or reached out so far I fell over my words
or promised more than I could deliver
or said I love you without meaning it

or planted visions in your head insincere
all I said was meant and from my heart
from the vault where feelings actually exist

and to be your one and to make myself whole
from the deeper things I thought life
was about, to the point where I might

believe life again had meaning, oh, meanings are so
specious, I found, So when I think I see
a shooting star again,

I will question my sight, my sanity
and hold my tongue
mute. Swollen

Willing slaves are obsessed by freedom,
and envy free men's riches;
Loathe to steer their own course,
yet they curse their masters wishes.

Beneath their oppressor's dominance
they beg for their own choice,
but, lest they acquire freedom
even they hear not their voice.

Willing slaves merit their abasement,
as an odalisque securer still
than the terror of sovereignty
and the burdens of free will.

These willing helots, shall they ever tire
of their ruler's amnesty,
and shed their dark age chains of fear
to decide their own destiny?

played a rigged game
of solitaire missing
            the Queen of Hearts
from his deck,
            and therefore never
once, not one time, won.
          
But, he continued shuffling on-
           with hope his luck could change
and  just one time win this game.

It was noted, by all who saw
           him, shuffling alone, bereft,
that never once, not one time,
           did he ever cheat.
He was destined to
           always play this
rigged game,
honestly.

pounding working a sweet sweat up
toiling the ground of earths' belly
plunging as far in as possible
as deep as deeper going goes
as the pressure builds from down under
trying to stay aware of a gusher
or a pre-mature *******
the drill spinning the earth reeling making
groans that emanate from way down deep
the temperature with each ****** spin ******* rising,
higher louder from deeper from somewhere
hidden until now, then, releasing the earths' buried treasures
the earth filling the sky the horizon with releases.

Upstairs, top left
Deerfield Apts. 8b,
you remember, on Fort Rucker Boulevard
across from the fire station,
right next to the golf course
on the left, *******,
just past the power station
you remember how to knock?
Don't you?
Ask for  Espinosa
tell him Carlos sent you.
Make sure of the weight,
and don't even consider
paying yourself.
I will take care of you,
you get that.
Call me when you leave ,
pronto. Remember?

time issues forth then blends us  into reminisces
resolves to tick and continue as spawn and fry
swim forth into a swarming mass of
death into an ocean bereft of feel
upon our dead bodies they feast.
A few returning, miraculously, upstream
to where they issued forth,
begin anew the circle,
regrowth and death so every day ticking.
Issuing forth our cells
to  feed natures
next beginning.

from the top of my mullet mohawk
big head, poppin'
in and out of the nearest
******, no-stoppin'
me jack the hammer hittin'
once I got started
that day momma
spit my *** out:
collidin'
with my father
who may have been my brother
no tellin'
with every authority figure
who had the *****
to try and tell me what to do,
with the man arrestin'
handcuffed around foot and ankles
everyone who had no money,
never knowing the system
from my day of creation
society was rigged:
a bunch o'  twisted ***** *******'
leaning towards the rich *******
making the haves have more
the have-nots fightin'
for the scraps, no religion had
answers,
feelin'
just like a hungry dog
behind the locked barred
four-star restaurant doors,
so, takin' whatever I can
what is left  I guarded every scrap
like it was somethin'

I've a song many truthful
as a genre they run the gamut
from country sad to blues
to new york manhattan mainstream cool
the hot spots
no
I have a song many heartfelt
spoken as a tear fell out of
my eye had to stop singing
there for a min
yes  a song that sings to
christmas carols 364 days of the year
- chestnuts roasting on an open fire-
watching Breakfast at Tiffany's again singing
Moon River until cat
comes back
don't get me started
about Audrey,
or Linda Ronstadt in her day
I still have that song
it is long
not written down
but committed
to memory
and so many others

the saying quaint is memory
I am surprised i remembered it
six almost long decades
since I tried to tell myself to never forget
how the  day is wonderfilled
we have sandboxes
beloved pets
steel toy cars and backyards
we explore like jungles
swings and naps
when life gets tiresome
amongst the sunrises and hours spent
getting acquainted
to this life
a sister who is nice
at times
and moms and dads
peaches and
cream
longings to grow up and see
everything
sidewalks leading to
we do not know where
just dream
they have sights unseen
deep down in the
grey of now the
hard to read story of those years
all are written down
archived
like bubblegum on a bedpost
sweetness of that first kiss
that recall
of  days
that are so malleable
just don't forget
or get all old

of all  my pet peeves
my pet's ****
my cats stink my
Labrador getting pregnant
running from the IRS
a warrant I am am sure is imminent
might be more
upsetting is,
how bad my Tigers are.
I might not live very much,
but

over the hills where wild raspberries grow
ripe under the mulberry bush in the valleys
blush hidden from most , sweet nectars rush
I found Eden and Eve and everything
yet no apple  or serpent,
desire entwined with
limbs -  fruit of heaven
on earth- her awaiting

round plentiful satisfyingly rotund
Peggy was almost two at once
she didn't intend that
just happened
a hormone thing
she was pleasing and still a world of big beautiful
and happy acting
she had hair like Rapunzel flowing like a golden river
down her back mountainside
to her log like legs
and when she hugged you
it was like a polar bear
so warm
she had spares
spare love to give , was grateful
innocent
as a dove
experienced as a *****
made me almost fall deep into love
I am glad
I wore a parachute

