pain absolves me
such a sad indicator
of a wasted life
like versed is the past tense
had versed does not sound quite right
have versed even worse
will have versed
I verse away
content to strike contrary
along a course others might
not even contemplate
trying to ride a rim into
another thought or word
you verse
he/she is versing
it's all so good
I have to stop
putting nooses on it
just accept
now, that is another concept....

shivered on the side of I-75 in the middle of nowhere
awaiting anything or anyone to listen
to our suffering, to warm our souls.

For, we had taken the road less travelled, and grew ourselves
an outside tough, we listened only to ancient words and hummed
and never gave a sip of life that had not been written down by an ancient
genius,
nor ever looked up to see besides the imagining
we lived.
And met you, I did, while reading, EE Cummings
you  had Emerson open.

cruel
     confusing
rude
   how the clouds
remained
         beautiful,
how
          the ***** of a world
kept turning tricks;

How the sun
     so dreadfully
seemed to keep
         interrupting
my dread,

But,
         I kept on crying!
covering my head,
          in shame
of a promise
          not kept.

capture wings of butterflies
sunsets roses, moons and stars,
resolve around elegant tapestry
woven white doilies.
Rearrange
the synaptic fireworks ,
compose Beethoven's next symphony
study Freud's last dream.
Echo, echo....
make the new love
an urgent poem,
play it from imagination
'til realization.
echo......
into eternity.......

I offer a humble offering, a not very well written song,
on this eve of Xmas, my heartfelt wishes
that Santa Claus visits, each and everyone.

Let me gather you all in the square,
and sing sleigh and jingle bells
while gathering rosy cheeks together
and sing to humanity.

Ole' Saint Nick on his sleigh is around
the corner, remember, when we were three,
how we anticipated.

Let us hope and suspend disbelief,
hear reindeer hoofs on the roof,
for just one Xmas,
again!

As wings spread out
Lifted body up over trees
Brook and dale
The body of the eagle
Or falcon sailed
As my spirit my hopes
My days and nights
have gained a new higher life
  Upon the smile up in a
Gale of promised love
to never fail
  As so the bird looks upward
More
Am I a mere mortal drawn
to wander eye and
Mind upon
  That that soars
That futures bring
    A gust of wind
So beautiful
On wing

truth beautiful trees
anything on wings
flowers four leaf
clovers, smiles,
tails wagging all that paints
my happiest
treasures,
All are valuable, priceless,
are really all I need.
All are kept locked with
a strong padlock
here in memory,
forever safely sacred.

One day, I believe it was a Saturday
before the eve of Mother's day or Father's day I have
forgotten, let's say it was ten years ago,
the sun rose brighter than any day had
on any day I had woken still drunk.
The skies were blue as a bruise from a punch
on the jaw and stark as, shockingly pure , almost .
I awoke remembering a bit of the chaos of last night.
I sort of recalled getting my lights punched out by
Eduardo, Didn't realize he was a black belt,
but I beat the hell out of his fists.
I recall trying to swap girls or something,
young and dumb as a sombrero thrown in the air
on new year's , I was, no purpose, but to see if
they had those feelings too.
And all hell broke loose.
My girl got mad, Eduardo got mad.
His girl smiled at me.
I kind of grabbed her and kissed her
pasionately, she returned it.
Then Eduardo punched her and my sweet
Felicia cold cocked me.
Then he  hit me and Felicia pulled his girl's hair.
It was bad. But good, you only live once ,
I said to Juanita as we limped home.
Woke up next to her, she and I both had black eyes
and hangovers. That Cuervos is crazy ,
dude!

to limit me
embarked on a quest
to mysteriously float above
what I and all was.

