Crimson carpet path,
celebrated actions or art,
kept apart from the peasants
by electric velvet cords.

As I walk, surrounded
cameras flash
and beautiful people
part as if on command.

I start to believe
what I read and I am told,
I have risen above the others
and now pronounce to them.

Like a religious leader,
but not lost in fervor,
no, simply in my own opinions
which I believe are gospel.

The truth is I'm no better
than the vagrant on the street,
the homeless under the bridge
or the people on the ropes periphery.

Yet I have forgotten this,
and will ride like a Byzantine king,
until one day, my sedia gestatoria
crashes to the ground, abandoned.

Whipping winds froth the clouds,
feathers flutter and fluffed, battling cold,
failed fruitless flight as night falls.

Roosting and brooding,
head held prominently,
as the eyes search,
one on the weather,
the other on danger.

Huddling ******,
tree take over,
muffled caws,
continues uninterrupted.

Waiting to wing,
after the storm passes,
searching out death,
as an easy meal.

Minerally tang
quenches my need,
my fangs retract
and my need to feed.

Crawling out of the sheets,
from where our fires did meet,
I am burned and sore in places
that still pleasantly tingle traces.

Our flames, burning orange
a low glimmering sight,
but given lust for fuel,
combustion to blue in the night.

Sparking friction,
crackling addiction,
conflagrations consume
but ours regularly resumes.

Our need to feed
on each other can,
never ever be met,
so we take what we can get.

Damage adds character,
distress showed in lines,
her face glowed with wisdom,
and her beauty radiated from confidence
in overcoming pain through years.

Blazing sunlight, yellow and warm,
shown down behind a gray cumulonimbus,
creaking wet floorboards on the dock,
announced my every step.

Black and silver rod and reel
with green fluorescent line through its guides,
and squirming cricket now on the hook
cast and marked on the surface,
by an orange and white bobber, with a red stop.

Bouncing in the slow rolling waves
made by a just detectable west breeze,
on it the smell of hot dogs on the grill,
from down the cove.

Tranquil and mesmerized
by the hypnotic sights and smells,
suddenly the cork is ****** under,
surprised I nearly forget to set the hook.

Reeling now, as senses return,
a brief fight yields a black and silver
spotted Crappie, it joins others from yesterday,
in the wire fish basket.

Whipping red hair in the blowing breeze
large and deep blue eyes, ready to freeze
your heart and soul with a single glance
long tan legs that are ready to dance.

Spicy perfume her favorite scent
to buy it for her, use my last cent,
cinnamon gum, I taste on her tongue
with her kisses, I am stung.

Red tank top, white linen skirt,
outdoor dance floor, with me she flirts,
nothing underneath she makes sure I see
building my fire and fueling my need.

As she dances her fingers explore,
around her body, inside and more,
with her finger, she gives me a taste,
savor her flavor, no way I'd waste.

The music fills my ears with a beat
her whispered breath, I feel her heat
inviting me out for a midnight swim,
running out full moon reflects on her skin.

Like crashing waves, she falls into me,
lips, and limbs, we are set free,
roaming hands tease and please
legs wrap around me in a powerful squeeze.

Warm kisses, salty water, silver moon,
Slow song, in the club, hear the croon,
water droplets shimmer on her naked *******,
flashing jewels, reflected neon, I taste the rest.

Clear-aquamarine water waves lap the beach
making small gurgling noises,
out in what should be the surf are
barely noticeable two-inch tall rolling waves,
there is no foam to be seen.

Bits of seaweed float in clumps here and there,
gulls work, a hundred yards out, diving and loudly laughing;
I am armed with khaki wading shorts and a coral Columbia shirt
along with a green Tilley hat and blue mirrored Costas,
a St. Croix rod and a Shimano reel.

Shuffle and slide my feet as I wade out chest deep,
the water's cool battles the early June sun,
at my left chest, a poking and jabbing feeling,
a shrimp spine, in my pocketful of live bait,
the smell of a meal, if the fish refuse to bite them.

The hook slides through the shrimps head
as it squirms in my hand, now ready,
I reach back and cast my lead weight,
taking the baited hook directly in the water
underneath the gathering cloud of birds.

