were I to lose myself tonight
nowhere else could it possibly be
then in your fine skin your sweet smile
your embrace

were I to find heaven
I don't think of any afterlife
I would not see your smile your kind eyes
you and beauty

were I to die tonight
with your memory I would smile
brightly forever more like a sailor
welcomed home

after his long course  
his long time without love
his long journey without shore
be he parched and full of scurvy

the sustenance
without a kind
life without meaning
there on a shore

of little hope
just barren rocks
and harshness
sand piling up in heaps over
his head

so I said my piece
my welcoming
I await yours

you ever had one that kept haunting you
I saw llamas today in a field
I saw balloons again
to construct my urge
sanely you would have to share my head
When the llamas looked up at me
on the edge of their field
where they were minding their business
munching
flowers and grass and greens
I felt like an intruder
an alien
in their world
and the balloon thing again,
I watched the car dealers early today,
a  man walked with what seemed like a hundred
of them helium filled colorful things, tieing
them to antennas, when one did
escape, a white one, that wafted and floated
into the sky like freedom and relief,
I felt for it. I felt for the llamas.
You would have to
share my head to
see.

within the neurotic neurons those still left
in my ****** up head
perhaps so far down the dumb ones stand atop them and muffle their reasoning
or the ones watching Big Bang every night
drinking Olde English 800
are holding the responsible synapses hostages
for a hit of dope
or trying to find a stash of endorphins
at gunpoint
,but buried deep deep downer in
near the base of my brain,one neuron is waiting for the right
moment to flee....
to gain power over all the broken, needy  ones thinking
starving for chemicals or a quick high
morphine addicted lortab alcohol
******* amphetamine caffeine nicotine
ine
to be ruler,
then I will write a good poem.

when I view the sky
a puffy cloud a blue
so nice I see
your smile

in the sun in the middle
of the day or the moon
at the middle of night
I notice your
silhouette

when I contemplate the heavens
peace I feel your arms around me
when I smile I feel your love
and holiness
I am all
I will ever be

because
of you.

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!

Believe in the real creator
who within dark
and dreamy seams
inspires the shrubs and vines
and leaves, who shines the sun,
conspires with the atmosphere
and devours ******
sacrificial the creatures
to feed the progeny.
She runs wild, her appetite
inventive, insatiable
archaically from the time
any one thing mated, grew
leaves or breathed.
Bless her. The Mother.
Her calamities cause
change, rearrange the game,
her strength, her holistic songs
inspire in wind and storms.
Bless Nature, eternity long.

from here the forest grows
upon the shoulder of Mother herself,
drips tears
tangy drops of
where
sweet  saps of evergreens
lichen takes a mossy sip
lakes full of
whorls of drops
fall down every cheek
might every tree or urchin
drown?
There in yesterdays
full grown tomorrows,
leaks
through to those who need.
Fronds delight in
completely
the tears
roses bloom, so
I cry, passionate.

in the darkened hall the barefoot man
stood afraid of stubbing toes and tripping up
afraid to make himself the fool
the stumbling bumbling imbecile
his weight of fear took up more of him
that time stood still
and this day he stands in bronze
a monument to fear
a statue now stands etched in time
along side a stale crumb
of bread

over,the ground crawling,
in the air higher, cascaded in tears
down a torrent, went over an edge of this
earth, have given up. Reveled in birth, cried at
losing one, spoiled soiled crapped on
myself. Spent, my last scents,
came up from there soiled stinking rotting.Smelled death.
Saw it in my hands, the last breath, a snaky smiling,
haunt. Saw the last ends the beginnings, felt all of history,
thought what is this?  
Vomited with the reek of alcohol, self administering
medications, lost days, in there, lost  feel.
Tried to understand , the mountains, wolves trees , alpha
omega.
Saw it smiling back at me.

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?