Words and meanings
lost in the realism
as i stutter
of a dream
and fret in your
presence
wishing for
continuance
or at
least ac·knowl·edg·ment
of my spice
your iridescence
your blush-mine
insecure, shy
and my hope is your heart
is forgiving, pure!

In the depths of life's chaos there is hope
   a light of salvation to pursue,
       Joy, in a fleeting glimpse,
            but a small moment of tender peace,        
                calms the restless eternity.

it is an impediment If I am focused
on correct
if I am seeing your decisions on
me
why do I ask? Am I correct.
I want go sail on my impediments.

I pause in places, you do not.
I write my heart out, trying
to let out
what hurts what bothers
what is conjuring my inner thought?

If I am meek, or contemplating, what will you
or I think of me?
If I speak my truth, and leave a comma out,
or mispell (ie) one word,
does my feelings go unheard?

my hairline sweat and tears
mist from a shoreline,
paint down my wrinkles like waves cresting
a rocky beach,
my colors so dissolved, all my fleshy canvases
exposed to too much sun, my piercings all droopy,
teeth falling out. I need a hair cut a good dentist and Dr.
Phil. Or just strip down to my loincloth
go back to Rochester,
run with  wildness, as I did then
through brush and bathed in purple
abandonement, virile unabsorbed
lazing under the mulberry brush
the willows swaying down to touch my unscarred youngness,
with hope with hunger, then.

you pose proud
in gentle soft
candles

before my rigid
consonance and stringent need
flickering

gracefully sweet
you proffer
as I savor
deep

you flow
we merge
near rage
enthralling

together rage
my sweet,
my sweet.

busy me
and Missy just lives
I envy her sometimes

her just a dog without responsibilities or bills
catering to the kittens whims
growling

every now and then when
they won't leave her alone

mis-measured the bed for the sheets and pillows
possibly on purpose
it's a king and proper fitting things would give her too much area to
wander away from me in sleep and I
so desire her near next right against me
a Freudian sheet?
Did I do it on purpose?
Three days now and we'll be together for the first time ever. I anticipate fret with should I trim my mustache and hair
change my toothpaste
floss cleaner
make the bed with one hospital corner?
which side should I leave uncovered
the left or right since
the queen sheets and bedspread cover only so much?
Should I clean the toilet again?
Try to write her a poem to give her when
she steps in our
efficiency apartment mansion
I picked the right woman
one who is into hearts and feelings instead
of fancy cars and nights out
cause I got planned
some long moonlight walks  maybe a
fire outside in a barrel we can sit 'round
drink a few
and watch the embers curl
as I sneak views of her sneaking peeks
and know yeps
she is my love
and later we
will go inside into the bed half covered and love then
snuggle all night and soon
the refrigerator will get here and
we'll have  somewhere to chill a spoon
and our beer
I can't wait for her
I feel wealthy and wise
I know she is mine!

Let us,
reverently grow imagery see
round the corner verbs
of history or herstory
bring through our straining
story equality for
black grey red white
see say
in colorless sighs
say no more anything
unless
it be color-blind.

she is better than anything
she gave me unconditional love
infinity
the hopes she inspired me
to see the power to see
over the horizon
the courage to
stand tall
to reach it

to her, her I miss
full of her
I sit here without her

I feel her yet    
cannot hear or touch her
but

I know she wherever
whatever she does
she knows

and feels me
full as I do her
she is here

here in trances
she goes through, too,
we just are us, wherever

whatever us is,
we are, she means that such,
I am certain, i too
mean as much.

parade then serenade me wordless foolish
brash then coyly fervently shush
me with that smile
fit me into the folds of silkish
flesh the  fuzz of peaches cushiness
brush me with eyelashes
feathered
long
like traces of
heaven flash
hold me with velvet
inside
arms of holding lastness
caution me with whispers scold
me with rushing cries

or themes were  them or I don't even remember
anymore the drunken high wavering feelings dizzying
exact places nor time,  of where I was on that date or whom I might
have said to a flirt or grabbed a thigh bravely or slapped a cushiony
cue ball banking the eight ball with skill winning
a hundred dollar bill buying the whole ******* bar a drink
and
a *******,
just know that was me when, then. I had less problems younger
stouter energetic time left on my tab,
a deadly eye a smirk of confidence, that youthly
obsession with being tough. I banked the eight ball last week while breaking and still am aching a week later. Now.