With stars as illuminance
as sharks swimming in the dark
I saw a new day
remade my bounds as limitless

and grew oblivious and shrunk me
and swelled all of man and kind and
spoke of difference,
to society, not of man but philosophy.

really how my best friend
besides my two cats
five kittens and a Labrador stray
that bounces up and down when I return
may be poetry
and Hello
I just realized that!

make me a poem make me eternal
call me a rose make me
alive like the strawberry sky you see
or meadow grasses softly blowing in the wind
make me that streetcar you caught in 69
down in Haight- Ashbury
or the words to a song sing me
delicately
just like Joni Mitchell would
call me out make me bleed
out
or just mention me once

The fluidity
with which you speak of leaving
the allowance i feel for feeling
i am at once disbelieving and disavowed
I beg,
but did I mean for your return
I sit alone
and see complex perplexity...
I know it must be love.

If tears are wires tying  eyes to nose
if sobs are sinew
if night is dark
and day be light
and death be  long
I tie me up with tears and sobs and night in death.

I grant the chances I came across to
see me as I was, earthly, desires
another bare ground.

Heaven scents I breathe,
of you and me. I see
tears, sinew, eyes red, light,
as living with death and
chances met. I take
my ever in my hand and cast it to the winds;
never will I be
tied down.

dollars don't blush
around this time of night
rhymes don't work at twelve
midnight
science is all street
and biology and urges talk
the arithmetic is quaint and simple
twenty here for that
adds up to
another hit
I been taking notes
except in English
class

Blesses Joni

among the greatest songwriters and voices

her words:

I came upon a child of God
He was walking along the road
And I asked him, where are you going
And this he told me...
I'm going on down to Yasgur's farm
I'm going to join in a rock 'n' roll band
I'm going to camp out on the land
I'm gonna try and get my soul free

We are stardust
We are golden
And we've got to get ourselves
Back to the garden

Then can I walk beside you
I have come here to lose the smog
And I feel to be a cog in something turning
Well maybe it is just the time of year
Or maybe it's the time of man
I don't know who l am
But ya know life is for learning

We are stardust
We are golden
And we've got to get ourselves
Back to the garden

By the time we got to Woodstock
We were half a million strong
And everywhere there was song and celebration
And I dreamed I saw the bombers
Riding shotgun in the sky
And they were turning into butterflies
Above our nation

We are stardust
Billion-year-old carbon
We are golden
Caught in the devil's bargain
And we've got to get ourselves
Back to the garden

vagrant in black corners creep
complaining with darkest meaning
remembering the border  of commonness
or forgetting

she spins does life
the web we get so caught up in
wove into corners and kept for another day

complex as dark yes
no a minute to think
the spinnerets go on weaving

complex webs

I didn't see ******* until I was too old for school
I graduated myself GED when I was twelve
went out to pasture early I was so cool
educated on the streets got literat-ed liberated delved
dabbled collaborated mixing drooling at
all the gangster easy money,  got rich,
had a bizness a box chevy with changing paint
twenties a banging ***** -
ain't never did what was good for me- ain't
feeling ****** now, cause I caught a nine mil', natch'

miracles arouse desirous
the cave-men and women
like fire arose from flint
astound
from leaves
a roaring din
amongst the lull
of sunken caves in mountains
wombs
and we walked out
bare-knuckled
still
afire with desires
alit split upon
earthly need
like cavemen and women
still

To the chicken farmer with the fat cat
   Cockadoo, or whatever you call her,
that fat tabby, watch her,
   climbing on your table,
bristling her whiskers,
   arching her back,
licking her paws,
   smelling of chicken.

goldfish bowls I swim
           catfish whiskers I become
salmon eggs I spawned
             with bilious cloud
upon a bed of red roses
             in a ***
on my coffee table
            under a painting
by Evanescence
              over a whisper
under a fog
               through a plant
of ferns there was erased
             by Led Zeppelin
the lost
                onceness.