I feel the bump as the lead hits bottom,
immediately a thump, thump, and a ****,
counting mentally three seconds pass,
I reel down and set the hook,
it bites in as the battle begins.

Leaping out of the water, fighting my attempts
at keeping it down, a large silver and spotted
sea trout pulls drag briefly before I get it turned,
I begin to back up into shallower water,
as I pull the fish towards me.

Ten feet away now, the fish makes a final jump,
as a huge swirl underneath it reveals a fin,
the heaviness on my line increases then reduces by half,
I continue to reel in my prize or what is left of it.
just the trouts head, vampire teeth shining in the sun.

Annoyed and with jitters, I re-bait and cast out
aware that a 6-foot bull shark roams these waters;
studying, I see a dark shadow heading back out
towards the splashing fish, and diving birds.
I patiently wait on another bite.

So many thoughts and verse
on footprints in the sand,
I turn and look down the beach
a narrow bit of unmarked land.

Though I have been walking
for hours and steps untold,
looking behind me,
none of that unfolds.

Not a single footprint,
or a disturbed sand grain,
perhaps this journey
has been only in my brain.

The waves just keep crashing
licking at my feet
and the shells keep on changing
never miss a beat.

Green water out as far as I can see,
foaming here and there, glints in the light,
on my right, vine covered sand dunes
rise blocking further sight.

Out in front of me
the same as behind,
I continue walking
not sure of what I'll find.

Imagining desolate whiteness of the ice age plain,
my searching eyes look for anything,
in the distance, some shapes, and colors
disrupt the monochromatic scene.

Heading that way, wooly mammoths come into view,
two of them and a glyptodon, found something to eat,
a bit of vegetation, uncovered by the wind,
brown frozen and old with no food value at all.

Yet they nibble and stand guard of their find,
thousands of years later, in a place called Argentina,
this scene is excavated by archeologists,
just as fascinated by their find.

Her toe prints on the windshield,
cutoffs shorts fit just right,
smooth legs and painted nails,
her tank top is a sight.

Head bobbing to the rhythm
“If that ain’t country” rocks,
even though its outlaw music,
she still pops and locks.

Looking at me smiling,
hair blowing in the wind,
we’re just driving around
who knows where this will end.

Blowing up the speakers,
speeding down gravel roads,
stopping in mesquite tree shade,
hell no we won’t get towed,
tangled up in the sunshine,
in the middle of the day,
we don’t need a barn,
for a roll in the hay.

Her toe prints in the mud,
our clothes hanging in the tree,
the creek pool is just right,
to be country free.

Tan lines reminds me
of a Texas back roads map,
after a little traveling,
it's time for a nap.

A splash of water in my face,
as crickets start to sing,
the sun is fading fast,
who knows what night will bring.

Blowing up the speakers,
speeding down gravel roads,
stopping near the creek bed,
hell no we won’t get towed,
tangled up in the evening,
at the ending of the day,
we don’t need a barn,
for a roll in the hay.

Her toe prints in the dust,
she leans on the rack,
calling all our friends,
let's party way out back.

Cooler opens and tops pop,
Willie Nelson blares out loud
a circle of pick up trucks,
a pasture party crowd.

Dancing on the tailgates
Silver stars overhead
we party till the rooster crows
and now we head for bed

Blowing up the speakers,
speeding down gravel roads,
heading for home now,
hell no we won’t get towed,
tangled up in the darkness,
at as night turns into day,
we don’t need a barn,
for a roll in the hay.

Ancient drawings on the wall
come sentient in flickering firelight,
the bow draws and arrows fly in carvings,
taking down long extinct prey.

Imagination runs rampant,
inside of granite caves,
hearing ancient drums
bah ***, *** ***, bah ***.

Pebbles roll, jerking eyes
searching out the origin,
nothing moves in the night,
feet of the long dead perchance.

A howl, or a scream?
from the mouth of the cave
sends hair standing,
and triggers fight or flight feelings.

Temperatures drop undeterred
adding more wood to the fire,
the energy absorbed by phantoms
that move on the edges of vision.

Liquid shadows flow toward me
touching me, eyes turn obsidian
encased in burning fires
fading down.

