Prostrate. in fevered dream light, I swallow your kisses,
drawing sustenance from empty myth, as your waters break
over my parched dying soul to breech my needs in cold
nature once again.

Where are our fifty daughters as I howl at your passing?
Would that they nurse their father's madness with a single
waking touch, as my dreamless finality nears? There are no
armored sons close as I convulse to memories of my youthful
loves and lie, pale, and abandoned to my chosen course.

Many times when you break up...and hold another’s hands …
you always recall the warmth of the first one...
who had held your hand …

but then comes a barrier in between …
his ego and mine..

His anyone can define…
but none can mine

I all along my decades of sharing knowledge…
have requested all
take a step...one at a time… lest you fall …

and most love to fall along with the ladder…
that's about all… and then make stories tall ------

We really should go to Hell…

I hear the soulful sound of the whale
that great beast that commands our sea’s.
The squawk of Gull or squeal of Hawk,
all are carried over on an angry breeze.

A giant Bear stands tall but hungered,
roars from an iceberg so very small.
We hear, wondering why he’s angered,
not giving thought to our actions at all.

Listen and you’ll hear the Seal cub,
calling to her mother wanting milk.
Man calls for more land to be raped,
that his sleeping attire be made of silk.

Fifteen bandsmen stand in line,
their linen white as flour,
their uniforms are stiff as death
and ready at the hour.

The weather casts a sullen mood
the air is very still,
the clouds withhold their tears for
they know its not a drill.

A rusty trumpet crudely blares,
to spit its splitting cry,
and suddenly disturbs the air:
three crows take to the sky,

Three crows! I knew that was the sign,
I saw it in my dreams,
I heard the flutter of their wings
I heard their mocking screams

All the time …
I am on fire...

my body flames …

none is ever with me to play …
my daily loving game …

so I invite all who do play…
and have a happy day….

just to read my poetry as always
and imagine how within you …

it causes an explosion
commotion and hopefully
an imagined orgasm-----

if you fail
let me know …
to hell
I will let my exotic poetry flow….

Have a try today….
such an opportunity….
comes in, if at all…
once in a way...
have a sexy day...

twin show visions
whispering from beneath the sour hiss
of the pump fridge coolant hum
the dust darkness smirk
as fun as the stark stare of the kitchen
window

winking red light phone
a stack of messages
before and before the tidy
hours slipped from a sun filled
departure to the midnight
arrival

blue bus thunders past the
lights a universe of flouresent
apparitions staring

i can read the walls and calculate
the codes from channel fifty four

I see them a way in the distance
Talking amongst themselves
As if there was no time
They whisper my name

Why do they gather so
Have they nothing else to do
I sing to them in thought
They laugh and know my name

“We cannot hurry” they say
“Why “I retort as if in answer
The question was long sought of
The answer was my name

I tire of your thoughts
The evening is too grand
To listen only to the starlight
I did not hear my name

Like eternal light touching ancient ground
his shadow appears to me.

Then his eyes are falling down at me,
it's summer and I'm standing in the rain.

His eye enamel touches my skin because
he knows I swear of tempera dirt all over my body.

He surrounds me like a cave and my heartbeat
becomes a heartbeat of a mountain.

As his wolf voice touches an ice crystal
love becomes the red juice stain on a child's T-shirt.

Perhaps that is how our fog gathers
in one place to have central gravitation.

Greenpeace…

Through wave after
wave of pure green
sea this great ship
will sail again,
to rise us all from
bended knee and
the greed of
Slothful men.

To breath purest air
this gift should be
given, to our honestly
educated youth.
No longer shall their
lives be monetarily
driven, let all
endeavour be
guided by truth.

silence screened
a wisk of suffusion
cold confusion

this bright winter
haze deemed
unrepentant and
strong
lets fleeting little
blossoms
un tethered
settle free

blond fields
and rushes
bending
the ice
support the
inches gaining
of drifting promises
an angel of winter