Grandma's dress at the end was a sling around her
left leg and arm attached to a rope
and pulley we thought, or I did at five, was fun
to pull on
her exercise
she couldn't talk
but made expressive grunts to garner my mom's attention
when she saw me doing wrong
going into a room I shouldn't have
she was all there except
for verbalizing and being one sided
I liked to cuddle with her  
I still see it all

I am to know: her skill she poetically makes me see
come: to a point,
conspiratorial at times, but, aren't we all?
orphans?
In shells With heads hidden in?
She is destined: nature  knows
she has an ear no matter how
sometimes: I yell, she always comes back.
She is from hell : or a guide sent to save me?
She knows all the words: knows every dead poet.
She grows: on me, and in my head more every way
with each day, wonderful.
She is my Queen, my muse:
my today: Tomorrow.

I have never seen a happier face
than his
and he was dirt poor
ignorant
or was he
came right out the mountains stinking
as bad as any badger or ****
had dirt caked from months
not bathing
and his smile was great as Mona Lisa's
happy and I reflected
in his lingering
essence
long after his smell left
out the airpipes airconditioned stuffy
surrounds I had become
encumbered with

In a principled mind,
which formed speculatively at best,
on cognition and dreams,
desires and subliminal manifestations
of life's energies,
I stumbled upon
and repetively focused on the unpleasant
aspect my mind seemed to be,
of somehow this
other me, like a curtain over a window to
my entirety. I was mostly here on this side of
the thick veil, or was I? There was more , I was certain.
More to me.
I found art the desire to create
at odds with my desires to self destruct.
I ran around the mural slashing
as I colored the sky the most
appealing blues.
I spoke of peace while killing a lamb for dinner.
I slid under death one way or another
one day and caught the other me
saying , I meet you again-
At Last.

I have a higher shelf a pinacle that
seems empty , barren,
one made of mahogany over the ones
holding copies of Shelley, now unbound,
stocked with mementos and keepsakes
made of pine but servicable
upholding my precious things
carefully sturdy ,
to the left , a tad dusty, leaning on the
copy of Michelangelo's David bookend,
is  "In Search of Lost Time" gathering,
well, dust , now,
next to, with my fingerprints
outlining the title ,
on a timeworn cover, leans,
"Tom Sawyer" ; I can see a cane pole
figuratively jutting out from
the shelf. Above on the second shelf from the top
sits a rock, just a plain river worn smooth
everyday rock, that to anyone else would be
nothing, but, to me it is more precious than gold of the same size.
I collect special things.
And the top mahogany shelf
is empty
reserved for only vivid
memories
of
Grandma  
of that girl long ago
of when my children arrived on this earth
of a smile
from all the women I have known
also, although, invisible
only worthy for that shiny shelf are the hearts and souls
of the best people ever.
And when you visit, think again, about an
ordinary smooth rock,
and an empty mahogany
shelf.
A rock or an empty shelf
can be more
than it seems.

she gives me
   with no expectations of getting returns,
thumbs up
   reasons to go on
loving all the
     days grey cold
or sunshine warmly
     in unconditional highs
I wish to lift her up
          sanctify
our love
   fight our demons
live forever
   propose
eternity
   to her.

Snowing
                leaves in May
    astray,
the leaves
               in the breeze
                                    weave;
blowing the dead
               of winter away.
    The pine-needles,
              boughs, in precess
precede, indeed the Dance in May.

Lovebugs
            lead the Bur ****
- in trance-
            squalls
from mockingbirds enhance
      the sweet Ballet of May.

Butterflies
            pass the Alms Tray
in hands
             of  ants and flies and sand-
to the congregation of
              honey bees
   and hummingbirds
              who await-
the Yellow Rose's bouquet.

I reflect every morn after one cup
of coffee and two cigarettes
play Sudoku
try to relieve me
logically this biological fact
smells when I try to

get up after playing
naked Twister until 3 am
and running out of Crisco at 4.

