Stella had a pentagram etched
across her pert chest,
her jet hair
accentuated
her icy blues,
she walked twisting the heads
of the forsaken,
she was black magic,
all the way.
Satan has all the spellbinding girls.

To have your sweet fragrance
all over me
is to be covered
in the spell of a living goddess.

We spent cartridges
like honeydew wine water,
they flowed in all directions
as we tormed the ramparts,
spilling destruction with
concentrated-fire.

Split second decisions
left us unable to think,
to think about the color of our socks,
what coffee flavor intrigued us,
or how we wore our hair.

All we cared about
was one more day
above ground,
it was survival of
the fittest,
not who was neatly-dressed.

The room spun
round & round,
up & down,
was swirling,
like we were
floating
on the high seas.

Laughter echoed,
the faces melted
back into the walls.
It seemed as if people
were crawling on the walls,
floating all around us
on angel's wings.

We had an absolute ball
inhaling the sensi
from the floor ****,
the song about stairways
jammed on the airwaves,
I swear it felt like
we were spending time
in heaven.

Soon I'll be spilling blood,
climbing my last adventure,
walking on granite slabs
for a better view
& who knows
when I'll be back
to this sacred place.
I sure don't.

And so I lie here,
wide awake.
I can smell your hair,
sip your sweet lips.
Every morning
I think of you,
hardened like this,
I kiss the air,
***** emptiness,
and you're not here,
but only in spirit,
I can see your eyes.

Cool black streams & mossy oaks
soothe the weary traveler.
But there is really no way
to fully describe in words
the true spirit
of La Florida outdoors.
Let's just say
it gets lost
in the bottomlands,
these endless swamps filled with gators
& ibises as far as the eye can see.
A shooting star
on the tip of the Everglades
spells magic
& with every croak of the bullfrog,
you lose yourself a little bit more,
from the unreality of living
away from this paradise.

A black stain coats my tongue,
it tastes of metal,
an epitaph for the unholy ones,
who tainted my soul
with the pain
I spit out.

She is a beautiful lady,
inside & out.
Photographic
split images of her beauty
play inside my wanton-mind.
My imagination is on constant rewind,
runs wild thinking,
dreaming of all the ways
I could please her her in that picture,
the split image of her,
her beautiful self
exposed.

People tell me,
you did this,
you did that,
you said this to so & so
& did you know
that nobody
but you
could have done
it like that.
And I wonder
if they're bullshitting me
or if something
else is taking place,
like pieces of me
are splitting.

They say
you never forget
your first time
& I haven't.
I remember it very well.
It was exhilarating,
my heart was pounding,
I felt electrified.

You were mystical Darling,
I mean freaking awesome
decked out in ****-black,
your gothic garb,
it made me take
a second look,
I was hooked
on you,
wanted you bad.

And the atmosphere
was perfect.
You turned
the lights down so low
& lit up a circle of candles,
it made it feel so surreal,
nothing sad.

My juices were flowing
as your moved your hands
across the slippery board,
answering all my questions
like an old pro,
some kind of witch.

Everything was perfect,
there was great flow,
but still
I thought
you should know Miss,
it creeped me right out
when that sorcery-book
started to float,
then you kissed me.

It sent me into spasms,
I was trembling,
& yet,
I found it strange
how I didn't gloat
my first time
I played Ouija
in the dead of night
with you
lying next to me.

'Cause you're
a real fine lass
& there's no
maybe about it,
there's a lot of sass
in there too
Spooky Baby!

Curled in hot delight
Body on body, we do not fight
Love with all our might

I want to lie in a place
where I can't breath,
witness the curvature,
hang out with my buds
& spoon at sixty below
under the seracs.
For in those moments
& with those people,
I feel truly real.

Alone I walked
in contemplative-thought
along the trail of Virginia-soil,
once covered with blood.

A flood of emotion
swept over me
as an eerie cool fog lifted
toward the mule shoe.

And out of the mist
rose a ghostly specter
to discuss
the desperation,
what horror took place there,
in the ****** angle.

In the darkness,
I layed spread eagle
in hyperspace.
My *****
yearned
in midair,
submitted to her
playing sweetheart
on the deck,
out of harm's way.