Headdressed dark wrinkled men
wearing furs of different creatures
surround me in a circle
eyes glowing.

I hear nothing, but see afflictions,
dying peoples, falling trees,
rabid animals, and raging conflagrations,
followed by icy glaciers, creeping across the land.

A spear pierces my side drawing crimson,
several feather fletched arrows impact me,
phosphorescent blade, cuts into my carotid
discharging a torrent.

Soaked in sweat as daylight breaks,
a scream is coming from my throat,
as my hands reach, staunching wounds that are not there,
I search out understanding in the madness, as breathing slows.

Searching eyes shine blue,
looking through the sea
of never ending humanity
for the only you.

Luscious lips lick lasciviously,
salivating suddenly, sun shines
upon her glorious find,
she will fight tenaciously.

Holding her love close,
defending her righteous claim,
marking her territory visually,
so all others know.

With gripping soft hands,
and little kisses placed
upon lips and cheeks
in sight of others.

Standing naked on the porch
in early morning darkness,
there is just a touch of color
on the eastern horizon.

The stars look faded
and there is no moon,
I contemplate the hour,
enjoy the brisk cool air.

Then clawed feet pitter
up the stairs and to the door,
I follow the dog inside
and go back to bed.

Shadowed dream reality,
peppered curious chaos,
delving into karma
with a silver teaspoon.

Stirring dangerous emotions,
in cauldrons of cast iron,
where hearts once were,
now cold and dark, the fire gone.

Irradiated kisses burn,
into skeletal cheeks,
once plump with joy
now evaporated.

Sweet condensed tears
drip dewy trails,
falling on empty palms,
dried, unable to rehydrate.

Parchment soul written,
the final story read,
now crumbled
and blown away.

Ancient envy searches,
sprayed into the cosmos,
parasitic proboscis,
draining life force elixir.

Prismatic injections,
Geiger counter clicks,
purple glowing
black light smile.

Huddled amongst constellations,
hiding from the photons,
lost with the flavored quarks
on the jello shot tray.

Slurping jellied happiness
from humanoid masses,
on a plethora of planets
distributing diseased directions.

Turning paths to cliff edges,
the precipice calling,
fingernails bite in,
you dare not answer.

But the ringing continues

The warp and weave of cloth
surrounding the curve of *******,
bright colors enhance a raised peak
as cold water creates goosebumps.

Imagination takes me to fantasies of
exhalations grazing creamy *******
exciting silken buds to bloom,
begging the promised warmth.

But so many to choose from
as a bevy of buxom beauties
roam the chilly surf
******* clad in tropical decor.

Forcing summer into spring
as coeds infiltrate lakes
and other beach areas
seeking freedom and wildness.

Splashing and splishing,
bouncing taught bodies,
epic eye candy and colors
cause naughty ideas.

The view sends testosterone rising
while the temperature keeps it
in check and on the verge of blue
wading and enjoying the view.

Ciphers and codes,
apple pie a la mode,
Navajo talkers unseen,
defeated the enigma machine.

.......................

Apple pie a la mode
is a code
that can only be solved with a spoon
under the light of the moon.

.........................

With frozen vanilla giggles,
goosebumps and wiggles,
I eat her apple pie a la mode
sending her into the zone.

................................

Pert apple stems heated
under my breaths warmth
ice cream rivulets run
as I enjoy her a la mode.

.................................

Morse code whispers
whipped cream topped whimpers
deciphering her squeezing hold
this time it's me a la mode.

Rise women rise,
realize you are a prize,
doff your covers and oppression,
use your creativity and expression.

Flaunt your beauty and your mind,
grow beyond religious binds,
you need no one to give permission,
search and strive it's your decision.

Drive to new locations,
pick and work vocations,
climb the ladder to new heights,
with a smile show them your might.

You're the ones in control,
break out of paternal molds,
arm yourselves with knowledge and power,
under no one's thumb should you cower.

Wield your *** like a sword,
swing it and tame the horde,
never let them get to you,
it's your life do what you want to do.

Rolling fog,
riding sails,
hulls puncture waves.

Schooling fish
under the precipice
where fresh water falls.

