ten seconds into her retinue
I knew
she weren't my ingenue
still I broke
out the Laphroaig Cairdeas.
Might have been my charity
more likely her hips
reminded me of the Seine
an opera Bastille
her lips enshrined
at the Musée d'Orsay,
her eyes dazed
I couldn't help myself.

And when she awoke, he was holding her hand,
Toasted bread jam and coffee steaming
On the night stand.
A newly plucked daisy stood proud
In a vase as she opened her eyes  and looked in his.
She heard an echo
A memory of a promise
A pledge when
They met
I'll bring you
Breakfast in bed
I will treasure you.
I will make us a home with a porch and white steps and windows galore
To look out of and let the sun in.
If you will just hold my hand and believe in me, woman.
She saw in his eyes bright
The treasure of love found midlife how profound words become and acts thoughts and beyond all,
Promises live. How flesh fades
With ages how skin gains wrinkles, she pondered, but the eyes,
With love in them,
Will never fade
Dim or die.
Their beauty
Ageless

Eyes do see the mystery of stoic conceit
an acoustical noodling or youthful brooding
never given back to me,
my craggy voice
precocious rise,
never the less a leach upon the dead
I
sacrosanct lie,

decomposing words of dead poets
horrific:

an aura of
trance in elements of infantile exuberance
my lyric prose a protuberance,
an instrument
played at least as much
as i sought the rhymed.

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.

is your hair
fair is not nature
she in her nebulous
taking
   in food
    for
       hungry
          animals
kills

you in your beauty too,
  shaking
       no your head
           no you
              said

breaks
into Mother Natures cruelty
her war chest of pain and suffering

bumblebee sting

deep inside
where butterflies
                wither
                          die
                               float to
                                     brown

dirt.

spirits look out for me
    a community of ghosts
and fairy crack mothers
  with sores and broken teeth
they mostly
    create a sky brighter
a vision more beautiful
  than i can describe
they conspire to shelter my *******
against all the stupid acts I do
   getting drunk on Olde English 800
until 3 am when I gots to work at 7
  or hitting the pipe with my last twenty
planning on a payday that doesn't come
   then I find paper blowing free on the side
of a highway as I walk
picking up aluminum,
   sprites and good witches and goddesses
see I am actually good,
   just a little faded
innocently deranged
  ****** up.

just saw again a vision of karma
happened like the time I was broke penniless
and found forty dollars on the ground
today It happened around a tee-shirt
I decided to wear
had the image of a dude I used to hang around with
who died like three years ago
given to me at his memorial
and I had not worn it
then I hired this guy about twenty-eight
and he happened to be this guy on my
tee-shirts son and he worked hard looked interested
took initiative
never commented about my shirt
that **** fairy crackmother that has gotten me this far sure
is an enigma
at times

postulate carnivals festivities ferris wheels unicorns
tooting horns laughs squeals of carnivorous
joviality held breath heights scary games of chance
winning all today
it is our day
to  populate reality
with
fairy tales or obliviate insanity send notice
from highs cry together deny no more the obvious
sobriety holding in that hit wary of getting caught
losing it all
so say with me
I believe
in fairy tales

around
    town down a corner
turn at the stop sign
       left
see the new blush
          of rust Orange
high upon the top
                 limbs
leaves one breathless
           Fall....

visions
it hurts
to break thine
***
on
hard
floors
seeing
dreams
from
heights
of
visions
closed
gravity
and
physics
once
more
encompassing
the
limitless
horizons
seen
on
backs
of
eyelids.

people tend to come then fly away here, and we think we know them.
in memory of Busbar Dancer i had to look up James l. Dickey and he is all he said.

