on my
horror I will do my best
to do my doodie on  my country Scott free
to obey reason
to at all times , if they helped me,
sort of return the favor,
to be psychologically wrong,
mentally deranged, morally bereft.

Crossed wires of me
might be the
Margaritas?
Or the servility
   I bow, non-willingly,
to societal norms?
   I am healthy, physically,
just a swimmy head
   and lots of gas bloating
I swim floundering
at time to times,
  But, not guilty
I feel
   passionate dreams notedly
defy me particularly
        when I accidentally rhyme.
So conflicting
  this non-physical malady,
Paralyses like a Greek tragedy,
Sophocles, I need so badly,
   to diagnosis me.

which period shall I resound the four
verses one, the rhyme?  shall I use parentheses
or just write free, might I space
or italicize or leave this un-glamorized?

I walk down the long six-story concrete steps
a step at a time divining
the barren apartment
the govt spends
its money on above hovering

You think I want to live here
in this danger rat infestation
its free but that don't make me happy
I have a baby
and the world calls me a freeloader

obviously, I have decided to
write this in stanzas
it doesn't flow like the steps
this woman walks down daily
I do my best

sometimes I sleep with men when the cupboards bare
I decided to break the flow up

for why
I don't know

I have gone two weeks without diapers before and my baby
I would do anything for her so don't judge me. I
am not a *****.

I am trying to survive.  

Again I interrupt her story to inject-
poetry has to make a difference, it often doesn't rhyme, it
isn't made to be  syllables and meters.
It is to make a difference. Let me shut up.
let her speak.

I didn't mean to bring a child into this hell. But I gave in
to one night of weakness, Now I am stuck  on the sixth floor here in this bleak *** building with no hope no
idea how I might make her life better.
I have tried god.

All I have now are the streets.

The streets are brutal.

A name so colors one, is anyone satisfied with
a nomenclature such as Myrtle or Prudence or
a name that shouts out a particular feature:
like Hogg, or ****.
Who the hell is as lucky as Rene Descartes
or 'scuse me , my favorite, Blaise
Pascal. Wow. I wanna name me next newborn
Papa, see what becomes
do his pals
make fun.
Or, will he or she
suffer
under letters small
and
significant.

so  beauty is
measured
not in time worn remembering
but in  youthful exuberance

brilliance parlayed
censored
by lack of experience
is young and fades away

wise is the one
best when
seeing true beauty
glow and never fade

by eyes of memory
or genius
that knows beauty
is

ordinary magnificence
lives in the daily rituals
of caring for the
day to day

if I am elected president  of this great country,
next month will be a month long
holiday, a celebration of blacks
whites yellow red brown cellophane
imaginary characters, superheros,
invisible mystery movie stars
country western, Rap stars, long haired rockers
Disco even ( among the most reviled)
rhythm and blues, blues reds
those with accents, those without,
homosapiens and bisexuals lesbians thespians the gay and those happy
foot fetishists, my subscription to wow toes lapsed,
biologists psychologists street pharmacy dudes
Marilyn Monroe (oops my freudian slip, there)
women men boys girls , old young two and four legged
disabled American vet or not
truck drivers , doctors nurses garbage collectors(I gotta give them cred)
machinists secretaries liberals conservatives socialists ummm
communists?, maybe not so much,
waitresses even bill collectors,
lawyers the clergy and those elected,
maids kings queens prostitutes pimps
bad  weak , rednecks Santa , I seen him today at the seven eleven
he works construction this time of year, the DEA
the Armed Forces, probation officers
the unemployed , the guy in the suit at the grocery in front of me buying Ribeyes with food stamps, teachers, septic tank pumpers  
.......whew,   I gotta take a break. I left many out , but this month long holiday is going to be inclusive. No one left out behind.
All colors all sizes all sexes all religions.
Gotta for once stop dividing this country into us
and them, see us all as Americans.

round and about discovering
the hidden mosses and evergreen
mosses lichens

down on all fours recovering
the bides of soft scenes seen
tosses like soils moist

brown and rich recalling
the times of a youthful dreaming
spent

discovering the
doe romping fertile in her young
youthful nature growing
seeds sowing
this
remembering.

away above into

     float if float is possible

with pretty nice people

talking like angels
                                   in prose
into a mystic vision                 where steeples
climb   true   heights
                 where stars are

light and dark is
     a palace

of golden streams
             honey flowing  from

every tongue

free
            money is not needed

All is beautiful.

so dearest,
Is time on the
Highway
Blurring black tar
With white lines,
Eyes melding
With lids,
Trying to cling to
The quest,
A song of the rubber
On miles
Keeping beat with
Sirius xm,
A memory of your golden
earring
burning a hole in
My chest ,
Overpassing rest stops
Petrol stations
Cows in the fields,
Such lonely looking
trees bare,
A message in the air,
The sun on the horizon,
Just driving
To you,
there.

are hands necessary to feel
feet needed to run
a tongue necessary to speak
against wrong and injustice
limbs are a tree's necessity
to  leave a destiny
we
only need a heart to feel.

