gather sins while your victims turn
above their grave
while sounds of slime emit from ******* grime
but recall
a sinister rabid entranced wind
is waiting over the horizon
and will not be hesitant
to disembowel your grinning ***
while you feast now on other living beings
and oh, you had your fun!
You will see once come
after your light turns out
the suffering
of eternal
heat.

If i could
I'd bake you a heart
shaped cheesecake with strawberries,
I'd buy you a hundred roses.
I'd be by your side today
and celebrate your birth
with kisses and pearl necklaces
musical boxes
adorned with diamonds.
I'd take you in my arms
like I wish I could.
And never let you go.

Happy Birthday, my love,
my dearest.
Blow out those candles now,
and wish what I am.

I love you.

soft fur belly
brand new
life hurriedly
seeking nourishing warmth
mothers
warm replenish
my soul
just watching life
my cat and
her new kittens.
Beautiful.

is a cow revere able
or a pig inedible i love bacon
love me some
is
a Rosary sacrosanct? a belief
untenable
no!
But, there I go preaching,
as a much revered
man
once did: " Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her.”
why on earth with all
intelligence , no where else found not venus
nor moon nor stars, why do we
on earth
**** for
religion?

I have noticed your ways with people,
the way your dimples turn people's heads
and you are not even trying to.
The way you blink your eyes automatic
with blushed cheeks and red rosy inviting smiling lips,
I am but commentating.
Don't think for one minute,
I have noticed the curve of your ample *****,
the way your back arches
or the smooth fairness of your shoulder when  
you bend down,
or have ever entertained my hand on
the round of your bottom.
I am a learned man with principle
and the pleasures of the flesh don't
bind me nor change my desires
Miss N Chantment
for god's sake you know I am lying!!

The first seed
contains all potentially
personality
powerful feelings
exploding
big bangs
a universe newly created
expanding
silent cadences
for who can hear
dashes and dots
arranged to spell the moon
an echo infinite
into four dimensions
grows
one thought
one seed

When. You made your mind up.
And got up the guts
To live honorably
Gave up all that game ****.
Forgot all about
Who cares or don't
Anymore
And lived for real.
Its like the sky opened.
That **** dam burst
And the water washed
You clean.
On the white *******
Down the stream
I'm now king
Of all I do
Now.
And that's
All I care.

if,
could I love
          you more,
were possible....
would gravity survive?

or may the
earth dissolve, break into pieces,
in tremors
of a love so deep?

Or, may heaven part, angels sing so loud in
honors, god give a new Eden,
to us?

With
        No in particulars
                 To empirically
                         Support the data
  Of my sub-consciences'
       Ability
                 To rationally
                          Decide
I still
      
Must listen to it

Ole McKarl had a farm
Eieio
And on that farm he had
Missy
Eieio
With a cat cat here
And a cat cat there
Here a cat
There a cat
Everywhere a cat cat
Eieio
Ole McKarl had a farm
Eieio
And on that farm he got Daisy
Eieio
With a woof woof here
And a woof woof there
Here a woof there a woof
Everywhere a
Woof woof
Ole McKarl had a farm
Eieio
And on that farm he
Fell in love
Eieio
With a DiAnne here
And with DiAnne there
Eieio
Old McKarl had a farm
Eieio.
And on that farm all his beloved Eieio.
Were gathered round his feet and arms
eieio.
They gave him love and warmed his heart
Eieio
Ole McKarl had a farm
Eieio
And on this farm he
Gave his heart
Eieio
With a kiss from DiAnne
Here and a kiss kiss
There
Here a kiss there a
Kiss
All the animals
Watching this.
EIEIOOOOOOOOOO!

if wish merged with might
grew a tail and string was strung
from when i was thirteen
on a green grass field to now
in the air so high above
would swoosh
my kite
all the birds would be flying
below.