Saltiness lessened,
mellowed and clear,
under sheer cliffs.

Mood stabilized
as nature communes
with and despite me.

From mid-seventies
to the mid-thirties
spring and winter fight.

With mental shears,
the ropes holding me back,
severed.

My new self,
blooms in the sun,
of a new day.

Watered by tears
of past wrongs,
converted.

Roots grow
in fertile soil,
as growth continues.

Future is mine,
going forward,
opportunities.

Loss and hurt,
hidden under my shirt,
completely shattered,
unpleasant and tattered.

A glass of wine,
music plays,
torturing myself
with memories.

Salty tears flavor
Gewürztraminer,
and lubricate fingers,
the glass harp I play.

A damaged heart,
from loves disappearance,
improves over time,
but is never fine.

Our music is written on the page
in our combined blood,
the contract is sealed.

The angel chorus resonates
in the cockles of our hearts
and in the crevasses of our minds.

Sparking touches,
ignite passion,
singing refrains.

The climb begins,
as does ecstasy,
finale coda.

Upon the streets,
faces were hidden,
armed with ***** and beads.

In my hand a swirling hurricane,
as I walk down Bourbon street,
numb I am, like novocaine.

Swaying hips from side to side,
dressed like Carnival in Brazil,
how I do long to be inside.

A turn, a smile, a pose, and flash,
and the exchange of some beads,
pictures on my phone, memories to rehash.

She laces her fingers into mine,
walks me off the street,
her lips taste like the finest wine.

Unmasked now with carnal need,
in the alley, just off the quarter,
on each other we feed.

Drowning negativity
pervades the soul,
the maelstrom,
***** us down the hole.

Pressured crushing depths,
squeezing out all light and air,
epic implosion pending.

Tsunami rolling anger,
consuming totalities,
and drowning casualties.

The apocalypse approaches,
heralded on horse hoofs,
the dust of destruction,
kicks up behind.

The Antichrist,
War,
Famine,
Death.

Followed by the ultimate evil
be ready for pain,
and suffering,
and the end.

Birth is a guarantee of death,
life is a series of near misses,
and occasional sentinel events,
in the end, we fade to black.

The flower's colored blooms,
wilt to brown and fall away,
turn to dust in the wind,
just as youth is over in an eye-blink.

Dark spots and waning sight,
the music sounds turns
to black notes on a white page,
that simply turns to fuzz, then nothing.

All that is or ever was you,
returns from whence it came,
cosmic matter scattered,
as in the big bang.

Ancient artifacts warehoused,
dilapidated memories of yore,
unsealed time capsules scattered,
as cardboard and tape give way.

Dusty tchotchke avalanches,
spill remembrances haphazard,
photos curl as chemicals expire,
recollected thoughts stored in pencil.

Edges of old diaries eaten,
rodents and roaches survive,
on forgotten verse and rhyme,
and feelings of love and loss.

Pages scatter like leaves
blown about by the wind,
as it passes through gaps
in roofs and plaster and lath.

Needed no more, exhaust rises,
excavation equipment and bulldozers,
push it all in a hole, under urban renewal.
sealing it forgotten, in a concrete topped grave.

Salty sweat flavors,
energetic encounters,
syrupy sweet kisses
poured from my mind.

My memories trigger
pulled by a photo,
firing off emotions
to decades soundtrack.

Big bangs, white rain,
her eyelids painted blue,
white polka dot shirt,
tight rolled faded jeans.

Restaurants and movies,
fogged up back seats,
the joy of exploration,
hits us like a bomb of pleasure.

Swimming and floating,
saccharine smooches,
as the party ball floats
pour it on me.

Bikinis and fireworks
as the night falls
into the bedroom,
Armageddon explosion.

Roaring cataclysmic precipice
individual drops, making music,
like fingers on piano keys,
a gushing concerto.

The mist blows upon the breeze,
soaking everything downwind,
more dripping to be heard,
accompaniment to the liquid ivories.

Gurgling singing,
from smaller streams,
cascading down
granite choir pits.

I'm the conductor
mental baton directing
orchestral parts,
as I sit along side.

