Jesus, another freaking
fifteen-mile road march,
why'd I have to lift weights,
put on this extra muscle!?

Oh sure, he's strong enough Sir,
he can handle it!

Give him the machine gun &
that 22 extra pounds of belted-ammo.

He's a tough guy,
gonna make a fine gunner.

And just think,
in a fire fight,
the enemy will
be gunning for him first!

Oh,  he's gonna be alright Sir,
with all that extra muscle,
he'll put up
one helluva fight!

Just my luck,
I wished I had stayed skinny,
those guys have loads of army-fun
just peeling potatoes.

My cold hard bunk is warm
with thoughts of her pretty mouth
working its way south.

This warm grip of her hot image
gyrates into explosive measures
in barracks-silence.

The stars above me
offer no warmth,
they are
of little comfort.

I am in the danger zone,
out on the perimeter,
dug in deep
like an Eskimo
in an ice fortress.
The winds have made my nose run,
frozen snot covers my beard,
my eyes tear constantly,
making it hard
on the night-vision.

Occasionally,
I see streaming jet-lights,
an airliner in the stratosphere,
zipping across the Heavens,
out of harm’s way.

And I think about the cocktails,
the pretty stewardesses
gathered back near the galley,
it makes me warm
& crack a weak-smile.

I'd love to take this beast home,
I could drive over anything,
knock down trees,
blow like the breeze
through concrete.

In fact,
I could destroy
the whole town
with one of these
& a Ma Deuce.

Think about it,
leaving tracks all over
the rival schoolyard
would be trick,
but really,
what kind of a *******
would bring home an APC?

Beef patties covered in sand ****.
Scrambled eggs floating in rain water ****.
Frozen coffee *****.
Bugs in Chicken ala King ****.
The hot sauce is some consolation.
Thank you taxpayers
for your sincere generosity,
I hope you are enjoying
your Sunday brunch.

Another uniform inspection,
got my shoes spit shined,
not a single wrinkle,
just look,
no creases.

My brass is shinier
than the sun,
ribbons laid out
row upon row,
looking perfect.

And wouldn't you know it,
the guy's clothing inspecting me,
ain't right.

He's checking out my suit
& his own boots are scuffed,
typical army *******,
stupid stuff.

These boots ****!
They spend all this money
on killer training
then expect us
to force march
with a full battle load
wearing cheap-*** footwear!

I wonder if she ever thinks
about the world of **** I'm in,
this ******* unholy place.

How will I ever be able to
explain this line of work,
laser-equipped firearms.

She wouldn't hurt a flea
& here I am,  
destroying **** to save me.

I've been ******* & dumping
in a communal hole
for three months.
The enemy gets to go home
& use a private hole there.
This ain't home.
This **** ain't right.

I am solidly in love
with the dark
& as I lay here alone,
I am finding
other revelations
to convince me 'tis true.

I think about you constantly
in this heightened state,
kissing the pitch,
while satisfying this itch
to a conclusion.

There's a great owl
outside
my closed window,
hooting
to the rhythm
of air conditioners
kicking on and off.
It's melody seems askewed,
as if it's toxicated
on the technology
of finely tuned thermostats,
seemingly
out of whack.
And when I think
about those places without
controlled climates,
I wonder if the songbirds there
sound better than a drunken
bird of prey here.

You could tell she
was really someone special,
walked as if she floated on air,
wore her sheened-hair
in abundance,
wrapped it flowing
all around her sweet pretty face.

The bandana & pretty flower,
indeed were an attractant,
but the real grace was
in her penetrating-eyes,
they glowed brightly,
peered right into your soul,
melted your heart
with unspoken kindness.

Her feminine thighs
spoke volumes &
the other guys were listening,
stood speechless,
surrounding her,
mouths open in awe.

Her voice sounded pure nightingale,
not too high-pitched, but rather
an alluring melody & hypnotic.
She wore her **** clothes
to accentuate her finer details,
******, borderline exotic,
all the others paled
in comparison.

She was so fine,
genuine heaven
on two tiny feet,
first-rate all the way
& somebody else's date,
that was the problem.

I found a locket,
a small gold one,
in a second hand store.
The flowers were worn
on one side,
on the other
was a beautiful
cursive inscription,
"Aileen."

It had a working hinge,
a locking clasp
& on the inside
was a tiny photo,
a debonair
handsome
smiling man.
This striking gent
didn't look like
he'd be named
the inscription.

As I pondered who he was,
I began to think
how special
the keeper to this possession
must have been,
'cause people didn't smile much
way back then
& somebody
surely
made him happy.

Some days
I want to just wake up
& go out to kick some ***,
then there are other days,
when I just want
to lay here
with you
& spread you
some of my love.

Wearing matrix-like dark-suits,
these perpetual clubhangers
sport techno-designer-buzzcuts,
standing replicants
smoking
eternal cigarettes
with thin lips
& shaded-eyes.
Accents emanate
from their smooth tongues
& they look so young
in the moving light,
groovin' on less than
a hundred luft balloons.

Most boys don't cry
for the troubles they create you,
some men will,
hiding them on the inside.