so, I sat on my stool thinking about poetic things
themes analogies metaphors
a stream
of wandering turning eddying
slowing down pooling
breaking the edges  falling like water does
following
the easy path
I started typing
here now
just flowing trying to be the water
crystal clear and my god ****** mind
is more like  the mud the water stirs off the banks the bottom
brown red blood of earthen liquid koolaid for
the fishes
mixed tiny animals swirling to an end
food for the sole
the cod the bluegills in that hole
laughing about
us humans complicating
it all

weaving quite tirelessly
on an antique loom
she peddles
the warp threads
into a room
of weft
her hands
busy with it
shuttling her craft right to left
her foot
keeping the beat of a craftmaker a musician
even

then there was
      all the life sounds the babbling
             brooks
winds in tall
          trees on the
             mountaintops
calms of the
            puffiest white clouds draping
                  my head
roars of wildness in the
             distance proclaiming
                    our freedom
a softness in the air
               her pretty voice
                    saying Hi There
nature is just that surprising
            so out of nowhere
                     comes surprising
vistas of horizons fair eyed
             wild animals close
                      trouts jumping
to say I am here

and natures'
             most beautiful creature
                      woman

saying out of her upturned mouth
           I love
                 you.

Surpasses all of our
             human systems
                  rewards.

writing
       ambiguously
tipping
        the scales over
         massacring
English?

finishing
       by polishing
it all by hacking
      to pieces with
a dull hatchet?

forcing nouns
        into untenable
situations,
       firing up verbs
smoking them
        in signals

sent from my tribe's
      only remaining
peace pipe
         choking on all the ashes
absurdly scraped up
            from the dirt floor
of my tee-***?
      
Or is it
me?

that is the one I love the most
I said as she walked away
far away, she gained distance and I thought
it was all so ******* bleak
then saw her
and her sway
her smile
her new day
to save me
her *** was incredible
her ******* the perfect upturned shape,
I even almost loved her,
but she had tastes and habits
slurping her cereal in the morning
grated on my nerves
and her bras and ******* all hanging in
from every god ****** thing,
she got tired of my sinus sounds
how I was continuously clearing my throat,
money became an issue ,
I wanted my beer and cigarettes
and her, she wanted leafy vegetables
and hummus?  Fun while it lasted,
but I felt terrible when her new dude came and
got her. Until twenty more like her
had come and gone.
And I decided to try to love myself.
I quit all the *******,
the feeling sorry
the lonely nights and
saw I was good.

Delilah!

And a shave,
     because I am overgrown
with hair and testosterone,
           clip me where I may deflate
in ego and ride me with estrogen
    until I say Aunt,
cause my Uncle is gone
        I remembered.
He ran away, never to be seen again
           for my Aunt was a *****.

it's secret
the place we get
our inspiration
it takes sacrifice
suffering
a whole lot of meditations
it takes thinking alone
feeling the whole world
being
your own soulmate
losing things
being alone
having patience
being sacrilegious
questioning
accepting
reading and sacrificing
sanity
being unafraid
being afraid too
it , this takes
a gentle wind
blown
from the mountain tops
that makes you
want to describe it's taste
it's feeling
it takes an appreciation
of  color
brown green
olive
on your
mortal soul

can you believe the sand is so warm
so gritty beneath our toes
and
holds us up?
It's like concrete with
feeling, so far away from
the suburbs type
walkways streets paved everything,
It gives a little
shifts when your weight
goes from foot to foot,
striding , leaves a trace
unseen walking down
same home after home suburbs
streets the same subdivided parts of
living, plots lain out like
cemetaries do,
only missing the headstones,
facing east.
I get hot walking but
enjoy the beach.