Falling Related Poem Content Details
BY JAMES L. DICKEY
A 29-year-old stewardess fell ... to her
death tonight when she was swept
through an emergency door that sud-
denly sprang open ... The body ...
was found ... three hours after the
accident.                                              
                              —New York Times
The states when they black out and lie there rolling    when they turn
To something transcontinental    move by    drawing moonlight out of the great
One-sided stone hung off the starboard wingtip    some sleeper next to
An engine is groaning for coffee    and there is faintly coming in
Somewhere the vast beast-whistle of space. In the galley with its racks
Of trays    she rummages for a blanket    and moves in her slim tailored
Uniform to pin it over the cry at the top of the door. As though she blew

The door down with a silent blast from her lungs    frozen    she is black
Out finding herself    with the plane nowhere and her body taken by the throat
The undying cry of the void    falling    living    beginning to be something
That no one has ever been and lived through    screaming without enough air
Still neat    lipsticked    stockinged    girdled by regulation    her hat
Still on    her arms and legs in no world    and yet spaced also strangely
With utter placid rightness on thin air    taking her time    she holds it
In many places    and now, still thousands of feet from her death she seems
To slow    she develops interest    she turns in her maneuverable body

To watch it. She is hung high up in the overwhelming middle of things in her
Self    in low body-whistling wrapped intensely    in all her dark dance-weight
Coming down from a marvellous leap    with the delaying, dumfounding ease
Of a dream of being drawn    like endless moonlight to the harvest soil
Of a central state of one’s country    with a great gradual warmth coming
Over her    floating    finding more and more breath in what she has been using
For breath    as the levels become more human    seeing clouds placed honestly
Below her left and right    riding slowly toward them    she clasps it all
To her and can hang her hands and feet in it in peculiar ways    and
Her eyes opened wide by wind, can open her mouth as wide    wider and ****
All the heat from the cornfields    can go down on her back with a feeling
Of stupendous pillows stacked under her    and can turn    turn as to someone
In bed    smile, understood in darkness    can go away    slant    slide
Off tumbling    into the emblem of a bird with its wings half-spread
Or whirl madly on herself    in endless gymnastics in the growing warmth
Of wheatfields rising toward the harvest moon.    There is time to live
In superhuman health    seeing mortal unreachable lights far down seeing
An ultimate highway with one late priceless car probing it    arriving
In a square town    and off her starboard arm the glitter of water catches
The moon by its one shaken side    scaled, roaming silver    My God it is good
And evil    lying in one after another of all the positions for love
Making    dancing    sleeping    and now cloud wisps at her no
Raincoat    no matter    all small towns brokenly brighter from inside
Cloud    she walks over them like rain    bursts out to behold a Greyhound
Bus shooting light through its sides    it is the signal to go straight
Down like a glorious diver    then feet first    her skirt stripped beautifully
Up    her face in fear-scented cloths    her legs deliriously bare    then
Arms out    she slow-rolls over    steadies out    waits for something great
To take control of her    trembles near feathers    planes head-down
The quick movements of bird-necks turning her head    gold eyes the insight-
eyesight of owls blazing into the hencoops    a taste for chicken overwhelming
Her    the long-range vision of hawks enlarging all human lights of cars
Freight trains    looped bridges    enlarging the moon racing slowly
Through all the curves of a river    all the darks of the midwest blazing
From above. A rabbit in a bush turns white    the smothering chickens
Huddle    for over them there is still time for something to live
With the streaming half-idea of a long stoop    a hurtling    a fall
That is controlled    that plummets as it wills    turns gravity
Into a new condition, showing its other side like a moon    shining
New Powers    there is still time to live on a breath made of nothing
But the whole night    time for her to remember to arrange her skirt
Like a diagram of a bat    tightly it guides her    she has this flying-skin
Made of garments    and there are also those sky-divers on tv    sailing
In sunlight    smiling under their goggles    swapping batons back and forth
And He who jumped without a chute and was handed one by a diving
Buddy. She looks for her grinning companion    white teeth    nowhere
She is screaming    singing hymns    her thin human wings spread out
From her neat shoulders    the air beast-crooning to her    warbling
And she can no longer behold the huge partial form of the world    now
She is watching her country lose its evoked master shape    watching it lose
And gain    get back its houses and peoples    watching it bring up
Its local lights    single homes    lamps on barn roofs    if she fell
Into water she might live    like a diver    cleaving    perfect    plunge