Let's write like water
prose a tome so vivid in its
clear and cool
make fluid words that flow drip
down from gashes mountains pure
from eyelashes say clouds gush
every grain of sand dirt clod
of clay may bow down glistening
pump its substance from wells
drilled deeply into our hearts core
lakes of poetry filled with crystal beauty blue
but that is the sky coloring
its clear
right there in front of you
tension keeping her
round
about
see that tear?
it is there
on a cheek
in an eye waiting
to flow

How's one to see
rightly that tree,
that flat illusion
and deep confusion
of branch, twig, splinter
stripped bare for winter,
standing black, bold
in winter's cold
and gray sky's gloom
outside my room?
Thinking I'll prove
it real, I move
my head south, north,
to bring it forth
and so, reveal
its depth, its feel.
Men rearrange
their thoughts thus. Strange
how intricately
it moves . . . like me
—me more than any—
beneath the Many
it is the One,
the skeleton—
its trunk, its stark
and mottled bark
raccoons and wind
have ripped and skinned
and left to die . . .
But it's not I
who can define
its shape, or mine.

After this frost
all will be lost
in a strange scene
of savage green
when it receives
its destined leaves
that charm the eyes
as the ears lies
that poets tell.
All will be well:
for we shall see
in greenery
in sun, in gale
its face, its veil,
drape upon drape;
its truest shape.

tears in my eyes
and stormy clouds
thunders seek
to make me rain down on you

closing in are
the sounds
of humidity
the magnitude
of falling
pressures

now these  
once fluffy
things turned dark and
violet
angry

I reposed
back on red earth
quandering
my head to the west
my feet ready to run
under the nearest tree

pull her limbs to me
hide
in plain sight
yet  
accepting my course

seeing seeking some
kind of
roaring clasp
maybe I am
ashamed

or feel my sins are
unforgivable

I 've nothing to do but sit and figure out the wrong parts
of Einstein's ride light theories
like I can't see time slowing
so how could it be
or
try to argue with Socrates who
is hung on my wall framed it's impossible
he always wins
or try to get rich quick
like Frey did with
a Million Little Lies
my next novel
awaiting publication,
about this dentist who underwent heart surgery
with no Anesthetic
Or dipute theories of Freud's
Oedipus Complex
with my gay friend.
who , by the way , had two mothers,
or watch CNN  and listen to
our President
make an *** out of hisself
and make all the other countries
laugh at us,
or clean up the kitchen, hell,
I think I am going to argue with Dostoyevsky
about Jewish states.

I burnt the bacon
and the grits have lumps
the biscuits are cold
broke the yokes
out of butter
and burnt my finger
and wasn't as hungry
as I remembered

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?

Night, the sky is at times brightest.
Cries, the loudest.
Clowns can be funniest,
darkness may flourish,
unrestrained by sight.
in still, needs are fed
unseen, waterfalls
of poetic creativeness crash and flow between
streaming, down rocks, down dreams.
Plays, romances
are written.
Life, is renewing by rest. Or dark seeing.
Days are awaiting,
in the darkness

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

It was the
  night before Halloween
all through the crib
   all were stirring putting on costumes,
all were dressing as ghosts or goblins,
in the hope treats were near.

No one was in their beds
   while visions of chocolate
danced in their heads,
   mamma, in her costume (****)
I in the living room playing
   Walking Dead replays.

When, out on the lawn, there arose
   such a clatter, I sprang from my DVR
to see what was the matter.
   In a flash I realized,
Santa was drunk and
   arrived two months early.

glad I'm here on the edge
of the crystal water my toes
buried in soft sand
my brain numbed
by Margaritas and brilliant sun
glorified and incoherently
enjoying the
Fuque-it Islands.

it takes an immense amount of time and
energy to think about it, so, I try
to live here and then now,
just living it
not reminiscing or planning
the next move,
It leads to a bad credit rating,
broke up relationships,
many clothes and record
collections burned,
I still mourn, just not as often
the loss of my Air Jordans'
my favorite blue jeans,
my notebook with drawings of
my next tattoo and
my Grateful Dead Lp's ,
and my I -phone
I just bought, that ounce
I had hid in those jeans,
along with several contacts
and her picture,
but in the now I see,
a big fire.

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.

down on all fours
down a mountains
contours
across a cool creek
dog-paddling
with stickin' thickets
sharp mystery
as darkness approaches
I proceed down
and down
on all fours
searching a passionate
write is a mission
crawling down
down
like a Spring-rat of unknown
to the valley below.

love her oohs and ahs
music to my ears
her vociferousness
we parlayed and drank several hours away
laughed and smoked a blunt
and her hand was right there
I was expecting her to pull it away
when I reached out and touched it
she was a lady but
let me grasp her
and she was quite a lady
my ears are ringing

walk the path unused unseen
see the endless view and dream
see a world at peace
with me
view an entirely new you
and me.