I think I know so many people so beautiful
once i gained a bit of notoriety and all I could
think was how nice sweet all these strangers are
when i don't know them at all
but for their words
sweet
and comments nice
when I go to their profiles
I like to read their statements more than their poems
things like
trying to be a  poet
or tired and dried out
I search for depth and abstracts
few say I am writer
one said save a life
I especially liked one who wrote
Just writing what I think, what I feel and everything in between.
and that said much but
I feel a kinship
a closeness
with those I never met in person
I suppose
you do too/

****,
so tell me again after
I die with flowers and a big ceremony

how I made you feel or melt or cry
talk now as I lay stiff unable to hear
how great and saintly I was , (unreal)

dress me in a black suit (I'd never wear
living)
place me in a golden casket
(I sure can't afford, now)
nor ever could
VA only pays 250

If I could inject while I am breathing
I want my funeral now, while I'm living!
Let's rent out the parlor
at the mortuary
and get high on ******
and Patron

I'll buy a black suit
for that cash in my life
insurance and spend it for
a big bowl of ******* and  Hash
and caviar (i've never tried it)

We'll all slurp oysters and
dance with lampshades on for nights
and then you can plant me
with the biggest smile

On my lapel, I'll die
smelling a rose I plucked
from the cemetery.

White **** touches my contrail
all the way to the toes
up and down my head
over above
a cotton underside
when I fly too high
my heart flutters the g-force wind
expectation blows
round a corner but all I see is a rock facade

on my back a weight to hold me down
social decay or what might have been
memory,
why?

do we fall farther the
higher we fly?

it is my dream to call the eagles down
with a word
to say how crystal is the river
like a diamond shimmers
in the sun
feel deeper the most tall
hills
take a flower into imagination
and taste it
shake the earth like
I am its creator
make  a psalm
a tribute
to every bit of beauty
her smile
a forest
the forest
her green eyes
her eyes reflecting
a blue sky
her  depth
her magnitude her love
the oceans

is made of sweetness and honey so complete
I could never again survive alone. Four eyes see through clouds
more better than one who  is blind already
             Arms and legs and warm flesh are better 'n
any pillow or barbie
           MY blow up doll has a leak, anyways.

I sit on this comfortable branch
I have worn grooves into the bark
with talons grasp I have weathered many storms.

There was then a wind blowing in January
that made the limb sway and I worriedly cooed,
I was so sure this storm would pass on, as all the others had,

I loved the home, I perched on;
felt as safe as in a nest,
the winds of change blew;

and I found I must fly again
into the cold winds of change,
I soar again.

There was a  tower, cellular,  and a flea market but no Louvre,
people spoke in accent, the cuisine was Haute- collards
and black-eyed peas-  the cathedral was named
First Baptist Church, that day I was not in Paris.

Still, I felt like I had several attractions to tour.
The river , not grand as the Seine,
that is more a trickle has been rumored to hold fish.
That day I saw a troubador, that day I was not in Paris.

A man with a bicycle and a six string guitar, rested in the Church
parking lot, played and sung a song for an hour. He left pushing his
bike his guitar again on his back, going I presume
to someplace not Paris.

That day I saw an old woman go into Dollar General, she didn't come out for three hours. But, when she did she had two packages she carefully loaded into the trunk of her Lincoln. I imagined she purchased the latest fashion to parade that night down at the corner saloon. That was a day I was not in Paris.

I did not miss Paris. I missed nothing. I had a sunny day, and fresh air,
and a vision of not Paris, that day.

to all my titos come of age
you speak words I understand
stand at the door wanting out
howl at every moon
need
to recreate
I get that
but I'll be **** you
may pull the blinds down
climb up to the top of the window
look out
at bighead
or whatever feline stud
is out there
arch those backs when I pet you,
it aint happening,
girls

in the shade here in southeast Alabama haze
even the red clay melts under your feet,
why we don't wander 'round,
it's quite the same  year after year,
but no one gets used to it all, ever.

The  kittens corn cotton peanuts all seeking a semblance of
shade under old rusty cars or tractors or steel
silos, our skyscrapers here in the wiregrass.

Everyone, scantilly clad as possible, girls in shorts and bras dudes all sweaty bare chests, the corn baking in the heat the cotton awaiting a cooler day to burst out, peanuts hiding underground.

The roads asphalt melting and look far away you see the heat waves
dancing to the sun upon a grey distance, which no one here ever gets to meet, or go to the dance or even approach.