To love,
      surety sure as the sky is blue
blue as any and all warmth
           of colored skin
true as truth on the lips
             of statues
of red lipstick on a rough chin
                  strong
as stronger hangs from steel
          taller skyscapes
and mountain limbs
            deep
deeper than a long call of
            an eagle soaring down
to her mate falling, falling
                  around down
down to almost crash
          but see
the seas as the blue rush crash
               on white sands beauty of
naked skin
                and hues of
sunlit scenes
                      in your bronze
brown skin your eyes,
    To love: In more brevity...
is all there is!

I have drawn portraits
charcoals  of Saints
who stayed in one plane
for 200 hours, not moving a hair.

I built a castle, over a hill,
which one I forget.
I have painted oils,
landscaped with smiley faces,
they might look as if they have boils.

I have written, specious, meaning one thing saying another,
poems and probably will do again.
I have laid with Mona Lisa naked,
her perfect breath breathed
into my head.

I have chased Dragons, had a princess by her long hair,
her breast a white snowy her mouth the pinkest gasp.
I have stood taller and fallen farther.
I would, gladly,
do it all again.

Tattoo of a shoe
right 'tween
        me eyes.
cause, I
        drunk again
got the ****
        kicked outta me.
Bruised, staggering
        I somehow
made it home
        only to find me dame
banging
        me best ex- friend.

into danger I walk again
just getting up
awaking from a world of dreams
I must try to
make reality

stagger out from under covers covering
sanity-into insanity again
this world's  become and looking
back since I was
young and naive,
always was

abuse fruit loops or watermelon rinds
in ****** rituals is just       wrong
right is cheerios and bananas just  
right for good times also a bit of ice and whipped cream
makes for a good scene
now then, Vienna sausages are not kosher to poker play her
with nor is bleu cheese, mozarella is just the twang sometimes
and a cold spoon sometimes does the trick,
Ritz crackers leave less mess between the sheets than salted or plain crackers
and to wash it down I prefer to Malt lick her.

somewhere in momma's apron
for apple pie made out of ritz crackers
no apples
seen but tasty

In Daddy's calm
and North Mid- west accent
that make
an Akron born

transplanted seed
down south , in Alabama
so at
home here

ask whenever
someone asks me, where
i came
from , I

say, a little bit
of Vincennes some strong
Buckeye
who back

then reached
into momma's apron
pulled out
my recipe

we are abiding
she has abode
I will abide
we will have abode

we are breaking
she has broken
I will break
we will have broken

we are going
she has gone
I will go
we will have gone

It is what's it, an o'dourves  on melody,
ears tuned to,
Again, again...again...
Beethoven or Mozart
timbers
threads strings dances on eardums
philharmonic, Building To sUch AN END!!!!
a pause, reposing low, resolving,
getting all the orchestra and Audience ready
for:
a little french horn, then flute...
tympanic growing
Violins again strumming.
A trill from a clarinet, a bass drum beating,
filling the lawn so full,
every soul on a last leg waiting
for the *******
END!!!.

I clapped my hands together
finally killing the fly
that had been bothering me
all day,
saw his little meaningless body
fall to the floor.

I rejoiced a minute,
then got to thinking,
he may have been
a metaphor sent,
to remind me  of me.

A boy inside an old man
rides a coaster rolling
heart and old bones
partitioned jointly
mutually delusive
                 a young squire
unlearned boastful
                 ancient philosopher
cobwebbed naivete
revolutionary
a Freudian absurdity.

for ringing
   division bells
hearing them ring too
     soon, threatened by shadows
of random precision cast
by the
      Dark sides of the Moon,
comfortably numb
       Time maddeningly
clocking ,
   the loonies in the hall,
hey you, out there getting
   old fading smiles
easing all your pain
     show me where it hurts
my hands two balloons
        now i have the fever again
so, I think can you tell
       tell if I can feel
smiles from what I might trade
       cold comfort for change
a lost soul
          a look in the eye
caught in the stutter of a cold breeze
         blowing shining
on misty reaching for a secret