I quit. Cause the
                 dreams remain.

the glow of a firefly
reach into the vast darkness
pull her fire from the night
would I glory then
like a star plucked from her nest
as a starling babe
belonging there
what might I
do then?

misty haze awake the stars behind eyelids closed
asleep, you and I sleep...
and you and I are deep.

developing contrapuntal visions as you ride the wake
anon sounds deep sleep successively
around as entries echo repeat
astounding voice guide and ethereal choice
in three separate sections note

we awaken
the short main theme
the exposition is complete
and now we are as one.

a green cape to be superman in the lawn
a brown orange red one
in the fall and a white insulated
one in the winter

I put on at halloween a jack 'o lantern
adorned one
and at Christmas
a red and white one

When I visit the kids
at the orphanage
I put on a clown mask
and they laugh

And when I take it off
when I get home,
I cry.

that two out of three poets
write on the internet
while getting inebriated
and three of every four
people who heart a poem do
not read it
and having a dream
of making a living writing poetry
the odds are worse than
winning the lottery.

sheltered
     with no limits
or alternate
      portrayed never a false witness
to that which is truest.
        Nor, is love, fixed in some imaginary
realm out of reach to anyone.
              Love is limitless
without boundaries if it truly is
   what reddest lips and whispers mean
and all is not fate nor every day written yet.

complex
         a different contest
the baddest ***
combination of unique
       syllables
flexing
              neurons in the mirror
passing out
   while holding my breath waiting
this is internet
              reality
I spasm into the vastness
             of tweets
of plusses
       hearts I never see
I spasm
  go nuts
but my complexion
          
clears up.

please be strong the summer breeze
breathe green into my wilting
leaves
my tulip kiss
my sunflower rush
bring bees once more
make butterflies dance again
tame the sun drench with tears
her lifeless form
alone in the dirt
alive her garden refresh
the grass
to stand then bow at
her resurrection
make whole the best
of nature's creations
or blight me then
in deference

Oh, how I do love you!
   a better spirit I will never know
her name,  her name is desire!
   spending all her day and nights
in my mind, tying my tongue in knots
    numb from toe to finger
when I picture her
    humbles me on a corner selling wooden
pencils, I see when cast her light upon me.
     Oh, how fair can fair be,
how much beauty can the day portray?

     No, none more than her fair eyes
turning once to gaze at me, here,
    a slight upturn to the corner
of her perfect lips. At me!
     If you love away, love me,
once , smile at me again, even from afar ,
desire, desire.

is drug use, obsession with chemicals to
make you feel alive, depending
on a hit to feel better, wrapping
every waking minute around obtaining them

Dangerous is this, desire with metrical
counts internet hits, surrounding
yourself with those who feel likewise,
every finger typing non-stop hymns

Realizing your audience waned one night,
goodness is getting more  plusses or hearts,
forgetting to eat anything but words
making me us them unintentionally

victims of the same chemical imbalances
I have noticed in Crack heads, **** heads
speed freaks , addicts of all kinds.

So if you see anything worthy or
turned an eye inward, don't plus this
get outside now to fresh air
share a walk with a friend,
or pet a dog.

Or find your local
chapter of Poets Anonymous.

below charms her arms crossed,
a mean, meaning mad, again
what it is i do not know
that brought her to
be so angry.

I sneakily disguise guise
warily trying to disarm
this cute stick of dynamite
so armed with something
I did but do I know?
What?

Approaching her warily
I brush against her side
then breathe a breath aimed
at her cheek , breathlessly,
I say' Honey,
remember last night?"

I then search for that spark
that means either all is all right,
or that that small pack of dynamite,
is
about to go off.

Just no ways to bridge the miles
That span the distances
Tween that first step
And the last, darling

Trail the back forty where
Shouts disappear into
Nothingness or go far up
The hills echoing
Into mornings into
Stories

Storied tales the brave tell
Like proverbs said
On prophets tongues
Or made up
Fairies breaths
Resound

On every path that led
To there from here
Or roundabout
Through brush
And weeds the wind
Does.
Bring.

A certain taste, a tongue
One touch of flesh
A night among
The purest
And the fair.