The future is encroaching here though. Most all of us seek cool in what the big cities do. And end up in an air conditioned cell.
addicted to cool.
Or, just something to do?

jagged
words the rooster crows
wake up to lights from
coffin sleep
sudden scream
my pen guaranteed that
no one would escape
no poem
no breath
no sterling
deed
no human  bone remains
only
what was
meant .

as one
a play between
a man and a woman
fantasies of a man in jail
and the woman who released him
so let us go for a five mile walk and imagine
hold a pulse in our hands
while we listen to
"All my lovin"
to remember he said
'don't ever take one day for granted"

Drape the corner
   you no longer come close to
weave a memorial
  to our grandmothers
out of your way
   I toil
subsist on carcasses
     play my eight legs
like a trapeze artist
      feeling every twitch
in the corner
    where you no
longer play.

beauty this vision a blessed
blossom on a wispy stem
swaying
glows in the dawn glares in the dusk,
beauty is blindness,
love is mortal,
I lust
for beauty and
blessed
ephemeral
meaning.

by
us.

is there a condition
where one can overdose on empathy
on caring
until tears become a malady

Until others hearts
are nearly more important
than ours
and we **** up our life

is that or
could it be an addiction
to seek maybe sad things
and others pain

subconsciously
trying to alleviate
our own?

I am wondering
if I need an intervention.

you know how after gesso-ing the canvas
you sit back,
take the largest brush you have
add some titanium white with the darkest blue
you can find
and attack that woven weave wanting to
make almost love to it
temper it with color
not knowing what result you are after
I do.
Then you see light spots shadows clouds
trees and fields ponds appear
a few geese white flying
just with a slight addition here and there
trees seem to believe they are real
shadows grow all from one tangent knowing
how that is real
when what you want
need to paint is more surreal.
And the perspective all the sudden changes
into third worlds
reality
I do.
I do know the almost uncontrollable urges of creativity.
I know the best selling colors.
I just faint to use them.
I get all wild.

A bite of cheese washed down by chocolates
sweet intense remain in my senses
for ever.

A dream I once  had dreamy
asleep woke me with the smell of the sweetest
perfumed.
I stood.

Her,
love we made, smooth
gracefully tasting each others sweet
and bitter and sharps
shuddered intense

awakened, in a dream
i stay, remember her taste her smells.
She I still taste, smell, feel.

A requiem symphonic-
   a tribute to a dead one,
robust, orchestrated sympathetic my
   ear heard, in string and choir,
blesses the true listener, the poet.
   "Lord have mercy, on us....
the trumpet will send
    its wondrous sound
throughout earth's sepulchers"-
   I desire to mourn in such beauty.
Raise my tremors
     to the heights,
with deepest regards,
    Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart!

gets used to trying to nurse a barstool
that' s what we do in these parts
and chaw 'baccy and spit let loose
epitaphs and curse a bit
down here 'round Clayhatchee.

Yet most of us gooden's ya' may say
'cept 'n Joe Bob and his two brothers
both named Billy. ' course Mary Jane
her problem an' all,  see , wasn't her fault, really

she got turned out young and had to make the
groceries, when she was thirteen. Now, we laugh, but
don't really, well a little, when Ole' Ethel , the snaggle toothed
hag says she , Mary Jane , has a mattress strapped to her back.

It's right tough near 'bouts year round here, and
we laugh when we can . No bad spirits we wish any
ole' soul, least wise Mary Jane.

'cause what trouble and shenanigans
would Joe Bob and his two brothers cause
if Mary Jane weren't 'round?

all twisting around corners
dirt paved and bumpy
around snaking corners
turning which way and that
and to believe hopefully
it will straighten and get smooth
is like hoping the moon rises at dawn and the
dark is light
but, if you are like me
you like country roads
and bumps and
a different path from others
the long way around is most
often the hard way and the most
profound.

it is much more than a mystery or drama
how we seem to always meet between dawn and noon
here on the white paper plains

it is more than my dreams and yours how you look
so much like Godiva to me
to you I
may be Rasputin

for I fairly wonder how you look clothed
and not giving your deepest thoughts
to anyone meandering by.