wisteria in the spring
her color a gorgeous violet
and she entwines  the senses
and I once knew a woman
that tamed one
had a wrist-thick
limb her kids could sit on

is yellow in spring like grass starved of sun
summer brown as the sun burns so hot and long
green just reaching her ripe full breath in autumn
white in the cold of winter all covered up
clear on a cool night clear as peppermint
hot and moist at mid-summer hotter than hades
at moments, refreshed like a breeze off
the coldwater brisk in December
eternal as a kiss from a loving mother
smothering yet comforting no
matter her temperament
loving as a new puppy's bad breath
like yellow ochre on a palette awaiting a cheek
to add some color needed,
or alizarin the crimson of a wind blown fell leaf

I have found the beauty
you propounded
your wisdom in choosing me

Heart melded perhaps
with wisdom
self with empathy

it took ages and
was not an easy path
to send me on

you , my muses ,
must have seen something
in my being

in my me, far off , you
saw future , predicted
where I might become

a mere human
striving for a muse or inspiration
among so many.

I am heartened
by the thought of you
inspiring

so many more

out of the corner of my eyes
when you don't notice
seen you be nice to homeless
men give a dollar to a crackhead
I bless
that you
are
blessed
goodness out
angel within
no doubts
I just love
you.

All social commentary (warning)
   from this author from now on
is sent without any commentary from
the editors
here at me.
All, from hereon out, are not to be the editor's responsibility,
and the entire staff here at me, comment, his are not my words or meanings.
The words of word are his and since the editors
are drunk as me and ****** up as I (if not more)
I am including this, and
as you see,
this is
the result.

I heard it as distinct as I hear my heartbeat
in my ears. A slight, faint plaint, from the corner
of my closet.
Was it a purr? Or a breath from a lost friend
calling me to look. Marge, a phantasm, memory?
Touched my shoulder. I heard words say,
look in the little box in the corner.
I did, as I thought of looking back,
and saw two eyes peep up. Grey white furry head attached.
They seemed to say to me, I am sorry.
I heard mews then, I knew.
My Babay, a stray I took in when I  lost her, was nursing four of
earth's miracles.
I haven't cried as much since Jan 7th.
I fed her tuna milk.
and, bought me a big
cigar, alternating,
between memories,
and the newness of life.

tongue
'tween to and fro
among teeth tied
eyes
bleached in sunlight
reality
a blaring
yellow glow
**** lemon taste
I know
of lying and
subterfuge
as
I stand naked
in the glaring
relief.

I sent a leg UPS to
my mom
she needed one
she been all gimpy
for twenty years now
sent my brother
my *******
my dead dad
a hallejuah
my son a missive via
twitter
he aint responded,
my ex her alimony
check written
on rubber ,
a used one,
called my girl
she was busy again-
she aint got a job but
sure stays busy-
my dealer ,
I sent a Christmas card
birthday card
called him on our anniversary,
he was my best man
at my wedding,
we borrowed his
Porsche
for our honeymoon,
hope he don't know what we did
with his gear shift,
I sent the IRS
an IOU
again.

with a bit of dual casual id ities
one day i heckle
the next i jive
all along
the rolly coasty ride
when in the valley
hide I do
on the peaks
I giggle
too much
you see
saw me there
a bit of bi-polarized

a deer
in the
glare of a midnight
blue
full sun
and half-moon
house of horror
carnival ride

a need to be the center
of attention
if I can climb out
from under the bed
earning my board
dressed  
as a siamese
twin

ever is where?
I am at it
      I never have seen
a ridge where night
touches the dew- or
     sunlight glows
on both the day and you.

There I sat upon
   a ledge teetering
fearing heights
              and the depths of darkness
     below. Tottered
down upon spoiled grounds.