Like things growing closely in clusters
are the memories of sweet trying to understand truth
when wrong arms reached out and offered devilish friendship.
As a child you sat reading softness and hope and butterflies
untitled poems rhymed in your head,
Nightmares woke you up, so cruel as to drive you here.
All windows closed and flies and stink festering within
and burning fires untended threatened to burn you down.
As you sit, still reading alone,
poems unwritten.

One's-self I sing, a simple separate person,
  Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-Masse.

  Of physiology from top to toe I sing,
  Not physiognomy alone nor brain alone is worthy for the Muse, I say
      the Form complete is worthier far,
  The Female equally with the Male I sing.

  Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power,
  Cheerful, for freest action form'd under the laws divine,
  The Modern Man I sing.

Walt Whitman from "Leaves of Grass"

Seeking distraction from
        dissatisfaction I peek through
the cloven leaves aside the creek
        deep in the woods with my best
dearest friend, Chartreusse.

We climb trees together
          play with coyotes
run together pet the
          squirrels hold birds
in our gentle hands.

We eat on Nature's rewards
           fall in love easily
with each other
          the creek and the woods.
We move together.

Playfully we parlayed a creek
         the sun, and the woods
the wild dearness of hearts together
          woven in dreams.

I remember
           forever.
Chartreusse.

a was b cause c ause he d id e arned f irst g ave h is I d
j ust K arl L oved m any n ot o ne p er q uite r s ane t o
u ndo v ery w ell X poses Y z?

seducing a retina all flesh like
and curvatures, how can eyes feel
soft pink or taste desire oh
they do
in the dark just feeling
how do eyes feel?
In the dark sensuousness
the tenderness
eyes have their ways
no mystery is all this no
Fantasy, too
eyes are the entry
to the mind's
godlike way

My three daughters and I
Spot, Blue and sweet Timex,
live within the walls
of this Verona like  apartment,
Missy, the Black Lab who played nursemaid
to these three I believe, aided and abetted
sweet Timex's foray.
I, a Capulet, truly love my daughters
but easily fly into rages,
wishing a fair and providing man for them,
not the hell of the Montague clan,
namely bighead. Bighead roams the streets the alleys the back woods
no earnings or propriety,
no means to his unmatted fur,
his wild houls in the night, testament.
The nurse then, on a late night, asked to go out.
I tired, got complacent and out timex flied!
She returned a week later,
not the young kitten, playful,
but a Cat, with hunger in her eyes.
Spot and Blue, still are eager to discover the outsides,
Probably filled in on all that is there,
by Timex. And she no longer plays.
She even meows different now,
seems to meow
O Bighead, wherefore art thou Bighead!

The dusk  a cloudy
sty
blackened to blight
the rays
of days
before the fruit lost the limbs
barren- now shake-and
above the **** soaked grass
sanitary
past,
swaying in the memory
of glamour days,
some happily forget.

Let us close this invocation, this devotional, this
service here at our revered, Natural Light Deliverance Tabernacle,
with our unanimous heart felt shout out of Amen.
    We passed around the collection plate dressed all up in our Sunday
best. I just hope, you did not see, I put in my last penny.

developing a relationship recently with Hoagland's
terse views of reality. please don't, he cries emphatically,
knowing the grasses and roots take on their own mortality,
he has believed in me for a long time, I nature
in quotation marks,
Lucky was real
to me in that word that verse
he described her wasted gray
and I shuddered
turned revulsed
but respecting the man.

in theme now right disseminating lies
I know it all too well
it's one last score one last game
it is victory
the game
the goal the only thing
when conquering
is human toil
the waste and turmoil
the     consequence a factor in
but human suffering
holds no regard for
plans or deeds
just ultimate rewards
where human needs
are sought no more
that is the interfering thing
the flesh and blood
that goes hungry
so tell me all
you sudden
conquerors
has empathy no
path no more
has feeling lost
her last reward?

two
        hardlegs and two
                     babes
found
        raw eggs and ham
                       best
to add
      to frogs legs                    
                        yet
wound
       oddly up
*****
and hungry?

