The problem with poets
Is that they are too full
Of words and phrases

my spell check is gone


  most times i can handle just fine without my sepll check beside me
                           keeping my words in line and spelled the way they shoudl be spelled
     other times i am a complete d e s i s t a r and can't speel enything write

My life know exists n typo



eye miss m y spell check

Us* and We*
Are the two most loneliest words
When there is only *I

My ring finger feels
naked; we will never grow
old together now

I made Ramen nood---
les in the basement last night
it was convenient

your voice gets harder and harder to hear the farther you drift away from me.*

We should've remembered to drop anchors before we abandoned ship
and you drifted further out to sea while I sank down into the deep.

I will smother you
with my words and one day you
will know the meaning
of my vocabulary
as you suffocate
under the letters written
by me just for you

every time you leave
me to go to work, i feel
so very alone

Love is always lea---
ving the other person wan---
ting a little more.

My sleeping mind cannot contain
                                                       {the horrid images of waking life}

All that my waking mind soaks up
                                                        {spon­ging filth from gutted city streets}

Dreams turning into lucid experiences
                                                     ­         {the hypnotic effect of being drawn closer to a blade}

All colors, sensations too intense to categorize
                                                      ­                    {molded into a colony of unthinking, unearthing drones}

Wind down inside of me
                                        {boiling tornadoes raging from the depths}

Concentrated awareness of my subconscious obliviousness
                                                                ­                                {the benefits of obsidian isolation}

I wish that I could weave them all together
                                                        ­             {the stitches at the seams are wearing thin}

Like tall grasses woven into baskets
                                                         ­ {like scythed grasses cut down by rampant Monsanto}

Strong, unbreakable, able to withstand the heavy weight
                                                                ­                             {pressure baring down on fracturing ribs and shoulders}



                                                  ­                                 Of my spirit
                                                          ­                        {i feel alone}



Instead I leak through the seams, tear through edges
                                                           ­                            {leaving me tattered in a massacred pattern}

Five am cannot keep me
                                       {six am will never know me}

My thoughts scatter
                                 {my mind dances with madness}








                                               ­                             Drifting in and out

                                                            ­              {drifting in and out}

Her mouth radiated sunfire
When the corners of her lips
Curled into a smile



And her tongue licked
Lustfully across her teeth...

I like my women
Like I like my coffee, In
a styrofoam cup

I want to write for
you but I can't get published
so I write for me

Alarm clock goes off
That annoying beep beep beep
That interrupts my sleep and dreams
Of rebellions and saber-toothed cats
Running thru towering grass

I rub the sleep-crusts from my eyes
Stretch my coiled legs as far as I can
Pray to whatever God
That everyone else believes in
That I can make it thru another day
Of mind numbing-knuckle busting work
And corporate democratic hypocrisy

That stumbling feeling of standing up
After only a couple hours of restless slumber

The sun hasn’t yet woke up
Hiding behind a dark starless sky
And the blackout blinds make it impossible to see
So I feel my way out of the bedroom
Inevitably stepping on a bone
My dog left out the night before
A whispered curse
Muttered with morning breath
Escapes my desiccated lips

Flip the light switch on to the bathroom
For a few seconds I am blind
Until everything again comes into focus

The reflection in the mirror
Peers back at me like a stranger
With disheveled hair and bloodshot eyes
Cursing me for waking him up
At such an ungodly hour
I need a shave
But I fool myself into thinking
That it can wait for another day

A quick shower of nodding siestas
In water that never seems
To be the right temperature
I step out, towel off
And grumble my way down
Thirteen steps of stairs

The sliding of a patio door
To let the dog out to do her morning routine
Brings in a cool morning breeze
The freezes my still drying body

I put on my work uniform
Covered in grease stains and blood
I pull my boots on one at a time
And lace the shoelaces

Slave to the grind of daily life
And bills collecting on the countertop
Like dead leaves beneath the trees
In the backyard

Note to self: buy a rake
And clean up the yard

I answer last nights missed texts
Hoping to wake someone up
So that I don’t have to start this day alone
Never any such luck for me