Her voice played hell
with my fiery-mind
& with kama sutra thoughts,
I exploded in a geyser
of raw emotions,
wondering about
the million miles
between us & counting
the soothing rain drops.

******* are not the words
for this kind of anger,
this rage,
this indignation goes much deeper.
I mean,
we've been lied to,
cheated on,
****** out of our hard earned bucks
& held down for so long,
I think the fat man himself
would get up and
stomp some heads,
spread some of his Buddha-love
in a karmic-spirit
sort of way...
make them pay!

I want to spread myself
like marmalade,
cover her
with my wholesomeness,
from her crown
down to
her pretty little toes.

Lord knows
how sweet she is,
I'll spread peanut butter love
all over the place,
look at her scrumptious-face
& eat her whole.

Your shrill call
pierces the morning calm,
yes winged-one, cry out...
let them know you are coming,
proud hunter,
guardian of the sacred order!

Chicken-games with dogs
Spinning circles around trunks
Birds of prey waiting

The tracks are broken up,
there are no whistles blowing
nor mean dogs barking,
the muffled cries are silent
& the shower lines are gone.

There is no more
wailing,
sobbing,
nor the clutching of hands
or endless tears,
fear is nonexistent.

The rusty iron ovens
have turned cold
& those once
perpetual-embers,
no longer
float skyward.

The only sounds
one might hear
now in this solemn place
are the soothing
whispering winds
& the beautiful
chirping
of a single bird.

When you get right down to it,
in this great big world,
full of awe & mystery,
wonder & heartbreak,
who really gives a rats ***.
It seems that's the problem.
We can write stanzas & verse
until the cows come home,
but does it really matter?
We can electrify
or make some cry with
the words we select,
infect hearts with emotion,
but until somebody really cares,
and I mean shows you,
it's like ******* in the wind,

Star Angel,
Star Angel,
pick me with your vibes,
inject me with serum,
create a new star.

Star Angel,
Star Angel,
I am primordial,
I am a stream of light,
I am your project.

Star Angel,
Star Angel,
wrap me in your spiral-arms,
hold me in your sun,
I do believe in quantum theory.

You are perfection
Star Angel,
make me whole,
make me a true believer
Star Angel,
you are my universe.

You have
pieces of star-matter
in you.
That fact alone
makes you
relevant.

Pondering in space
You lie wondering about
your place in the sky

I would drink stardust
in copious amounts
straight from the big dipper
just to spend
a single night
with Andromeda.

We lay between the dimensions,
she stirred,
she shook my soul.

I craved her crystal heart,
put a kiss on top of her head
and watched the rain
through cracked glass.

I felt her
from a million,
a million miles away.

You inked your own message
to the world,
carried the universe on your face
& held mysticism deep inside,
under lock and key.

But you could never fool me.

Your freckles
gave you away,
shed some light
on the little bit of innocence
left inside your heart.

I would trace
all of her contours
with soft-kisses,
gentle-fingertips
would explore
her-finer details,
save the best for last
& not too fast,
she'd feel my thunder
under her
staring at the stars,
somewhere in nirvana.

People creep me out,
they stare at me,
black eyes vacant like whites.
And they don't even ******* know me,
I own diamonds & pearls,
am a trained widow-maker.
I eat glass with my Wheaties
& know how to
disable human bodies
rather quickly.
I'm not sickly
or the least bit paranoid,
I just don't like people
staring at me,
it creeps me out.

We figured it out,
my lifelong friend and I
over fish tacos & raspberry tea.
It was in her nose earring,
star radiance &
the hidden meanings
of life.

I've counted
the stars of his belt
a few thousand times
& the sisters
have spoken to me
many times more,
kept me company
on the most frigid of nights.
Dogs and bulls and eagles
have given me guidance
during the pitch darkness.
And the falling ones
have given me hope
through the madness
of this never ending fight.

There's a certain beauty
to an L-shaped zone,
it gives you chance to sit
& contemplate,
to think
about your loved ones,
how to face your fears,
even count the ticks
on your subdued wrist watch.
You also learn about stillness,
& how not to move,
how not to arouse suspicion.
It takes real guts not to squirm
when beads of sweat roll down
between the cheeks of your ***.
'Cause to do so
would mean certain death,
or at the very least,
giving up your position.
And in enemy territory,
doing that,
ain't cool.