Ever is where-  over a hill?
    may we ever see
sun glints-
      on green
      eyes
strong trees,
          sowing seeds
in sunlights.

drifting
I seem to live right there
anymore

the tide washes me clean
then crashes
me on the shore

I seem to ebb
with the moon's
phases

like the sounds
of the animals
bay and call

from the shore
the seagull's caw
every wave

my life my death
and I taste salty
and sweet

see depth
see foam and everything

independent
    of any benevolence
unadapted to lush
     green lawns hues
watching grasshoppers bounce
     mockingbirds attack
the grey clouds approach
     bursting
with renewing
      thunder claps bringing
rain
drop
drop

closing
approaches

a feast
of rainbows
after the
storm.

to burrow underneath the hoarfrost the
howling winds cold burying the last signs
of fall the last robin's call to leave

to follow the life's call ode to sleep
as the wise bear does curling deep in a
cavern his sleep ignoring

the December's and January's
sun oblique
with misery  transposes the day
shorter  

bareness the trees the land the 'scape
in sleep the wiser among us
flee or doze

until, barely on the fly
might hear a whisper of
wings ,

see on the trees limbs
a slight greening
creep out from our hiding
or refuges

smiling at Spring

clueberries
                  vegestaples
a pie out of
                  silly bulls
make cream with
                  may never bees
pear trees
                 in miss Issipi
Mocking
                 birds
mocking
                 we.
I gotta go
                 pea.

last night on Free Credit check.com
it was as they said free, for me.
I awaited my number to appear,
a red warning light flashed
the page locked up
and kept me there
like an infested **** site does, I have heard,
when you search for free anything,
then in large case letters
this site said , because of me ,
they have lowered the credit ratings of every
lender that loaned me a dime.
I had to reboot my computer
and sign on in another name,
and
change my ssn#
and my phone number, again!
The phone rang all night.
My cat knocked it off the hook,
I swear.

gotta see you someday I been  playing country songs all night
from dwight to John anderson all the cute girls
linda ronstadt to patty loveless
thinking about you
how you can't sing a lick  but
I still love to hear you try

where a dollar separates you from being broke
or rued some fellar' stealin' your broad.
down the blue collar road in the land
of Alabam' ?

ever been a shill for a thief or the cuckolded
ole stooge standin' in the wake of the love
hurricane?

Ever noticed another man's woman?
Or tried to pet his dog when he was gone?
Stole a glance at some beauty,
way outside your reach?

Been immobile no phone or
wherewithal wet breeches and droopy
jowled, alone in Mobile?

But the skies are so blue,
the song said it true.
Down in Alabam'

i.)  What comes after i.)

Oh yeah.

ii.) ******* having a rush from this absinthe

iii.)  Go back to i.)

Taint , 'tween ****** and great
   is the isthmus I paint
white and creamy,
    a middle ground
down among red cheeks.
    I do not mind behind
or front and center,
I handle either with aplomb,
     It is when I am middle ground,
when I slip out,
you have the habit,
     of laughing out  loud!
I ain't!!

human star
flesh and blood
speck glow fresh
inconspicuous
buried within the billions
color
I saw you individually
amidst all the rest
a  particularly bright white
shining there in the northern
hemisphere
One tiny light
one hope
one speck, like me
trying to be
a spectacle
I froze my eyes
on that one  piece of sky
never to
take my eyes off
forever

white in spring so red in her ****** glory
so ***** of fruit by the all the birds and squirrels
stands bare naked in the fall winds
all through the winter bereft of leaf
with but limbs spread out
against the grey gloom
yet glory awaits
the next blooms
when it warms
back up
and bees and birds
get busy
again

of crying violin on cello moonbeams
spending my spinning around
wet, filled eyelets, drumming in my heart,
rising me up, bringing me close,
under a delicate chin,
drawing the bow across my breast,
to a ledge, poses me delicately on a  quiet impasse, brings me
off the edge; varying from key to soft
then growing again,  impossible, so
to describe
orchestrally.

to the core
somebody else is always worse off
I don't consider myself a saint
just a soul that hurts feels breathes,
as to the definition yes,
I get personal satisfaction
from it
I sacrifice, not in the sense I harm myself,
it is the problem of hell,
and I can do  my part.