I must seem like the Hunchback in a
cathedral to you. Brash hunched words
loud and medieval.

Or a King with no castle, nor clothes.
No diamonds to hang on your pretty head.
No knight to protect you.

But, we still meet here, by fate or design,
and so in chance not to break the spell,
and tomorrow you might not be here,

I will just go on.

childhood happy
our loving parents'  arms provided
safe and sound
when we  were sprouts undivided
from them
all needs-wants at our beckon call
to recall
is a blessing from life and all
the years
that have passed and disappeared
cannot
won't remove those times
for me

Last night
      Last night
             Laaaàaaast night!!!!

To cuss **** out
     Last year
           Last year
                Laaaaaàast year!!!!

To last year....
      May you just go
              May you go  
                  Fuuuuccccking  go!!!

come crashing down
through darkness
into sight
a permanent marker
sharpie stuck in your eye
black all you see
negatives hung on the walls
charcoal reliefs
of those you knew
paragraphs of sadness
posted to your wall in pencil
on sheets of paper

ashtrays filled with ashes
trash cans with beer cans
and the day begins
thinking of when it will end
making breath and striving
just to make it
until
you see the moon beckons again

most of our souls in cool slitted jeans
watch the crowds fall into
the happenings, privately talk to our
consciences mistake breathing for living

connect by wireless texts play the latest video
when walking past real people
who if we looked up may be the hello
we need.

See a screen of life continuously bufferring
awaiting for it to say   start.

High high we type complain,
of some troll when
all our being is being
a

bit or byte
a hexadecimal encoded
in
a screen, one coded
wrongly.

One cloud away
from
reality.

stands its season
ripe
as the depictions painted
outlive nature's generosity
tend as lovers do
to forget
their fragility
handling flesh like swords
conquering the earth with passion's
brevity
just as the reaper swipes
his scythe ruthlessly
and the chaff
falls like fallen soldiers do
into dirt
as we all do

reading someone , is intimate
her words are her heart
I try to take that in account.

atop the glistened mirror top
where the sky projects on this mirrored  surface
clouds and limitless
floats a small girl almost flower like
lotus pearl white arms pirouette
a flowered world on a
polished pond a vision
of graphene serenity
stronger than anything
like looking at melting suns
starbursts and signatures
of Greek gods acclaim
la fleur so small
grandiose
beauty stemmed
perfectionist
floating proud
independent
an image
glowing
sincere
just there

Can't never wash it off
        never hide my slanguage
what with this drawl
        some babys likes
the way I slur it out
        trace me as I walk
their purry eyes burnin'
        call me all kind 'a names
alone in the dark
        reverently remember
my  sly deliveries
        the next day
walk all sideways eee
         just white
trash from Alabam' eee.

A charcoal black butterfly
with tiny bits of lavender
trim and through my twill
and fibers
I believed myself beautiful
and flew higher
with growing speed
and lengthening wing.
Someone told me
you're wrong, you're a moth,
as if it was an insult.
My wings vertical up
in the sun I fly
bulbous topped antennae
and why
I'd be called a moth,
I mean, nocturnal I find divine,
and in my tiny flying mind
knowing there are more moths
than butterflies
sensed belonging along a greater swath.
Away from my predator I flew
gracefully buoyantly
in an even better mood
saying in my tiny flying mind
... thank you.

Mr. robert,
    amongst those trees
on that snowy eve,
   above that frozen lake,
in timber as cover
         pine straw my relief,
My horse, a bike,
       a horse I wish for,
My wheels speak
        of just miles
left before,
          I sleep.
Amid the bed of pine
   my eyes weary.

how deranged , can
I do letters , arrange
verbs
displayed black on white
noun verbally
portray points
of my brain taking in
electrical impulse
pulses painting reality,
neurologically composed symphonies
I give in to it.