Into another    heavy silver    unbreathable    slowing    saving
Element: there is water    there is time to perfect all the fine
Points of diving    feet together    toes pointed    hands shaped right
To insert her into water like a needle    to come out healthily dripping
And be handed a Coca-Cola    there they are    there are the waters
Of life    the moon packed and coiled in a reservoir    so let me begin
To plane across the night air of Kansas    opening my eyes superhumanly
Bright    to the ****** moon    opening the natural wings of my jacket
By Don Loper    moving like a hunting owl toward the glitter of water
One cannot just fall    just tumble screaming all that time    one must use
It    she is now through with all    through all    clouds    damp    hair
Straightened    the last wisp of fog pulled apart on her face like wool revealing
New darks    new progressions of headlights along dirt roads from chaos

And night    a gradual warming    a new-made, inevitable world of one’s own
Country    a great stone of light in its waiting waters    hold    hold out
For water: who knows when what correct young woman must take up her body
And fly    and head for the moon-crazed inner eye of midwest imprisoned
Water    stored up for her for years    the arms of her jacket slipping
Air up her sleeves to go    all over her? What final things can be said
Of one who starts her sheerly in her body in the high middle of night
Air    to track down water like a rabbit where it lies like life itself
Off to the right in Kansas? She goes toward    the blazing-bare lake
Her skirts neat    her hands and face warmed more and more by the air
Rising from pastures of beans    and under her    under chenille bedspreads
The farm girls are feeling the goddess in them struggle and rise brooding
On the scratch-shining posts of the bed    dreaming of female signs
Of the moon    male blood like iron    of what is really said by the moan
Of airliners passing over them at dead of midwest midnight    passing
Over brush fires    burning out in silence on little hills    and will wake
To see the woman they should be    struggling on the rooftree to become
Stars: for her the ground is closer    water is nearer    she passes
It    then banks    turns    her sleeves fluttering differently as she rolls
Out to face the east, where the sun shall come up from wheatfields she must
Do something with water    fly to it    fall in it    drink it    rise
From it    but there is none left upon earth    the clouds have drunk it back
The plants have ****** it down    there are standing toward her only
The common fields of death    she comes back from flying to falling
Returns to a powerful cry    the silent scream with which she blew down
The coupled door of the airliner    nearly    nearly losing hold
Of what she has done    remembers    remembers the shape at the heart
Of cloud    fashionably swirling    remembers she still has time to die
Beyond explanation. Let her now take off her hat in summer air the contour
Of cornfields    and have enough time to kick off her one remaining
Shoe with the toes    of the other foot    to unhook her stockings
With calm fingers, noting how fatally easy it is to undress in midair
Near death    when the body will assume without effort any position
Except the one that will sustain it    enable it to rise    live
Not die    nine farms hover close    widen    eight of them separate, leaving
One in the middle    then the fields of that farm do the same    there is no
Way to back off    from her chosen ground    but she sheds the jacket
With its silver sad impotent wings    sheds the bat’s guiding tailpiece
Of her skirt    the lightning-charged clinging of her blouse    the intimate
Inner flying-garment of her slip in which she rides like the holy ghost
Of a ******    sheds the long windsocks of her stockings    absurd
Brassiere    then feels the girdle required by regulations squirming
Off her: no longer monobuttocked    she feels the girdle flutter    shake
In her hand    and float    upward    her clothes rising off her ascending
Into cloud    and fights away from her head the last sharp dangerous shoe
Like a dumb bird    and now will drop in    soon    now will drop