Cranberry juice is not meant
as a topical medicament
for the treatment of private part itches,
I found out when I confided to
this girl online
that I had this serious itching
predicament
in places I didn't want to mention out-loud,
I told her how I had tried
Preparation H, Lamisil,
baby powder, Cortisone ointment,
Eucerin, and even Calamine lotion,
she said I probably had
a yeast infection, that
men can get them,
and her having the usual equipment
that tends to get this type of malady more frequent,
I took her suggestion of one glass a day
of cranberry juice.
Poured one glass over the offending itchy parts
before my shower each day.
When I told her her remedy was not doing anything but staining my privates, I heard her laughing, she dropped offline for ten minutes.
My face turned red when she finally came back and said laughing,
"I meant to drink it!"

hop and spark among along the mountains the borrowed sailboat
walking edges and playing sailor again like we did in
September at the Yacht club
yo my first mate
or the day we trekked
all clad in hiking boots out to the ledge of that rock and sun saw  all our edges or camped at silver lake put our naked feet in the crystalline water pure
for that week
rode the canoe all night trying to drown
that little man
in the bushes on the sand on the edge of the pond
the fish jumping in rhythm to our love making
and the frogs serenading and the moon blushing and the stars glowed
all along your curves along my hard edges
and the tent was havoc all full of sorts of
living things
winged and we didn't give one ****
just swatted each other's *****
and brushed crickets off each other's
cheeks and laughed and the hamburgers
on the fire
tasted like steak and the cold beer we floated
in the lake like champagne and
every day like a year and every night like
a celebration
and we were young
drifted away after that
but if you are like me
you never forget

Then
The sun rose
On another day
On the cherry tree blossoming
Away. And the redbirds on limbs
Happier than larks and
A lone man on the porch
Just sitting giving thanks
Breathing deep sighing
A memory perhaps of days
Gone by and the blossoms smelling
Like they did and the sun bright as then and his breath just as breathless
As when he was younger

What you got in the fires
it smells
what demonic creations of bombastic heatheness is brewing?
I mean, Hell, what poems you got stewing?
Are you weaving nymph tails into virgins?
chanting in a pointy hat?
What is in that double double cauldron bubbling?
Up those sheepskin cloaks and plaid twills
are eye of newts? tails of bat? hair of dog?
What herbs are you hiding?
You, you pagan goddess, in the mist  of your fire
are the stars and control of the morning.
I knew it.
You are brewing
Olde English "800".

At first, it was lies to tell girls
Friday night at the pub
I have this Trust my rich parent's left me, just a million
a year, **** them,
or I just passed the bar, gonna be a lawyer, hey hey , let me buy you a drink.
That is how I studied
storytelling.
I was bested many a times.
This cutie pie stayed wide eyed
near and laughed too loud at all
my jokes and acted helpless
with a cue in her hand, one fateful night.
I should have realized her game was better,
when she jumped the two ball and sunk
the eight, like it was an accident.
It was getting later and the crowd was thinning out
and we played Pac-Man together.
She had this gleam in her eye.
She asked did I want a ride in her 'vette.
My eyes lit up .
Hell's Yes I said, emphatically!
I paid the tab and followed her out to
the barely lit
parking lot, all
the time looking left and right,
wanting to see a Corvette and hoping it was red.
She took my hand led me to this little white Chevette!
I fell instantly
in love.

are you like me?
prone to try to write
away your miseries,
desire calm
behind the cause
the beginning find
perhaps
write upon a
thought profound,
that makes
me, or you
open up our eyes?
When we set out,
supposedly, to
sound out
loud shout a
feeling read it
finished
say My god!
Realize on
second read
we spoke
of me
or you?
Edited so much
but came
out true.

mess around deep funk happens,
anonymously,
just about evenly.

you've got to know by now
some experiments turn out
to prove that the theories were wrong.

You could fly like a
dove, or land splat,
barren of love,
uncharacteristic of
energies shove..

running with abandon all people taste
like chicken, carbon statistic-
that mansions are often built with bones-
and when I lose my sanity, I know,
at least I will have seen.

the first would be for world peace
my second would be for eternal life
my third would be for three more