There's nothing
like rocking and rolling
in a steamy shower.
Me hoisting you up,
your back against the wall
& me ravishing you
to the tune
of Led Zeppelin.
O Darling,
well of course
Mozart would work,
he's just as melodic!

If you told me Darling,
if you told me I was,
I was your one & only,
I would stick,
I would stick,
I would stick
to you forever.

But O My Darling,
can you,
can you do it,
can you say it,
say it,
say it
with conviction
& do you,
do you,
could you,
could you really
mean it?

Fearless & young,
dumb & fuller
once
&
now,
a little less fearless
& a bit older,
way smarter,
but still full.

I hear sitars,
the beat of ancient drums
in my dreams,
I envision her,
undulating,
chanting incantations,
her musk invigorates.

The bells on her toes
jingle a love-melody,
so hypnotic,
it soothes beyond belief
& in an instant,
I am swept away
by her ******
pleasures,
honey dew drips
from on her
lips &
what can I do,
I am stone cold drunk
on such a treasure.

The mountain storm
plays pitter-patter
on the upturned leaves,
thunder echoes its mighty trumpet,
as if a herd of bull elephants
were running by me.

The smell of electricity
wafts the air
& I stand here naked,
allowing the chilling drops
to soak my hair
& cover me
with their beauty.

Lightning illuminates
my sitting place
& thunder rumbles
the jade walls.
I swear
I can hear bamboo creaking
in the wind.
I know the sacred powers
love me,
they're putting on
quite the show,
an array of majesty
for me to witness,
to witness
in my solitude.

Cicadas do not sing,
they whisper stories.
And if you listen,
if you listen closely,
all the mysteries
are revealed.

These white rockers are awesome,
set up strategically,
right in front of the food court.
It's so appetizing
watching the people
stuff their faces full
while on the run.
The sushi bar
looks interesting,
think I'll slow down
a bit,
have a dish of raw fish,
pass the extra time
I have
due to my canceled flight.

I've seen weird lights,
heard strange noises,
for several nights in a row
& I was wondering
if anybody knows,
does your head buzz
incessantly
when they,
the grays,
are trying to communicate?

'Cause I get
the strangest feeling
aliens are trying to
tell me something
& it's frightening.

Sat next to an old timer down at the shop last week,
he looked older than Methuselah,
piercing blue eyes surrounded by red,
seemed nearly dead,
like he’d been crying for a century.
He told me he was from Tennessee,
another good old Southern boy like me
& we got to talking about all kinds of things.
We ran at the jaw from baseball to politics,
frolics & war, even diamond rings.

I learned he was a fellow veteran,
said he had worked on the big boy
during the last big one,
said it wasn’t much fun,
but they were sworn to secrecy
to do it.
I pondered for a second or two,
knew exactly what he was talking about,
that Manhattan Project,
the huge mushroom-bomb!

Being a kindred soldier,
I leaned over, knew I was safe,
& asked him how he felt,
how he felt about its effects,
all that killing.
It got really quiet, eerily silent,
then he looked at me
& with a lone tear
rolling down his wrinkled cheek,
replied,
“Son, they killed my brother
in the Pacific, which killed
my mother in Cypress Creek,
which killed all my childhood dreams.”

Strange,
            how
                    killing
                              trickles
                                          downhill.

She winked in her cute little bandana,
was standing strategically by the keg,
dressed non-discreetly in
a very **** skimpy-bikini.
The curls that wrapped
around her drop-dead beautiful face
accentuated her high striking cheekbones.
Her lips moved in slow motion,
the tip every now and then
licking the edges of her pretty mouth.
We made small talk about
the weather and current songs.
She kept telling me how handsome I was,
her striking-eyes seemed believable,
but I remained guarded,
I had heard those lines before.