Equality and the Golden One

Wrote with her hand
scribed a desire so  primal
inside all of us

A union formed of prose
describing an Anthem
a value, reason

without number disavowing
a collective will.
Men are free, Ayn said

In turmoil  Equality and the Golden One
found the tunnel and electricity
and began again

our struggle.

somewhere someone
lies in wait
to judge all my
infidelities.

With a scale of morality
he will weigh and balance
indiscretions
against good deeds.

I gave to a homeless family -
dinner. I ******* my best friend's girl.

Is my time balanced,
or is sin irrevocable?

Either way, I am at peace.
Good deeds and sin, I decided,
are part of human nature's
two sided duality.

Cruelty and empathy
love and hate
desperate and giving
we all need forgiving.

In the end,
If you ask me,
The judge will decide, who is correct?
the rest.

What may it be? A critic or mass or both sown together
within a sphere explosives around threatening?

An angry oceans of heavy neutrons imploding, or, tell me,
is it the amount of money for the majority
to nuke the minorities from here to eternity?

Is, critical, for now, (I am densely packed), a moral majority erupting to take all of our freedoms?
Is  Uranium or Plutonium being sold ;
by my drug dealer?

I mainlined something. Saw a trillion explosive stars,
or was that just you,
walking into the room?

The child cut up paper into feathers
A headdress
Another into feathers for a turkey
And the Indian child told the truth
Wept
And his tears were taken like the waters from his ancestors farms
To feather a white nest of
Lies and harm
Today the harm has
Been shrouded like the sun
Behind darknesses
And the native wanders
Alone
And truth cannot stop
The black cloud lies
From darkening
A legacy
Or the forests dying
On horizons
Of tall white
Concrete
Fallacies
Or the proud indigenous
Bearers
Passing into
Dream
Like shadows
In the trees

You are a goddess
                                             bearing aphorisms,
                     winged words
                descended
                                       from angels
breath
              birthed golden gilded,
                                                                      individual
                Springs ephemeral flowing
                         down verb filled
                              streams of  
                              adjectives,

                       adjuncts to
                 towering majestic
pronouns                             most
                              naked

                in their originality,

                uttered
                      virginal,unstained

          no matter their verse,
            
  immortal,
                             feeling unrestrained.

Moist petal flower spread
Those earthen made beautiful
Red wings like
Birds do fly fly out Among the skies
Above
Do not be bound by
Rules or norms no man
Ever made or normality
Or dread
You're silk
You are the songs
Butterfly's
Make
Abandoning
This ground.
Yours are earthen cries
Made heard that change
This world
And come a day then
When unfurled
The sky shall open up
Heaven on this earth.

voices manner and off the dock waves splatter
on the beach that night
two steps more we'd have been in love
but we spoke in patterns
waves slow ebbing flows
moon tide growth and glowing embers
stepping close then flowing  back
the night tide growth the
humid strife
we never met
or spent our time
together on these ancient rhymes.
But, in a scent, a moment meant
a drama of a moon crescent,
we'd tried to touch like mariners
the sea and all her
frothy crests.

lazily lost
to crony capitalism
corporate cobwebs
hunger
unsatisfied
first come served
rich get richer
walls get bigger
the river deeper
the gap is wider
the poor get
poorer
the black get blacker
the rift grows wider
the police get narrower
shootings
more common
more people dying
politicians
appear more frequent
on the TV
and nothing gets better
solved
are the next elections
nothing more

ten miles into the woods where the retort
would not be heard
he jumped off a bridge
where  none  had stood

he was where he went when it all got to be too
much, his refuge, infirmary
and I guess he saw
it all as too much

finally
but, he left two little ones wondering
was it their fault
and questioning doubts
the rest of their lives

I used to respect him and thought
about him as a gentleman
and how he represented an
upstanding  family man,
I guess I was mistaken

asset reallocating
     is last in first out
the last out tends
        to be left out
accounting and all
   the receipt records keeping
is a hat full
      my head gets weighted down
keeping track of
   so Accounts receivable, are
archived while I burn
    the Accounts Payable.

pick corn all day
wear my hands raw
on cotton bolls
redden my neck raw
in the hotness
milk Bessie,
fatten up the golden calf,
or catch the gold of sunsets
the shine of moonshines glistening
or writhe this poem of us,
in a field in spring
me spinning around you
you drinking me in
in this fair field tonight,
me love.