In like this    the greatest thing that ever came to Kansas    down from all
Heights    all levels of American breath    layered in the lungs from the frail
Chill of space to the loam where extinction slumbers in corn tassels thickly
And breathes like rich farmers counting: will come along them after
Her last superhuman act    the last slow careful passing of her hands
All over her unharmed body    desired by every sleeper in his dream:
Boys finding for the first time their ***** filled with heart’s blood
Widowed farmers whose hands float under light covers to find themselves
Arisen at sunrise    the splendid position of blood unearthly drawn
Toward clouds    all feel something    pass over them as she passes
Her palms over her long legs    her small *******    and deeply between
Her thighs    her hair shot loose from all pins    streaming in the wind
Of her body    let her come openly    trying at the last second to land
On her back    This is it    this
                                                          All those who find her impressed
In the soft loam    gone down    driven well into the image of her body
The furrows for miles flowing in upon her where she lies very deep
In her mortal outline    in the earth as it is in cloud    can tell n

you have heard  about rainbows over a hill
around the corner
when
in the deepest burrow you just wanted
a meal or drink
a hit
screaming silent you
remember
i do
then
hearing a good song
on someones radio,
someone with electricity,
the closest us me most of we
ever get to
a rainbow horizon hill 

Either be it beauty, fame, wealth, or greed
or such as destiny or  luck , to wit,
what muse crawled into my brain
causes me to moan as such.
All is craftily insanity,
lame dreams, untalented
weaves my brain into this nest.
The best I have at present sent I send
unchaste, un pretend,
my poetry.

never a stranger to innocence
words that didn't listen
echoed off the walls from
so long ago

blasphemy
a learned language
from stargazing young
so long ago

hardness is what
escaped me hiding
in those clouds
I drew

on the walls in
cerulean crayon
and the ivory
candle I hugged

images unreal yet epic
caricuratures
of myself

building an ark
on the pages of our
family bible

more real

age can bloom a younger
day a new me a new age
years of seeing might just bring newness
explain the past the future

make today the day I finally am
open my eyes full
that until now have been
half open

fancy that day youth blind
when destiny stares back at you
expect the day  your past is longer
and more grand

than your future
you will
understand

And riddles posed in acres where your house must be,
Running all this scared times, rushing on
Now the race, is to the
wagon.  Miles and back come
Far the principle is one  moral
Of this story,  
Power
The chains bound tightly
Around the,neck throttling
Paid  to the corner where her box on a rocking chair sits
A white porch daring
Her last and her future to ring out every time,that she and Oppressed
Are suddenly,the future free

I carry on this uneventfulness life
thinking big thoughts
grandiose visions of
wealth fame castles

I am happy in my make beliefs
I say a bit more than
any ordinary take out the trash
dude

who has two times he climaxes
in reality
while I ***
at the drop of my fantasy

hat

none of the editors reside in my head
nor does a matrician's need to coddle
sidestep
be nice
when I see ****** I say that is
******
have no points in the bank for guile
for correctness
for matters are fact
attitudes solid concrete I can see
like windows    on the Trump tower
just hiding ****
brevity usually my habit
and preference
but at times I get windy
flatulent
****** me off when, shew!!               it happens alone
I love to share

here in the crumbling
of the plasterwork ceiling
the outsides fascia bandage
skin deep rot
pargeting facades
long dissolved
trying to remember
the correct way
I used to repair
them,
on edge a
soffit rotten
underneath.

I've not only lost reality
I lost the taste of saltiness
the granular sand 'tween my toes feel
the rush of flesh
being peeled back open
sharing throes wetness kisses
unabashedness
track of tracks
where are they going
on into a distance I am stunted frozen
wide eyed  stunned
at the fastness it
happened

ten minutes ago I saw what I had envisioned
five minutes gone I had an epiphany
one minute gone ago so long ago was my
shining moment
two seconds before now
I had an earth shattering ******
now I just looked back at it all
wondering amazed
how fast time goes