I cannot help it,
it's always like this
in the morning,
an accumulation
of creative energies
& pure testostrene,
the sweetest deadly mix
for the lonely
brokenhearted,
some of the ones
like me.

Cold & alone
on a dreary wintry-morn,
I read Greensleeves.

She must have been
someone truly-special
for Him broken
to have written,
such heartfelt words.

O, the pain of love!

There's something
about Lake Natoma
as you watch the sun
dip below the coastal range,
when the cool wind
blows through
your tussled hair
& your sweet woman
picks summer flowers
from hers.

Who doesn't remember Tony Lama
& those flashy pearl buttons,
cruisin' down the streets in torn jeans,
shirts unbuttoned to flat-navels
revealing sprouting chest hairs.

The disco ball twirled dance-magic,
along with the beach sounds
of sweet soothing melodies,
the ones that made you want
to sunbath covered
in Banana Boat oil.

A little bit of grease
went a long ways,
while warring with stars,
we got drunk in the bars,
sometimes got lucky in our cars
dreaming of better days
that weren't too great after all.

I miss those simple dates,
the ones without
immediate gratification
based on
the grand designs of
computer-aged
mobility.

I just walked by her
& lost my breath.
O boy,
the incredible
feeling in my *****
for her
was immediate,
very palpable.

I mean dude,
I fell for her hard,
like somebody
pulled the rug
right out
from under my feet.
& I usually don't fall
for the ladies like that,
but man,
she was smoking hot,
ratta-tat-tat,
super-sweet.

I figured
it must have
something chemical,
because
I don't do drugs
on the first date.

It was a time of innovation,
a period of fresh discovery
for us infantrymen.
Close quarter combat
was never fought like that,
M4's, NVG's and IPods,
with lot's of grenades.
Technological
advancements
so explosive,
beyond any
of our wildest dreams.
And yet,
and yet,
the deliveries
were still the same,
hand-to-hand,
we fought,
pulling pins,
listening
to the sound
of automatic bullets
whizzing overhead
& Ozzie,
some Metallica,
all season long.
Some things never change,
like war and death.

There are some things
meant to be left alone,
not ****** with.
Like monkey paws
and chicken bones,
dolls with pins,
ancient incantations,
those kinds of things.
And if you do not believe me,
go ahead and try one,
try all of them if you want.
I remember once
my good friend Jimmy
tried out a revenge spell
on an enemy of his.
Well, the guy went bankrupt
and we haven't seen Jimmy since.
There are stories circulating though--
visions of Jimmy seen running
through the woods
screaming on hellfire.
Thank God that only happens
once a month,
during the full moon
people dream it.
I heard his family still cries
and prays for him to come back home.
I also heard his father
was soliciting around town
for a monkey's paw.
That's a bad omen.

Sunlight played off
the limes & golds
& there were azures too.
And my oh my,
how the howlers howled,
as dew dripped down
from the canopy
above.
It was quite mystical,
those ancient stone faces
stared at something
even I couldn't see.
But you could feel it there.
Oh yes, you could feel it there,
between the vines & toucans,
something unspoken,
something unnatural,
like spirits
gathering
with angst
for the
clear-cutters.

I swear
sometimes I hear him
out in the hall,
that familiar shuffle,
moving slowly,
but with
determination.

I remember
back in the day,
my brother and I
******* him off.
He'd scream & yell
so loudly,
like he was going
to blow a vessel.
Mom would give us that look
& we'd hold in our snickers.

And when
he got dementia,
things changed a lot,
he mellowed quite a bit,
didn't ever seem the same again,
even forgot our names.

******,
now that he's gone,
I'd give everything I own
just to see him
angry or mad
or mellow &
he could call me
anything he wanted, too.

I was beautiful once,
had my magic dreams
& my share of troubles.
I swallowed pain,
sifted through the rubble,
got stained,
tainted by the man,
even been ****** around
by the elite.

I've been drunk on my feet,
indulged in lots of illicit things,
like large doses
of heavy drugs,
***** *** &
petty crime.

I've dreamt of rebellion,
vindication & revenge,
sometimes exposed some
bad tendencies,
but despite all the slights,
all my misfortune & fights,
one thing is for certain,
I haven't found
any good excuse
to become a stone cold
****** killer,
not a single one.

They'd sit around drinking beers,
talking about **** and ***,
the things they were going to do,
this and that,
some really lewd
& the more they consumed,
the ruder it got.

I was mainly quiet,
usually just asked for another.
It was times like that,
times when us boys
sat around and got drunk
thinking about women
& I hated being a dude.

It was somewhere
near Bodensee
we rolled in
wasted
from the cold.

Blasted funky-monkeys,
we committed
shock-treatments
under swirling lights.

Revelry-Yanks held the
local girls tightly,
long into the night,
we lost ourselves,
somewhere
near Bodensee.

Somewhere the sun is dying,
sinking west
& rising east,
somewhere the sun is born.

I drifted along A1A,
sunken to Heineken depths,
my thumb at attention.
Coldplay had rocked the night before
& there were long ribbons of cars
trailing the byways.
I never realized how
unforgiving concert goers are,
six hours of hitching & not one bite.
I was even wearing a tie dye.
So much for peace & love,
the good neighborly thing.