After
reaching my destination,
I get bored easily,
  all the new wears off my high,
and the people are all the same
   Flintstones
I dream of a place of
   Jeanie,
I am an astronaut,
  I get creative,
rub a bottle or a
    pipe,
think a magic vision
    will smoke up
resolve all.
    Wish me,
luck!

amore hear the melody of....
       again again anon anon
bring a symphony of love
   to my ears sing with
perfect pitch the perfect song
     to the perfect end.

pause...... repose
   then here the flautist's
feathered twill
      the bass driving
the beat we tap our hearts
    together to

french horns and clarinets
     bringing fullness to the song of....
amore  amore...
  ever building the suspense

 to a mutual end.

Spent, we cry,

          Bravo!   Bravo!

in erectile functions or asexually
the ideas that give meanings or rises
or raise the honor guards rifles;

complicate the pool with lust genes
surprise me in profundity
or praise the humble

help yourself by helping another
don't accept blindly what is handed out
consider the futility

of grandness in you and houses and material things
just once
let it

reproduce
a kinder heart in us in me
in you

taffylike I sat melting
in my blue jeans
as she took my hand
and we gulped
the last sips of our Black Jack
and chugged the dregs of our tall Buds
I was already there

We ended up on the beach
running barefooted
nothing but endlesses seemed to wave on the dark seas
as our breath ran out fell
together
like two seagulls
on a crust of bread

a part of me is still there
now
and the stars flicker and waves crash
again
when I am alone
not ever dimmed
by time
or her leaving

Searching through my circumcised conceits
ransacking allegorical nature
a more outlandish metaphor
alluding to your eyes glistening,

Though Shakespeare, were he to hear,
would revolve over over again
in his graves, may he feel free
to make jokes of.

I say with poetic assertion
confidence, no other allusion
would come closer to truth,

to my purpose, than me saying,
your eyes contain the sparkle of ten million diamonds:
they are far

far brighter than any sun.

in a battle of hymns
synonymous lying
relying
on ***** thrusts,
deep fully orchestrated,
lutes and harps playing
the climbing cries to heaven,
four-part cacophonies
adapting Eastern chants
with Western modalities,
proceeding
altars, of which
ring with decepting cries
force a singular theme,
if not followed
your voice is heard in hell.

when you said you loved me
    as a friend.

ten beams into the building I knew her
she was the tiller from a seagoing vessel
a sway a leech to the port a missing tender
a long lost vestige of her cargo
the gold the plates
the necklaces traded
all on the bottom
and this tenth beam now holding the center of the floor of
this old building straight and level
had her strength once floating
on a sea ridge a foam of shore
crashed into
and broken apart
and spent and forgotten and under dark tides
was alone
in her failure so long ago
that sent men and cargo to the depths
she staggered again into being
taken from a watery death to live
as the  support
of this
odd sort of haunted structure
proud now and determined
wood finished and raw and old  and bowed yet
stout and proud
and I sensed her ten beams in

Into a Dollar General I brave
scalp and pillage
looking for a new hatchet, a new pair of mocassins,
a cheap gift for Pocahontas!
Only went to the General,
because my horse was tired and overfilled,
with Thanksgiving oats and felt weird in the pilgrim hat I had on his head.
was too far to go all the way to Wal-Mart.

stare into the *******
   watch with desolation
See the constellations
    but miss the fires
blazing around watch
    the rivers cast
shadows closing in
     burn you down
run
     as the burning trees
and visions
      feel the heat
but not the fire.
        Never see
the desire
         or understand
true love.

five thirty pm

drool
begins

fast life
zoom
seals in aquariums

burst world
is all
under water

just one small
hit  and

i hear my heart
beat

feel the world
outside

every window
flash lights


it's called
geeking

tongue feather tickles
light on ***** *******
sweet but milky faint
feeding from the ****
like loving
a painter or poet
or riding a bike
once you know it
you can never forget.

planned schizoid prosody perchance
post-haste  a Pastoral providence
psychotic pathos that infects please,
the permanence of the promise
praise the Prometheus stealing
the flame
against the will of Zeus feeding
the fire of man:
proffer in the remaining pursuit
of posting in a poetical
perchance.Pursue!

come
   to terms with satisfaction   expressions  emotions forgiven   strobe light dreams .... blackest visions accept.
ghosts live      with what is closest      thee warm are
closer to the edge
tiptoe
get around and measure  up then
tune in;  
cents is sent in little incremental bits:
hang on tweets: rebound around your face;
as books go unread
I sit
on
the shelf
echoes are replayed
needs go unheard.
dead is dead

The truest love i have been witness to
is heartbreaking, so destitute,
but, resonates still in my head,
And happened just last week.