predisposed to seeing things more real
than ghostly
having been on trips afar
where mushrooms are a delicacy
and LSD stands for Lands So Dreamy
I came upon Priscilla
this slight ****** high **** just right
hips swerving *** two handfuls
dream
that asked if I were hungry
I drooled yesp
she laughed
we hit it off
a high time had till
I found she lived with three
young disciples of the darkness
devil's spawn and mortal dread
having our way at dawn her children called upon the
cake and ice cream demons  to deliver silence
as they crept
around the house twinkies flying and cake sans icing
ice cream suddenly disappearing
the next morn Priscilla showed her true colors
flew into a frenzy the broom spun as she flew the vroom of
the broom spinning twixt her legs
all hell breaking loose
the black cats
hid with me beneath the coffee table
I had to pay the neighbor ten dollars and pledge
I had not seen him
to call me a cab to get home.
From Faydette.

amazingly scurrilous
that little rascal made me jump
on the bathtub
I was barefoot early one morning
woke up at three-thirty a ******* full of beer
half opened eyes I saw him dive
behind the toilet
******
I was trying to do my business
without fully waking up
so one by one i took each cat
to set them about to slay to at least maim
the intruder
and each one yawned said meow is it breakfast time yet
I don't work for you as  they each one did the same
all three licked a paw and yawned like
hey
you woke me up for this?
not afraid of teacup  sized rodents, usually
just a wharf rat and possum ****** them
I got on shoes and grabbed a broom and went
still  needing to ****
to shoo his little fast *** away
and couldn't find him
until a month after I wanted to shower
and when
I walked in the bathroom he was using my toothbrush
and deoderant all up on the cabinet kinda posing in the mirror
so we have reconciled somewhat
I bought a new toothbrush and told
him he is welcome  in this menagerie
just don't ever use my toothbrush again

HP is stuck again.
I am stuck.
I await her to
unglue
with baited breath
for what I can do
what I might say
**** I am just dumb
lonely  in love
with a poetry site
I'd like to have her
one night all of her
love her
like a lion
but
she keeps amissing
goes off on forays
to where I don't know
I am the lion
awaiting her return
feed me  Hp
my lioness

I really feel
sitting down
on a patch of green
on an ant hill
or pile of earth
the trees smiling
hear the birds
see the squirrels
scurrying
here on the side of civilization
an asphalt
man made hurrying past
pumping noxious gas
chattering on phones
texting who knows
what to whom like
life depends  on them
I can barely feel the ant biting
my ***
and hear no complaints from the grass
as I sit on her
watching nature
and slow down
and no one
makes me move on

punctuated
   with tears
smiles as apostrophes
  time .......
as ellipsis ......
commas  a breath

I have been on this quest for years and years
trying to just perfect myself
make a glass obelisk trophy
i might put on my shelf an oddysey
to dream things
such as that
a goalless
win
in view of our society
the way our wins now
are weighed and viewed
in how many people
you have walked over
stepped on
on your way to the top

Oh cat,
I've never witnessed innocence
Before, how you howl to protect
Your kittens,

How scary
Must my tallness frighten
You, all curled around
Your young.

And the breezes
cold, threatening death
To such beauty unfolding
how, life is told

I want to think,
In the eyes of a mother
teats swolled and young
depending so
Much upon

Those fierce eyes tell
Me so, wild as the winds cold
You have soul
chilled by aloneness
You are touched now.

So brave me this glance,
Mom. I chance to
Make a life somehow
As well as you have
And be true to it.

To the death

Wouldn't it be crazy wonderful
To see in person some of
The most noted Wordsworth's
And personalities that
Hello Poetry has to offer?
August 15th would be good
Here in Clayhatchee Bamalama
In the south with nothing else to offer but the woods and cornstalks the peanut dust air.
It would be a festival. A face to face to finally meet the poets I admire and describe in my head by their words and their profile.
I'm about to start a gofundme page to make the wildest dreams come true. Imagine Eliot greeting you in person.
Its gonna be tie-dye only and sandals dress. (Weeds illegal here and the price high as hell, so bring your own)
Load up the vw van with all your poet friends.
Entrance fees waved to those
Bringing their own soap and toiletries. Oh, and beer....or ***....whisky....tequila.... Etc.