Chasing delerium
white rabbits run,
pink flamingos dance,
under closed eye lids,
in the darkness of night,
in my bed.

Spring flowers can be pressed
and stored in perpetuity,
collected for perusal
every year.

Summers trips to the beach
gathered memories with seashells
and vials of sand
a beach always in reach.

Falls leaves and color
gathered and trapped under
clear epoxy, a paper weight,
to hold down notes against the wind.

Winters beauty is fleeting,
the white blanket of snow and ice,
can never be collected,
it simply melts away.

Walking across bridges
creaking wooden planks,
suspension cabled steel,
or pedestaled concrete.

The sounds of waves crashing,
or the trickle of a mountain stream,
the roaring of a raging river,
or whistling wind down a hollow.

Jaw dropping heights
over muddy creek valleys,
or drainage ditches in the city,
simply paths to new places.

Decisions made,
changing locales,
the match is lit,
but never burn the bridge.

Days of the new
are one and a few,
while days of yore
will open the door.

The future is built
upon solid stilts,
of the past's foundation,
tested by duration.

Knowledge combined
from yesterday and refined,
with ideas from today
will pave the way.

Never lose sight,
though some might,
of what worked before
to reopen closed doors.

Posed picture,
say cheese.

Sitting there, all debonair,
a winning smile on her face,
I long to see and feel her
wrapped up in silk and lace.

Soft red hair, curled
and blowing in the wind,
I'm not sure how this started,
but I know where it will end.

All ******* in sheets,
clothes strewed across the floor,
a trail of them here and there
starting at the door.

Bruised lips from passions kisses,
places pink from kneading hands,
out of breath and fully spent
from our need and our demands.

Nauseating persiflage pontification
by aeolists with hollow minds,
it's a zugzwang situation,
so stuck among the prolix.

Panglossians in one ear
pessimists in the other,
a hiraeth longing for hygge,
yet stuck in the social mire.

Nonneutonian fluid vacuum,
imminent immersion of initiatives,
halting inundation of discerning,
heading toward a humming flat line.

Suddenly I adimpleate, with joy,
an archetypal suggestion floats in the air,
I excuse myself from the aretalogers,
and hunt the primordial source.

With legwork and inquest,
here and there on the scene,
I am defeated, misfortune,
alas, absorbed back into the quagmire.

Cypress branches hang solemnly
in the early morning stillness,
I feel the polar opposite,
I know the knees of the trees
hold bass and crappie
which I am here to catch.

With Texas rigged worms
and with feather-tipped jigs,
I grin with glee at the still water
and make my first cast,
waiting and salivating
with excited anticipation.

The boat glides silently,
trolling motor directed,
ultralight rod, orange and white bobber,
red and chartreuse jig ready,
wrist flick sends a ballistic arcing bait.

Landing 4 inches from the cypress knee
the bobber never stops at the surface,
sinking quickly, I lift the rod, and line runs,
reeling quickly, to prevent tangling,
I boat a sixteen-inch white crappie,
hopefully one of many.

The smell of bakers yeast
with molasses undertones,
the roar of propane as it ignites
sending blue flame and heat.

Copper *** and curling tubing
a hint of brass here and there,
aromas of cooking flour paste,
and the steady drip into a mason jar.

Shifting ice's avalanche noises,
now a steady stream flows,
swapping jars and taking sips,
adding apples, cinnamon, and nutmeg.

Crystal clear liquids,
some now full of fruit,
stacked in the corner
ready for the next party.

Unbidden in the night
an idea sparks to life,
waking me from restful sleep,
with the impact.

The act of contemplation
sets the thought in motion,
slowly moving at first,
but gaining inertia fast.

Soon it is moving
close to the speed of light,
ricocheting around my skull
like a BB shot into a coke can.

Bouncing round and round,
and keeping me up for hours,
until finally, energy is spent,
and it winks out of existence.

Either because I have gotten up
and written it down, because it's good,
or it simply died of its own volition,
and I go back to sleep, as the alarm rings.

As the boulevard runs away from me,
carrying you further and further out of sight,
the delirium tremens kick in
trembling now, alone in my chair.

Hallucinations start,
my lost beauty teases,
walking by, half naked
replaying memories past.