In a trash filled trailer
on a trash filled street,
broken windows no electric,
a crackhead I knew
gave his last hit,
to his new best friend.

up among the violet of a Wisteria vine
among all the dogwood blooming white
sat one Yellow-breasted chat
heard but not seen

calling a mate from another nest
all day long he hid
and trysted with a variety of his
fellows mates

when he returned to his nest he
rested until
Mrs Yellow-breast chat smelled

a faint odor of slight perfume
on his beak
saw his eyes flutter

knew he was not out chasing worms

she more than laid
an egg

Aidos was the goddess
guide to non-self enlightenment
ultimate submission
striking the pride of demons down
obedient I have become to Aidos wisdom.

I repress the misty view of desires
unworthy flattering
no longer my worth or view
as now I sit legs crossed
on the ground,
submit to
humility.

alone
just me
in skin in bone
a collection of neurons
spinning protons
a dance of
small components
one in the spinning
universe
a plastic plasma thing
able to comprehend
I think
the thrill
of this given ability
to touch
another
living
human
being

She is a
                daisy
blooming madly
                yellow
topped evasive
                thin
stem standing
                fragrant
as a spring my
                 daisy
rhyme covered
                 posing
proudly my daisy
                 poses
and I breathe
                 because
of her flowery
                 fragrance.

today I have come full circle around
in perversity and  nuances
ask why if you are curious
my ****** thrills have been shown
too much on the internet
quickly finding
and watching so much
I got numb
I sought seeked sorted out some madness
in satisfactions
came up with one thing
that is hard to find
on google even when
incognito
I get a cheap thrill
knowing I am the only one
that gets off
on gnomes.
You can call me odd or off or
psychotic or deranged.
My neighbor who had ten
gnomes
and now five
calls me a thief.

cosmetic, are the ways we decide
to be or not to be:
excuse that;
falsehood is realty, sales are all we seek.

democratic, economic senses
falsely impersonate with  store bought ****
lifted faces

money is enough when selling or buying
push it to get the best deal
it 's common sense

I see traces though, of
humility, when looking at faces.
Can't seem to play the game?

severed , fish on the block
head I sit
ripe as a two year old egg
shelled
bitter as vinegar mixed with jack
Black stirred into a margarita and two shots of
house bourbon a beeker  of *** two
fingers of peepermint schnapps
and a handi-wipe
for a napkin
moderating an argument between this big woman
and a bear of a man  
about the rules of pool
whether  ***** are big small which
both of them dripping ice from their nostrils wild *** eyed
trying to slip off the far edge of the stool and at least go ****
they have me surrounded
one in my left ear big girl in my right
any closer their teeth would take a bite
sneered she does good and he all 6 4 350 lbs of him
reeks of hard work and the drout
I see clouds overhead

clouds everywhere
a lot of spit
little rain

device
tool gadget peripheral component
   nuclear
heavy metal band
                     pop/
Eons/
albums lay
personally forgotten
United States military
award
I plot ambiguous ,
I devise.

her eyes were blond
a breast of Valentines
awestruck, we was by
*** that stuck out into yesterday and a face that
would make you     kiss her dad,
a friend of mine, stuck an elbow
into my rib and said, she's lookin'
at you. I knew she was.
But, was it because i was droolin'

forage through
my carrots polish my tomato
smile as you suggestively
swallow the banana
devour all the
sour cream
on the red hot long
burrito
gulp the vanilla
ice cream
smile shyly
when I get a taste of pie.

I know you have loved to where it hurt like the guitar strings
pulled twisted plucked cried out to an audience at the Fillmore
or had that backbeat inside the bass the drums
saying **** me
cried out like the lead singer
have you ever loved more
inside your heart torn outside becoming in
as the melody sang about
some love in two tones
you took it to heart
deep
understood again
how magically the words were
somehow
written
just for you

I let loose of  inhibitions, became bigger 'n all those Dragons
on hit or puff or snort or swallowed **** or crack
is like inhaling gas then haunting through the night peeps
or stealing tabs from the old lady next door to sell for substances
more enjoyable peruse my *******
life  of using with me
ecstasy was costing me way too much.
I give thanks to god almighty,
I was always afraid of needles, I would have died as sure as swallowing
a slug from a 45 colt down my throat.
I get off on internet poems,
but never deny where I came from.
I hope for all,
to be also free,
from that.

to my therapist:
even she doesn't listen!