How then becomes this
Long away longing call
On winters dying gasp
Along a sliver of
A chill

This only fate, my dear,
My sweet, this but a faintest
Breeze, that calls my
Ear to render tender
Whispers
Of the leaves.

breezing 70 in the blue three on the tree
65 Dodge Dart down I-75
to Toledo from Detroit
with my eyes  to
America dreaming, running to or from
concrete approaching,
maybe the nearest exit
may be my  abutment
or my future the worn torn bench seat -
fixed mind eyes concentrated
like frozen  orange juice canned-
blurring exits with on-ramps
my mind's eye constipated
violet lamps illuminating,
where convicts and scamps and
confused gather to try to ride
tires to nowhere to find
no signs of life
here but the slant-six cylinders
firing

in the larger scheme of things
that my cat is giving birth
and that just before she spit one out she
got up and laid right next to my labrador
which she has had nothing whatsoever to do with before
and the labs puppies looked at her weird then she started howling going
round and round until a small head popped out, I
don't suppose this is all a miracle or anything special but, for me to witness and be there for her, means the world to me. Excuse me if I bother you!

you must have conversed with god
that blue like a summer sky with forever behind lighting it
the rose cheeks of a garden full of worlds red roses
on your smile the bright white of summer's
Daisies beautiful dancing in dancing out of view
that green what a sight over my fence does grow greener
as you alight on my metaphorical distance
can you light as well as colored  rainbows smiled
with me and the trees bowed when
on the distant horizon
you made a way
into being like
a painting by
God

return the sun's rays catch a bucket of rain
be the sky for one minute
a cloud fleeting
be a squirrel in an oak tree
or a rose in some  garden
or  the  beach as the sea laps at me
be a star or the moon
be something
truer
more causal
more a part
of everything
take that bucket of rain and fly
above the desert
and cry forever
happy then

when young I walked the golden path with my father into

our talking place. Leaves were green buds were growing seeds were
sown trees bowed down. Birds had their nests ready for their young.
Robins fluttered in their tender loves, Blue Jays coyed and cooed to their ones.
Squirrels  played among the dense greenness, jumping like acrobats,
impressing me and the young girl squirrels.

I was thirteen,  I was grown, Oh, did I think!

My father so wise, said "All is life is beautiful. All has a season. Trees have a name as do squirrrels. You have mine. I am proud"

That was all he said.

for a ride home
to me downtown
from here on the river
where I dance alone

A taxi or my brother
passing by other
people may be watching
my feet tapping as I fall over

Between the two street lights
glaring what a sight
my drunk *** must be
tonight

swaying calling on poe
emerson thoreau
to stop and listen
I get it, i know

Rhythm and meter
are just for their
realms, Emily and Vicki
I just say I love both hers

Take a thought
Long drawn out
Every detail nuance and particular
Write it out
Wander into every crevice corner
Orifice of it
Chew on the salty sweet detail
Talk in length about the atmosphere
How the sky was clear that day
Or how it was black as southern mud
Colorize it with the voices in your head write down what they said
The inner dialogue
Argue a point
With your ego
It doesn't matter which of you wins
Just paint it out spill
The angst in gallons of red spills
And splatters the anger
Throw black on the paper spit
Hit smack  your hand right fan on it mush it
Tangle get some virulent deep blue
And paint on paper the sky how it looked
And your eyes how wide they were
Spooked
Get lost misspell
Curse ******* demons
Who are you?
Who is anyone
Are we just blood and guts or
More

Feelings can get abstract and love can hurt poetry writing spilling paint crying
Are all we got.
Take a walk. Walk until dark.
Wake up the next day.

come
          sunrise or
                           shame
come the coldest
            days
                          balloons do not float
on dead breezes or smiles
             
nor is honey sweeter without a sting
            
never does freedom come
           without slavery once          rose buds attached to thorns
                              ***** 
blooms of love always end

                             nature
is that plain.

what letters we write
so easily
mr meaning
my feeling
my trust

words friendly
mean
obtuse morose obscure
confound

they echo smells
touch
promote sell the
next big thing
paint scenes.

Words obstinate
obscene
immature still
describe something.

The world revolves
in languages but words
are universally
renowned.

