**' brethren
**' hounds of thine dwelling
**' men of rhyme
**' men of crime

Thine Fellowship dost proclaim
a size larger than mine own name
but woe to ye, tis mine to claime fame

To slander your Mother - your mistress
Without qualm - without distress
To the ladies of god I do impress
No matter your efforts I do protest

I am the duke, you a mere governess

to ye I ask
dost thou even hoist?
To carry 10 to 12 boys before mine pits moist

My morals, my appeal
are none to be contended with
always greater than yer' zeal
Mine own rhymes wicked from bark to pith

I dost ask ye to attempt mine own game
But prepare to be shamed.

What could be more disheartening
than to fail those close to you
And to thus fail yourself-- watching success depart

No goal, no ambition
No passion, no itchin'
I know not who I am, to I
to others' outside my mind's eye
No longer a longing.

A world outside
One separate in

If they do  not care

why should I

Dried whisps crack
The skeletons of dreams once had
to dust and never back

Cool wind tugging at patience
the sun's warmth barely enough to be glad
to have hope without being fallacious
it's a hard trick -- you must be gracious

hold tight to the paths we know
hung on the weak- we shake in the wind

tenaciously we hold
grasping for future bright -- and bold
the future white --  and not yet told

someday you'll share your tale
spread you seed, bask in the sun with glory
but the sun will set without fail
and winter's bitter cold will come for me

tenaciously we will hold
grasping for the past bright -- and story old
the past white -- and yet to unfold

z.m.

Like the moon calls the sea
I wish you to be with mea
we meet and part
each time a pain in my heart

Without you my eyes grow dull
and my muscles ache
you give me liveliness and soul
every morning leaving you is a mistake

Each night you ****** me with sweet nothings
Each night your embrace warms and soothes the stings
We don't talk to each other but travel to worlds surreal
Five senses for my heart and hands to feel

Every summer night we were between the seams
Showing each other's dreams
my love a fire, I'm ready to commit
burning red to orange and dull but to never quit

Tonight I want to sleep with none other
but you

my bed

z.m.

I have this feeling of insolubility
that cannot be quenched,
hunger without satisfaction,
fatigue that eternity’s dark warmth could not soften.
I continue to search for something to bring me peace
and nothing is clearing the sand from my eyes.
I sleep hours longer than I ever used to, but suffer all the same.
I don’t know where to go, or who to see. What am I looking for?
Something past the gray gloom shrouding my mind’s eye.
However poetic I sound, this is how I feel these past weeks.
I continue on. Driving through the fog, uncertain what’s ahead,
uncertain still of who I am now, and what the significance of the past means to me.
Suicide is beneath me, as is screaming bouts of rage.
These emotions cannot be quite expressed
through such primal actions,
and thoughts of the self deprecating nature.
Like my car covered in the morning dew, I drive on.
I don’t see where I’m going, but rather feel it,
a memory of the days’ past.
My body lingers on.
In the routine it’s under, trudging along without purpose.
I wipe the windshield but the fog returns
never acknowledging my efforts.
The sun too is against me,
refracting its rays through the water further ruining my perception.
Desensitized to my monotony, I continue on.
z.m.

It was there he lay thinkin' 'bout his day
the closing days of the year last,
'twas then he'd be a man, and have to sail under his own mast
but the winds stagnant as they be he'd nay sail out his own bay
sad as the sea, his heart heavy as the anchor weigh
like n' anchor on da' sea below he shows the rust of his past
he sits alone with his eyes lost; heavier than stones of ballast
wishin' for not soft winds, but torrents of a blistering storm night and day
N' 'bitious young lad, itchin' to go
But like the Anchor he'll stay, below the ladder's lowest rung
Unlike the Anchor he be, he strives to be a Sailor Free
Silly as it be the barnacles and rust be all there be, the angel's last song sung,
No runnin' away, no cargo to hide away in stow,
No words left to say, only a lump at the end of the Anchor's tongue.

z.m.

Converted Ride
z.m.

Digital?
Not a chance.
1’s? 0’s?
Not for my heroes.
Not the same song and dance
Music strong and authentic; not trivial
All tunes in Analog
Colors cool and warm
Engines burn too hot
Bedda’ cool ‘em down
Gotta keep it under
Control but I can’t take it!
Drums faster and faster inside
Hot wind blowing on my afternoon ride
Fingers thumping on the steering wheel
It’s all about that rock n’ roll feel.