We'll go back to the beach one day,
and I hope that it won't be too long,
to watch the sizzling tourists lay
while listening to some sixties song.

In the salty surf we'll splash and play
then stroll along the wide boardwalk
just as we did on our last stay
when we'd pause and quietly talk.

We'd watch shadows creep out toward the sea
when evening breezes came around
as we sat upon the balcony
taking in the gulls' sad sound.

ruse it clever baby

fuse it with your cleaver

the hard candy receiver

drenched in your fear and sweet sweat

wet slather and yes

I would rather

Pump it Pump it
Nitro scene
the fabric crawls
its taut obscene

the broken glass
like glitter death
expound the drones
and fuck the mess

.
with cadence of a mournful, howling hound
the whistling wailing wind torments the trees
a ghostly shriek, a hungry, haunting sound
with cadence of a mournful, howling hound
who lies upon a new dug mound of ground
and whines lament, for missing master pleads
with cadence of a mournful, howling hound
the whistling wailing wind torments the trees

.

love him
many women hanker
in the twilight for they desire
to see the sunrise effect
from last night's sojourn
but they can't reconcile
where the manliness of man had gone
and
left the warmed up oven forlorn
the morn of a dying kind surfaces
when some go in for IVF,
at least small mercies
God's gift to unwed moms
at times prove best

see the sun as a rising one,
its setting too somewhere that's true
but a positivity
I'd wish to imbue, in you.