whence i once had anger
for fervor and honor i sought
I gathered up courage
and wisdom for naught
took valor and vindiction
slow and fervent
to my veins
fought the world
and all who stood amongst my foes
as enemies
I fought valiant
strong
wicked and defiant
when I won
on the field of victory
I looked over the slain
looked over my deeds
and could not regain my anger
from my *****, i felt defeated
I knew I had taken life
as galiant and victorious as noble
as a romantic thing and slain
her all, her visions , her dreams
and I stood weeping then, oh
what a victor I was. As loathsome
as Hector or any Roman.
I gathered my steed ,
and rode off to cry alone,
finally seeing.

and why does young grass look
at the field with greed and not with
reverence
it is all before him
might I  in youth
been as indifferent
and the old growth withering
understanding
and the young green as money
strong
goes on not knowing
how he got there
and the old once green grass
smiles forgiving
thinking
wait until the day
comes the rain lets you
wait and the wind
whips you naked
and then the sun burns you
brown and crisp
and you look on upon your shoots
when you are almost dead
and you care so much for them
and wise then
you finally
understand.

This poem which was created by several poets, while abstract , a bit meandering, as any collaboration might become, has behind it a meaning.
My effort, my intent, was not to create a poem that bested Shakespeare, no. I with all my heart wanted to show that HP is for all of us. HP is for us to make a difference, if possible. It is possible.
Put away the transgressions the petty bickering, all.
We may have lost this battle, but we shall win the war.

Now, the poem:

Once Upon I, the warrior skeletal
the eternal darkness
descended
with cracked laughter echoing
serendipity exploding
and unfolding  erase(s)
the expanse of nightfall,
those connected before
redemption,
rustic austerity
peace
for she
dreaming forlorn
liberated
by the sword
sine qua non

In order of contribution I would like to thank :

m i å, SPT,wehttam,Vicki,Harriet Tecumsah Watt,memineI,
Fallen Angel,Reshnia crimson,ryn,Jaxton Tyler Redmond
Sassy J,Eric W,SE Reimer,aivustianumus,lluvia de abril,
Steven Langhorst,Tonya Maria,Sjr1000,Emma Livry,
Aztec Warrior,Renae,brandon cory nagley,Dave Kavanagh,
Adhi Das,Alyssa Underwood,A Lopez,Heather Beth,
and Sapiotextual all for their contribution to the making of this poem
and to the betterment of our community.

Angels are white and devils red
And abstinence of sin. Can be colored what?
Clear.
Clear like glass
Looking out from an efficiency
Apt over
The busy metro district
Seeing clearly both extremes
The pimps and ******
Drug dealers on the corners
Selling flesh and blood and promises
Or
The time I saw a man
Had
Twenty Styrofoam dinners
Walking up to obvious beggars
And handing them one
With legs and thighs of chicken
Rice green beans corn bread
A slice of sweet cake.
Shakes them awake
Those asleep on the grates
Put his arm around them-
No telling when they had a hug last- and gave them dinner.
Above just watching I stated
To myself
Hesitating, I'll be that man
One day.
And fortune will decide
Which one.
The angel
Or the devil.
I'll find out
When.

when it all
breaks from the pack and goes running off
she and were wolves and  squirrels
possums
armored ******
I got this pine tree
I go to sit next to and shake my head
it's next to a happy river
next to a train trestle I have
imagined jumping the tracks over and going farther
in a box car on top the diesel engine
pretending
I am the engineer
   or the fireman
     or a baseball star

as strangers eyes meet early in the morn
rushing to get the  blur out at the coffee urn
in the corner convenience store
all hushes come across as bitter
looks until that first sip
of java hits
many I suppose
who cross my path early are
reliving that first crack pipe hit

In the search for first causes
the devout prodding pauses
a philosophy gnaws
at the very darkness and enlightens
the natural sciences
in dark reveal stark fundamental principles
the order unforgettable
nothing ever doubted
formatted
"I think, therefore
I am" a sense
of consciousness
so wise, that one can't help
see-
what is
right.