Naked and
          broke
               tweakin'

not one word, or all the princely sonnets, rhyme
nor may any dawn light my horizon
or moon glow glistening brighter, Mars
nor Venus, not any universe,contain
describe be nearer to perfect
than you, your glow
is all the worlds in essences of everything
ever made sweet, honey compared to you,
is bitter on my tongue, the moonlight
in your absence falls like darkness in my world
You, you are in my eyes, the only permanence,
the glistening diamond , the moon the sun the stars,
everything.

wonder the withers of winters on limbs
chill the clinging icicles
reminds me of
Jack Frost  a good friend I knew way
back when
I used to have to walk ten miles to school
uphill both ways
we would meet at the end of
Arctic street Seven AM
fire up a joint and try to keep warm
in zero degrees
walking the last nine miles with blood red eyes
shivering
but cool
no hats
or mittens or overshoes
just chillin' dude

which why ways I turn I
thought of my mom and
our relationship,
saw me as her thirty years ago
I saw her become I
or me become her morphed
into what I disliked as a kid
was now me
the martyr
the saviour complex
the reasons I have stray cats dogs and people
depending on me,
and not one of them does anything for me, just asking
for more of
me.
Hi Mom!

having to comment on the *******
who find faults like there
is a reward for it
while smoking a doobie
drinking a corona
watching a sun set
on a beach
in heaven
forget them

tree to tree limb to limb:
                                     would it be a sight to see?
leaves ruffled
             all entwined


the two pines
           in my front yard-
laying together,
                         in the grass


      making love.

a girl  named ANNABEL LEE instead,
but
      seldom marches in a storm like
Petunia, and Rose, and Lily did,
       Goodbye
to Beverly, to Virginia, to Lucy
       to anyone not named Petunia,
who just wallowed in to my garden of Eden
                 and plopped right down,
midst the May-dew , blown on a warm wind ,
            before the rains set in,
and made her self so     comfortable.

no beginning
we all forget
to send
a forward
or regret
not saying
I apologize
like lemons or
lemmings we follow
to the cliff bitter
better yet we fall off
rather than
say
I am sorry,

The most pleasurable sound is
around when I  am surrounded
be pecan trees giving their leaves and seeds
to the breeze almost willing
the rain to drizzle down
on my metal roof
so bemusing a melody
somewhat made by god
for me and my dreams.

oh victory
vivacious as a dandelion dispersed
on wind
air flight far wide high
as wings fly as words sing as minds think
high    get high buzz like a bee
flitter free to and fro
nothing compares   to this
to thy   to my free mind
free to fly and find
soft buttercups in the field a new day a new way
once a closed academy taught to decay
now the nature of a stream flowing
let it be
let me be
I care no more about archaic truisms or static
ways of looking I open
my eyes free trip on fantasims I fear not the
new idealism where truth is peace love and holiness
under these skies I see bluer than ever and newer and more virginal
more loving peaceful a sky
that glows for all
one day I thought of it
just why the **** not love
why strife why fight lets' love all night in the day
all days every night.
I love.
I'm not afraid of love.

the memory of
a movie
the first glance
at Mona Lisa
the first echo of  Marlene Dietrich
singing,
where one time
thrills were really in the back seat
of a sixty four Buick. my sedition
almost fictional taunted,
attracted me ultimately to another realm.
a sphere of passion to be
more than reality. A vision where I could
dream up what was needed in an instant.
a ******* of sight smell feel:
blinds pulled: a slave to imaginating.
conveniently fitting my insanity,
my ****** passion energy
alone with flickering Universal
glamour girls. I then fell for
Marilyn. Oh god it was on.

woke up late sweaty moist tired
hurried to get my clothes on brush my teeth
ran out without my phone
came back and fed the kids
the labrador and the three musty cats
grabbed my phone
ran out forgot my keys
came back and changed their water dishes
brushed my teeth again to insure
the beer breath was at least minty
went out again started the van
and decided to say **** it all
I have cash
tomorrow I will do the work
today I am gonna
lay around like a lazy cat or labrador and
if someone knocks on the door
I may pant but I ain't getting up

thought of a dream of a poem that barely spoke of
the wind, that wound down through the new leaves strong and young stemmed
securely fastened to the life blood limbs
and peacefully, momentary
soliticited
the workmanship of heavens wonders,
her legend young and strong
commentary psalms,
a reach where I reach reach
my limbs not far enough and hers
a realm reaching
taking my breath again.
My roots dissolving in hope.

misty hazed
wakes the sleepy
eyelids closed
you and I sleep...
and you and I are deep.

developing contrapuntal visions
as the wake
we ride, anon,
sounds deep;
ebbs successively;
wounded echoes repeat: guides
ethereal choices
in three separate sections note

whence we awaken,
the tides in gone
the short main theme
the exposition, completes itself. As the
moon goes around again.
now, we are as one.

my pulchritude me
petrichor my visage
Of me in a puddle

felicitously adjectively
so not well drafted nor composed
my bald spot showing

in the mirror if I turn my head and look sideways
terse a wrong hair rightly covering a bald spot of imagery

like black paint on a pink scalp trying to be
visceral, I comb the ugly away,
I think.