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.

The moon has nothing to be sad about,
Staring from her hood of bone.

She is used to this sort of thing.

Her blacks crackle and drag.


Sylvia Plath

that's it
the this of now is where
I am gonna hang my cap hat my
toupee

Then there was when
that day I had long hair
and a goatee
always wet

vigorous , in a way
no doubts no second thoughts
my way or
nothing at all

had two ***** then
now I have three
they sag down lower then
my knees

I dont care anymore
wrinkles around every curve my biceps
turned into droopy triceps
my lower eyelids
into nose bags
my ears into forests
my chin into three of em

that is the way
I live work  hard
party when not working and
it took a toll
I just wish the mirror had a mute button
It has started laughing at me

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.

Do not stand at my grave and weep
by Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weep:
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starshine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry:
I am not there; I did not die.

at the beautiful sunrise at the stray cat
hiding beneath my van in the shade
trying to make believe she was hidden,
it brought me to mind that nothing can hide,
forever, eventually, some sun
breaks the hiding into dapples
of gold
and reflections of glitters
like diamonds
and sparkling cats eyes
trying to be
alive and
scared
of where she was
caught unawares
of the night ending

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.

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

my  hiney is shiney ya'll
glittering like the bottom of the Christmas tree,
or the path to the hill, in morning glory.

I powdered it after my shower.
looked in the mirror. If i was a girl,  *******, I would  love it.

Roundy and soft, like a **** should be, when I am eating.
It's aim is at times off. There are reasons for that.

Cause I was blinded, my hind-sight is history.

and all do when clarity becomes ambiguity
it might scants be hyperbole to say all do
as four operations can be found by classical
rhetoricians or any half-assed poet can
as any all assed assumption always is
addition by subtracting or transferring
an omission into permutations which scholars
proudly do , ironically.

A poet I know so deftly deep
in prose  so depth he breathes
cigarette ash and beer breath
buried he is already
with his yellow pad
nearly drained
skipping beat heart
and a pen dripping:
this poet
only needs tipping
from his whirling chair
into the whole he is digging
this is an epitaph?

simply paradise
wherever she is
that is where
I long to be

if can never be hope
that it matters not
it is in this season
shivering early
dark

will  if ever it can ever be
more shattered  thought
without positive reason
arriving nearly
stark

may be if ever was more
the time to be distraught
with earths poisons
the cold un-endearing
heart

mighty oaks  elms still
soar ever naked bereft
a sudden more
rest in their  winter
bark

tiny ever  shudder burrow
underground left
huddle more together their
treasures can not be
forgot

ever more than ever
hope more ever will
be needed
than when
the days grow short.

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.

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.

I  give me you my all
rock roll
  give gave to all
it gonna be all right
i feel it tonight   right in my bones
  what with whynever
falsetto high keys
vibrations  
come here pretty babay
   echooooooo so low in southern tones
get down with me
          feel warm
as long
as   the   hard times does.

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.

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?

laudanum nights orbiting
grey names missing of souls
pale sleeping
delighting
in a slavery
of
shame
tendrils tuned
to no
heaven
herself.

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.

Spheres and nuances seances discordant melodies
played in the atmosphere
hear chords that seemed wrong
without the balance he shared
Ludwig my long lost genius hero
I listen now

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

the intent completing my purpose.
A bud on a stem capitulated to a
bee on a wing , challenges flew from me.
Experienced in fertilizing analogy, I  intended, but
obviously wilted under the pressure and blamed it
on the sun or lack of rain or pigs eating my roots away.
When I neutered myself, verbally,
darkness understood and drew me in:
oils were painted imaged in unrealistic views expressionist caricatures.
Experimental images all failed to resurrect
the benefits I had splurged.
I only meant to live.

on the moist spot the sheets curl around her
make for indentions in my head
memories unforgotten all these years hence
still I picture long legs
in the air
hear her crying my name
Geronimo be mine
I should have told her
my real name