Blood thudded in my ears. I scuffed,
Steps stubborn, to the telltale booth
Beyond whose curtained portal coughed
The robed repositor of truth.

The slat shot back. The universe
Bowed down his cratered dome to hear
Enumerated my each curse,
The sip snitched from my old man's beer,

My sloth pride envy lechery,
The dime held back from Peter's Pence
with which I'd bribed my girl to ***
That I might spy her instruments.

Hovering scale-pans when I'd done
Settled their balance slow as silt
While in the restless dark I burned
Bright as a brimstone in my guilt

Until as one feeds birds he doled
Seven our Fathers and a Hail
Which I to double-scrub my soul
Intoned twice at the altar rail

Where Sunday in seraphic light
I knelt, as full of grace as most,
And stuck my tongue out at the priest:
A fresh roost for the Holy Ghost.

Jackie was.... classy...
Mrs'(s) Bush's  were .....matronly,
Bill will be.................
Bill!!!

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

trolling bait wriggling under the moonlight
in the backseat of a sixty-five dodge dart
on the banks of the Rouge in Pontiac
Mich on a cold night
on a lonesome dirt road
with  sacks of sand  in the trunk
in case we got stuck
a long time ago
hope you think a time or two about that
like I do , Sue.

Cast about like a
Plug on ten pound test
Reeled through a nest of branches drowned last year
Trying to keep the nest
From building
In your shiny new
Open cast Hundred
Twenty dollar reel
You bought to look cool
(Give me a zebco 300)
And no idea where the
******* drag is set
A fierce  sixty pound striped bass drags
Tugs under you feel the pull
Wait
Make sure
There
Pull
Set that mother hey
He's on
Running away tugging
And you
Fall off the pier
Let go and
All your **** goes
Swimming.
Better undo that
Rope tied to
Your belt, the one with ten
Bream flopping,
Them mocassins be
Here in a min,
Spit out the water
You swallowed
After you gain ground again.
And break out
That old fave  zebco
Tomorrow.

fifty seven,

I want balloons -- clowns;
a pretty girl jumping

outta a cake,

eight(y)
nine
I won't ever make it

there

but
I don't care.

I still want
it all.

Ten.

daringly to
a million degrees celsius pulse

magnetically until
streaming showers

of mass
ejections

fluctuate
sporadically

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

Blown, fuse.
All the power out.
I can't find the short circuit.
a roundabout and electric light
orchestra
are all charged up
awaitin' to  play.
I test with me probe
to find any all
broken connections.
Eel ect try fye
I search Google for help.
I search the walls I have
built (my
fuse is blown, I suspect)

I am
  country
rock and roll
   blues
R&B;
   Jazz
Hip Hop
   contemporary
classic
     blue grass
nursery rhyme
     bottom twenty
just
           sing me
a song.

moist eyes

shining in the candlelight
glisten
sheen like a being
green like my verve
moist as the clouds burst
more beautiful
than

the moss on the bark
leaves
in the dawn lights waving
flickering

his name, is gone his body was
found in a silo
the ******* missing.
A corn cob stuck up his ***.
It took a posse of Sherriffs
and three nuns and one priest
to locate him.
There was no reward , no bounty for his missing finger.
I guess they figured it was gone to hell.
His soul lingered around
that silo for weeks, though,
a smell like chicken **** fertilizer
they spread down here in bamalama
and remember
don't flip a cop off, either.

satin sheets lil candies champagne
dimmed lights
candles flickering
crescent moon in the window
and ten dollars left
in my budget
and she is not here
I shaved my whiskers
bought expensive cologne
trimmed my forest
combed my hair
awaited her to knock
it never came
so
I guess that ****** site was bogus
let me try another

the frailty
of that simple stem arising
with all the glory beauty

with such a fragile base
out of the bare earth
holding high to the light

her own telling her rendition
of simple splendor
on a thin stem