The stars began to emerge as the sun sunk
lower and she wondered if I wanted to walk
with her, down to the edge of the ocean.
The beer had me feeling more relaxed
and I took her up on her offer.
Down we walked, slowly to the water's edge,
she taking my hand,
telling me how strong my grip was.
It seemed like we walked forever,
but before too long, we were out of earshot of the band, the party was just a blip on the horizon.
We looked to face one another,
it felt surreal, she made me feel stellar,
like we were having fun.

The moment was ripe, I dipped her hair away
from her full lips, placing mine on top of hers,
our tongues met, my heart melted.
There was a stirring below, a hardness
found by her searching hands.
As if on cue, she descended,
unzipped my jeans rather quickly,
took me fully into her mouth.
She seemed expert, it was glorious,
my eyes rolled back in my head,
I squirted into her closed mouth,
wrapped around her prize.
She stood up, kissed me on my quivering lips,
told me I was exquisite,
the best she ever had,
& I believed her.

We walked back slowly,
my arm around her slender shoulder,
talked about the future.
When we arrived back at the bonfire,
things had heated up, the music was cranked,
people were dancing like they had drank too much.
She told she wanted to freshen up, asked me if I wanted a beer, I answered her affirmatively and
off she went, back into the raucous crowd,
in the direction of the keg.

She never came back, I never saw her again,
I never even got her name or number.
I felt used, a bit heartbroken.
I think she just wanted to **** me,
then let me go free for personal reasons.
It seemed rather one-sided,
I was hoping we confide in each other.
Strange how that happens both ways sometimes.

Many of those nights,
I just wanted to have fun
& I ended up
****** up instead.
Sometimes in my own bed
alone,
sometimes in others
not.
Most times,
they forgot my name.
Strange nights indeed.

Once in India,
I locked myself
in a white room
decorated only with
a bamboo-mat
& a ceiling fan.

There was an incense burner
& a hole in the ground
in there, too.

I torched nag champa
incessantly,
visited the hole often
& chanted to
the sun & the moon
to find myself.

It's so strange how
I can't remember
a ****** thing
about that pilgrimage,
'cept I made it
back home safely
with my clothing
smelling
like sweet ****.

Who needs them anyways,
those late night strangers,
dialing you up to cop a feel,
to hear your lonely breath,
then they crawl
back
into the shadows
& live,
just existing.

Oh, it ain't nothing personal
to them
I guess,
but not me,
to me,
they mean
so much more,
like everything.

I saw Genghis in Vegas,
he was playing roulette,
winning big and grinning
in his Mongol-style.
I have to admit,
it was strange,
'cause I thought
he died centuries ago.

Then I saw Kurt
at the poker table
& immediately
I thought
perhaps
all of this
is an illusion.

Well, if I get the chance
to come back,
I'm gonna play
One-Eyed Jack
with Elvis.

Every time I look into
the brilliant blue sky
I think of her eyes.

And when the sky is black,
I see her hair,
flowing
beyond compare.

The bubbling brook
reminds me of how
she shook
when I held her
in my arms.

Her taste
is like strawberry.

Oblivious
to the scurrying feet,
moving to and fro,
sweeping furiously
to clean
his own
little part of the world,
toothless & smiling
wider than the cracks
on his brushed-artwork.

I find my refuge in poetry.
For in twisted stanzas,
that passionate-scribbling,
I can read of blue skies,
write amber waves,
dream rusty signs squeaking,
flapping in hot summer breezes,
oil rigs pumping & wavy-trees,
behind broken screened doors,
I hear phone’s ringing,
laughing children screaming.

I can eat biscuits & gravy,
savor catfish & string beans,
see the rolling plains,
feel the clapping thunder,
listen to yellow parakeets
as the morning sunlight
peeks through stained-glass,
the pitter patter of gentle rain.

Sitting on porch swings,
watching ripples on streams,
inhaling rivers of cigarette smoke,
I visualize hay rolls & barbed-wire fences
under flocked geese in flight.

Soothing wind chimes in c-minor,
jingling, meandering
through lace curtains,
I lay on lily white tiles
crying, clutching my tissue,
trying to make it through
another starless night.

Rocking with Eric’s slow hand,
wearing Tony Lama’s & driving Buicks,
this random selection of cells
I cannot keep inside me.
There are millions of things hidden
in my stronghold of words,
yet to be written.