TheBack Beat of the Bass, In a Bourbon infused bar
Smooth to the bend of , The blues note Guitar
Saxman whail's to the, Smoky Slow blues Singer
And Drummer riffs off , A High Hat Brush Stinger
The Piano Man lays down, A Slow soft tune
As the Vocals Stir the mix, In a Soft **** Croon
People dance so close, It Shuts out the World
Lost in Love, Lust, & Bourban.....
Bartender sets up another Round
As the Crowd of the room, Soaks up the Sound.....
Toker's Blowin'  Smoke, Hid in the hall by the Johns
The Bars Mood Sways...As the music Carries on
A Patron at the Bar, Orders up another beer
And the Dancers Float, Across the Dance Floor
The Glow of Neon Spills, Colored Red Lights....
A Soft **** Setting, For a Memorable Night
The Guests all begged and, Pleaded for an Encore
So the band fired up... Just one more
All on A Saturday night.....JMF 1/31/15

I have this feeling
that even if human beings
came with a tag of instructions
on how to care for one another
sewn on some conspicuous part of our person,
most of us would just ignore it.

We all just
machine wash jerkface,
tumble dry to broken pieces.
Tumble dry into
thousands
of little
broken
pieces.

And you can see it, you know?
On us.
Where someone didn't read
those directions carefully
or at all.
Where the colors ran—
reds to whites to pinks.
Where the holes are worn bare,
and the fibers shriveled and shrank.

So we live with those stains,
those noticeable imperfections.
We’re so conscious of it at first,
afraid that everyone will notice
that our instructions weren't followed.
We hesitate to let
someone else try their hand
at doing it right
this next time around.

But we gotta, 'cause
much like ***** laundry,
human yearning is
a ruthless, never-ending cycle.
Fighting it only really makes you
the smelly kid in class.

Just mind your delicates,
pay attention, take your time,
and hand wash that **** worth keeping.

I miss you baby
I want to be next to you right now
I don't care about all the dumb **** that happened between us, I just want to hold you in my arms.

I hear a song on the radio, and think of you.
I see a great view and feel the empty space where you should be standing next to me.
I think of something funny or **** or weird or dark and I want to call or text but I know you will not answer.

I cry often, lately.

It didn't need to end.
We did some crazy **** but it didn't have to end.

So close...

especially when I stand in the rain
with my special sense feeling the hair on neck stand up
a ringin' in my ears drunker than

fallin' down in the audience with a special
sharin' anticipating the thunder of bass
and the highest ringin'
in my ears

AC/DC the best but would trade my IRA's
for a Nugent ticket or give my stash to a peddler
for one minute of Led Zeppelin.

Just to go again and bang my head like I did
when I was young. I blow a candle out, wishing.
But those days I guess are past.
For once again I am 29, and grey.

Aching skin,
Boiling blood,
My lust consumes.

Hands long for your throat,
crave to be wrapped in your hair,
pulling you closer. Close enough
to feel your heat, to smell you.

My lips, Ah my lips.
My lips and tongue implore
for the wet heat of your folds.
I must taste your flesh
before I wither from attrition.

Union.
The singularity of ingression,
transcendent of all earthly attachments.
Sublime.

Release. An unfettering of all thought,
leaving only feeling.
A divine conjunction.

And after, the only sounds our breathing.
Still as one, unencumbered by thought.

We rest peacefully in our oasis, sated.