They call all of us
near, if on the tongue
of Shakespeare
raise hairs
on necks

from here to everywhere
if writers write
the quatrains quite
quiet, secure
hear
all that
a
word
is.

tried to buy a little of  it
a new brain and new shoes
thought the name had meaning, like Good humor stood for
good treats my mamma never had a dollar for,
placed , after selecting a two dollar pair of Adidas and a fifty cents  pair of socks
on the counter, and a brain with street sense common, the
( tatooed brown girl, kinda hot)
smiling, chuckled when I tried to pay with my food stamps.

Where as I was serious she thought I was kidding as she said we don't take EBT's and I asked can I get you next week.
meaning, innocently , the balance.

She did give me her number,
but no credit. I walked out empty headed , handed,
skipping with a 555 ou812 written on my forehead.

hope
maniacal expressionism now
this day this age I guess
but I
hope dream live or die
on HUGE thoughts

Dad was a cad
was my uncles brother
and not surprising was his
affinity for my mother.

It all came around full circle
when my dad quite apparently showed
affinity for my Aunt Martha.

They settled all of that quite
preposterously
by having a
family reunion on the
night before Thanksgiving.

I Imagine they all had fun.

drinks and cusses like a sailor
holds her own with
spiders in the shower
makes her own breakfast
cleans the dishes she uses
spends her money at Dollar General
likes cats and dogs
drinks whiskey and smokes ***
so my beer and ******* are all mine
has a trimmed  heart above her *****
and only one tattoo
a heart on her left breast
no metal in her thing
a dad and mom that she still
talks to
an ex who pays child support
children who are almost
perfect little saints
who is not afraid to
put me in my place at times
likes Baseball
and once wrote a dissertation
for her PHD about the differences
between Socialism and liberalism
and drives a Vette.
A 1988 Chevette!
I knew her a
long time ago.

Crossroads, seem to come and go, yeah.
The gypsy flies from coast to coast

Knowing many, loving none,
Bearing sorrow havin' fun,
But back home he'll always run
To sweet Melissa... mmm...

Freight train, each car looks the same, all the same.
And no one knows the Gypsy's name

No one hears his lonely sighs,
There are no blankets where he lies.
In all his deepest dreams the Gypsy flies
with sweet Melissa... mmm...

Again the morning's come,
Again he's on the run,
Sunbeams shining through his hair,
Appearing not to have a care.
Well, pick up your gear and Gypsy roll on, roll on.

Crossroads, will you ever let him go? (Lord, Lord)
Will you hide the dead man's ghost,
Or will he lie, beneath the clay,
or will his spirit float away?

But I know that he won't stay without Melissa.

Yes I know that he won't stay without Melissa.

Positively, absolutely
sunshiny
delicious
a clean
conscience
is.
A dreamy
existence
free
in spirit
in
believing
I do
not have
to hide a
thing.
Or  lie
again-
just say
what's
on my mind-
never
remembering
a
thing.

of the Americans
Five foot four and petite
Lynn was imported nitro glycerine.
She twanged, and with her kind they made me
uncomfortable, as they spoke words I did not know and giggled.
I tried to teach her western things, or Did I want to learn
Eastern ways. Never the one to digress, in the middle of getting to know her,
she said," pom rak kun"
I thought about that
more than a minute and returned,
"chan poot tai mai bpen"
my love.

when the spinning clay
shoots up
between my hands
I squeeze
her neck  up
today
to a svelte long
distance Egret like
Swan elegance
decorate her with fine
fine feathers
filigree
moist
living clay
and grasp her all
between
my
human hands
tenderly
I lost the connection
the feel the fire
but put her in
the kiln
anyways
hoping
to rekindle her memory
that is
after all
art

comes many times before the ultimate
******
proceeding that last gasp tiny spasms
are spent
working towards the best and brightest
we lift
our pajamas many times and let life in.
Memory
may recall that last second
but
will never tell. That moment will forever be
most private.

Days some endless
Go on towards that infinity
Approach happiness love
Joy
Become circled memories
In a love letter
Or a poem read  years forever
After alone