Soon,
I'll be soaring,
free
above
the conifers & elders,
the Nantahala waters
below
will glisten
against
the ancient rock
& free,
I'll be soaring,
soon.

Keep doing what you're doing
you sower,
oh, how you sow.
You play others
as if they are fools,
injecting them
to steal their money,
cozying up to drain sweet love.
You drop balloons & break hearts.
Think that's funny?
Well, I'm God & I'm really ******.
I will reap,
soon sower.

There's a starling
singing soprano
in the dogwoods,
such happiness.

Go ahead,
you castaway,
spread your arms
wide open,
embrace the sun,
kiss it,
stroke the wind
with a fiery-spirit,
spin wildly,
mold yourself
into a new galaxy,
let your mind
create
a bigger universe,
you have the energy,
you have mystical ways
& you know you do.
So smile you.

And who were you
to leave
me
so tainted
& in pain,
so tainted,
jaded
by what you said
was true love
heartbreaker.

They wanted ecstasy
& so I gave it to them
every time
draining me
of a little bit
more
of my soul.

Dark shadows circled my nest
on the ridgeline that
spooky winter night.
All I could see
was the moonglow
sifting through my misty breath,
glinting off my suppressor.
Icy winds whipped
up through the valley
to kiss my bearded face
& freeze my teardrops.
I thanked God for my pakol
and woolen fingerless gloves.
The fibers kept me warm
under the blanket of stars.
Not a cloud,
nor a single wisp
could I see against the pitch.
I had the itch to pop off a round
on a falling pebble.
But to do so,
might have meant certain death.
The area was crawling with bad guys,
insurgents looking for heads.

Hunkered down,
freezing in nylon
we spooned,
hugging one another,
inhaling our methane
& laughing,
as gale-winds screamed
all around us,
the only sounds we heard,
high up on the cold shoulder.

You see,
it doesn't matter to me,
I still want to lick the juice
off your sour lips,
**** it out of your mouth.

She had Southern attributes,
making cornbread was one of them,
O how she loved them
peppermint sticks!

Pan-fried chicken *******
Sweet buttered corn-on-the-cob
Fresh apple dumplings

I want to leave my mark
in you
like you did
on me
all over,
so let's trade body parts.

I dream to be a space cop,
plop myself into
a supersonic hovercraft
& draft Milky Way speeders.
I'll leap from constellation to constellation, bypass
the Internationl Space Station
& write millions of citations,
one for each star-car,
keep myself busy
for all eternity.

Thousands swirl
sending signals,
garbled-voices taking pictures,
criss-crossing above us,
jockeying for position.

In our efforts
to rule the universe,
we've even junked up space,
it's a wonder
we can still
see the sun & blue skies,
or the face of the moon
between the stars.

I’d spent months
working on the vector-calculations,
checking, verifying, rechecking, rechecking, rechecking
in a circular-order, a daily ritual,
infecting my mind with worry.

Such things were important,
so very critical for mission success.
A careless subtraction,
a meaningless missed-detail,
one minor error in the numbers
and my chances went up astronomically.
The chances I would not make it back,
not make it back to see all those nice things
going on down on the surface.

Strange, how your mind can play tricks on you up here,
this lonely place where dreams are made
& lost. I know she’ll be sorry when she finds out
about my mistake, but things
should have been better between us.

Sadly, they weren’t.

It's a little known fact,
but true.
Jean-Luc Picard
grew up believing in Yoda.
Ever since he saw the little fella
in Star Wars, he's kept a picture of him
in his Star Trek wallet.
And if people knew that,
the ratings would
have been higher
for Star Trek,
'cause everybody loves Yoda.

Interestingly,
when the Apollo program
kicked off in the 60's,
Yoda hadn't even hit
the movie screens yet.
Too bad,
those early astronauts
would have loved
to have had a mascot!
Everybody knows,
space travelers
have to believe in someone.
It's just great universal karma!

Once,
we drove my pick-up
into outer space.

I swear,
it's true,
we literally left the planet.

O sure,
we were high on alcohol,
had to crawl to the truck
for ignition.

But regardless,
think of how far we drove,
to Neptune & back,
twice before sunrise.

It feels like
I've been here before.
Some call it deja vu,
that tingly feeling you get
when certain fragrances,
situations come back
from distant memory.
Those lights that followed
my car on that lonely stretch
were certainly
bizarre.
I'm tingling again,
am I an alien spawn?

She wore a Buzz Rickson jacket
& leopard-skin tights.
Her stilettos were nine miles high
& the black spandex top she exhibited
exploded below her crimson curls.
One wrong look from you
& ruination day
would come your way.
She was the kind of lady
who would make you pay.
And any penalty she'd dish out,
was well worth it,
she was truly that special.

I've seen devices
I never knew existed
& I wonder how those things work,
these things look like double headed chickens,
some are even long,
thick & bumpy,
a few solar-powered.
I think I'm going
to buy me a drum
& beat a fancy tune,
turn things up a notch,
work myself into a frenzy
perhaps visit a cabaret
& play a mime,
'cause I'm speechless.