Leaving me in a puddle
of tears and slobber,
as I attempt to detox
my soul from a drugged love.

Though love it was,
cut with more lust
and speedy encounters
with no foundation

There is something refreshing about the sea,
a renewing of the soul,
a reconnection to the earth,
a resetting of circadian rhythms.

The sounds of crashing waves,
the roaring of the wind,
the saline taste of the water,
and exfoliating grit of the sand.

Bright sun's warmth, tanning skin,
renewing vitamin D levels,
coconut butter lotions,
enhancing relationships with sol.

Laughter from overhead, as the gull's joke,
majestic brown pelicans riding the breeze,
clams digging back in after each passing wave,
jumping mullet splashes, and the dolphins breathe.

Flashing silver scales of mud minnows,
and quick eye-catching motion of mole *****,
the fear of the pinch of the blue crab,
terror of a shark bite or sting ray barb possibilities.

So much life at the land's edge,
to see, hear, feel, taste and question,
for those who have never been,
can never understand the primordial need.

Slow steady moans,
from metronomic motions,
a wandering finger,
heightens joy.

Shifting positions,
changes angles,
prolonging the inevitable,
at satisfactions end.

Now smothered by her
being fed a treat,
and then another,
as hips roll.

High gear shifted,
as pistons pound,
the noises increase,
as the red line is passed.

Walking inside, you know it is going to be good
a swaying drunk buxom blonde, grinning ear to ear,
a baby possum in her hand, as she slurs and shows it off,
she is walking out, cause they don't want it inside.

Inside dark shadows, pierced by neon signs,
the clack of pool ***** and the eyes of locals,
the "mayor" sits at the end of the table
greets us as we belly up.

Staggers over a beer in hand with stories on his mind
shakes our hands and regales us with memories unbidden,
of a dancing beauty in a slinky dress, playing the violin,
as he acts out the memory of a concert in his youth.

A double crown and coke, and other drinks around
waiting for the barmaid struggling with amaretto sours,
a toast to being here, and having a good time,
echoed by the locals, as the "mayor" tells us that's why we're here.

We finish our drinks, and it's time to go,
but they wish we would stay,
I shake some hands out the door,
as the jukebox plays out unknown old music.

In the parking lot, possum girl, and her husband
argue, he says it's time to go home right now,
she has other plans, we want to stay and watch
but have things to do, we wave as we drive away.

An insulated landscape,
heavy and laden,
like my heart
longing for the sun.

Yet trapped here,
needing to get home
to my Venus, my love,
hoping the sun will come.

Thawing out the landscape,
bring spring to it's right
and sending me home
on silver wings.

Trapped by predestination
but only within my mind,
prophecies to be shattered
by embracing free will.

The opaque box around me
shatters into a million shards,
lines of thought and paths of travel
open up before me.

The small minded stoop
and pick up the pieces,
hoping to rebuild the dream
of something for nothing from on high.

Twixt regions of nether,
is a place of pure joy,
dreamed of by Peter,
and all of the lost boys.

A flower who's nectar,
is the sweetest of all,
grows in the valley,
they hear its call.

In the distance,
sensual peaks rise,
another place,
to claim a prize.

Though the boys fantasize,
about all of Wendy's locations
they have yet to catch a glimpse,
and they rub out their frustrations.

Embers light,
protection slight,
pray it holds,
til night folds.

In the eye of calm,
only you can walk,
the rest rages,
swirling around us.

Deep thoughts of love
and of the danger very real
sometimes is required
for the deep wounds to heal.

Her secrets contained,
within my mind,
memories unwrapped,
like birthday gifts
to be revisited,
like tchotchkes on the shelf,
wrapped by Victoria but it was not her name.

The highway,
cosmic beltway,
bureaucrats bellow,
over planets in the way.

Piles of paper,
in legible legalese,
readable, yes,
but understandable,
never,

Budgets created,
and defended,
but never met,
as laughter rings,
from contractors.

The restaurant
across the galaxy,
where answers 42,
are debated over
gargle blasters.

Towels hang on every chair,
feel free to take one,
as you raise your thumb,
to the sky and hope,
for the best.