depths, domes, garbage dumps & dells
Wade with me bravely through the nice variety of euphemistic hells
Respect'll wane until your paternal passion & immigrant status jells
be it by turnpikes, Appalachian tunnels under banked, elevated rails
It is the wisest of men bleary, grilling fishy guts, who trades & sells
Misery follows flit lines rippin' pimpled crones, dying flails & yells
There is olive oil in olives, traps on traveled lanes & men into veils