A treat for the dog
Who retreats back to her cage upstairs
When she comes back inside
A light kiss
On my sleeping wife’s forehead
Followed by a quiet goodbye

Back down thirteen steps
And into the sage green kitchen
My lunch sits packed on the counter
Ramen noodles and pears
For the five hundredth day in a row

Lights out, doors locked
And I’m out starting the car
Cranking what little is left in the battery
To power a crumbling ******* machine

I ignore the radio’s useless barrage
Of Top Forty rock n roll hits
And commercials overflowing
With hype, propaganda,
And misinformation

Instead opting to listen
To the quickening deterioration
Of a CV Joint clicking and grinding
As the wheels spin down asphalt and concrete
On my way to a job that quit being a career
And could hardly be called a paycheck
In this universal recession

Sometimes haikus just
Pop into a poet’s head
And need to be said

If your poems put
Me to sleep, I won’t listen
To your lame critiques

The hippos are boiled alive when the curious circus caught aflame.
Who is to blame? The drunkard clowns or the tightrope walkers and their ineffable fear of heights?
Maybe the ringmaster and all his lion taunting, crowd cheering, crowd antagonizing ways,
maybe he's to blame for releasing the bearded lady in a room full of kerosene and unseen wicker flames...
Or...just maybe, it was an accident and could not be prevented under the extraordinary circumstances
which took place on that fateful day where hippos became a poached soup of meat, teeth, and lard.

Every second of everyday
I feel like I’m standing in my own way
Holding a stop sign to my progress

red eye
tired night
sleep evades
coming dawn
morning light

sun rise
burning bright
heavy eyelids
scorching heat
devil's tongue

moon beams
twinkling stars
pillow head
creaky floorboard
brain dead

Vine of the soul
Releasing of the animal from within
Eyes burning ****** red
Gyrating around the fire
A depraved vision quest
Wandering in the desert
Seeing what was left of who I was
And the animal that I’ve become
Armageddon was here
And gone

The days where you were respected have become a memory
But it’s going to take a century to expunge all the damage you’ve done
And rewrite the wrongs that you’ve held as a nation of conviction

The world looks with weary eyes as the skyscrapers climb
In the name of bombs dropping, wall street journalism, and cash flow

The initiative that everyone is judged by the actions of corrupted officials
Humanity ruined in the eyes of offspring growing into a world of detestation

The silence of the unvoiced majority grows louder as the streets crowd
We are not the same and we are not part of the hidden agenda
Of world *******, civil suppression, and authoritative tyranny

I want to take the words out of your mouth
Knot them around my tongue and pull them away
From the lick of your ****** lips
String them out word by word
For you to see all the pages of poetry
That slithers up your throat and into my ears
My eyes are a lust for you and the things you say
Aching and craving for every syllable muttered
Every word you write with moaned breath
Baiting me into lyrical euphoria
Your lexicon stitching up the vastness of space
Suturing wounds with your vocabulary
I want to take the words out of your mouth
And put them on Hollywood billboards
For everyone to read

Sitting with my dog
Out on the patio porch
Watching birds fly and sing
Beneath a warm July sun
and a chilling April breeze
Nursing hot green tea
Heart shaped pears
Just my dog and me

I want to read a
Book that I have not heard of
But they don't exist

I want to read a
Book that piques my interest
But I can’t find one

I want to read a
Book that hasn't been written
But that's hard to do

I want to read my
Favorite book but it's gone
And I can't find it

I want to read your
Favorite book but you live
Way too far away

I want to read a
Book but I'm writing instead
Of **reading a book

Packed in
Van shifts
Tires spin
Band roams

Desert dome
Hippie echo

Violin outskirts
Nuisance collaborator
Car crash drunk

River rolls forward
Boat rolls on
Crocodile way
Locust love
Backwoods harmonica

Dead wasp windshield
Oil pipelines old Texas radio

Kentucky derby fashion show
Rock stars and movie actors

Young kids and rock gods
Music recorded on the road