We were serious lovers,
& so reverent,
the two of us
both flowed strongly
with the sacred spirit.
Regularly in silent adoration,
I'd invoke my request,
plead for satisfaction
& gracious her,
kneeling humbly
in obedience,
my beautiful dutiful idolizer
with diligence & determination
would always make
my heartfelt-prayers
come true.

I miss the cold crisp evenings
sitting around the campfire,
smoking and joking
watching the sparks fly
into the Milky Way above,
discussing the silent
glacial-mass looming.
And with nervous laughter,
we'd discuss the routes,
the problem areas of rock & ice
& how nice things probably
were back home.
But despite the dangerous
nature of our adventure,
there was no place any of us
would rather have been than there,
encamped in the shadow
of our potential demise,
called death.

There are untold treasures there,
amazing riches
for those chivalrous-guys
who can find the right,
the right key
to unlock
her lady-box,
covered with
the beautiful
glistening jewels
she wears
like a Queen,
her magnificent gems
I crave
knightly.

So eager
he writes,
in his diffused light,
kissing
your beautiful backside,
splitting your lovely orbs
& you do not fight him.
He hangs onto your pink thong
& the song that he sings
sounds so lovely,
a delicious melody
reverberating
off your white walls.
The mind,
his wanton mind,
is a terrible thing to waste.
Do you read him...kitten?

Haunted now,
I finally understand
what he meant
when he crooned
about the river.
For there,
I felt Louise’s breath,
just the way he described it.
I floated away &
holding her pretty face,
I learned about love,
the angst,
the pure sadness
of broken dreams.

From time to time,
on these short days,
during these long
lonely nights,
I return,
Drift
Back
Down
to the river,
our kissing-place
& I remember,
how I grew up
in her arms,
& she,
she  
lying under me,
trembling,
grinned
from rosy cheek to rosy cheek.

Thanks Bruce,
for taking me there
in song.

Rows of oiled bodies
of every shape & size
line the shore.

From gigantic thighs
to smooth flat lines,
tons of human meat,
dot the landscape.

O what an escape,
such a wonderful treat,
to see such diversity
glistening
under the Riviera sun.

I shot you
in my wildest dreams
again last night.

Over & over,
I put you in my crosshairs,
aimed straight on you
& drew a bead.

Then switching to a rapid fire mode,
I unloaded everything I had
on fully automatic,
dropped you
every which way but loose.

Ratta-tat-tat,
kapow, kapow,
ratta-tat-tat,
that's where it's at!

And you,
playing the perfect victim,
lay beautifully sprawled out,
relishing in each & every wound,
covered with my flood.

It was extreme,
so romantic,
a wonderfully ******,
sensuous scene,
and it made my blood boil,
left me dreaming for more
hot, straight-shooting.

Lock and load!

Hurry up Darling
& shut the door!

Twelve days on the isthmus,
trudging through the gap,
we sliced & diced
vines along the trail,
through a world all its own.

Iguanas & butterflies
accompanied us,
along with the tarantulas,
toucans & monkeys.
Everything was in tune,
nature at its finest.

But the bearded-dudes
we encountered
seeemed way out of place,
different from the nature
that was around us.

They were unusually
focused, out of touch
with their long line
of saddlebagged-mulas
& fully-packed mochilas.

The automatic weapons
& machetes finished
off the picture
of these serious hombres,
the runners of the jungle.

We traded Marlboro's
& Johnny Walker Red
for some tea & sugar
& they waved us on by,
gave us safe passage
into Colombia.

I remember the fragrance
of her sweet breath
as it poured over my body,
covering my wounds,
and her shaking,
her shaking,
and the way she giggled
with her pointed-tips,
and their pretty hue
lying
on my heaving chest,
comforted
I was.

I love her flowery-lines,
the prettiest rose,
so slick her petals,
genuinely fine,
a prime example
of what the sacred
intended her to be.

I trace your outline
alone in the dark,
imagine
your sweet
feminine form
lying beside me,
every part of me
is on fire,
you burn
the same desire.

We move melodic,
locked in unison to
the beat of Kashmir.
I feel your temperature rise
as I move behind &
between your thighs.
Your closed eyes
speaks volumes,
it's the sweetest music
to my ears.

Strange, how
my fiery-imagination
leads to such
a succulent conclusion.
I free flow
molten lava
explosively into you,
images of me grasping
your thick hair
as you sigh
with mutual satisfaction.
I am drenched in
the dreams I have of you.

You have a raw-fragrance about you,
I smell it way down deep in my very marrow.

Your crystalline-ice-eyes bewitch me,
you are not Earthly, you are angelic.

I can feel your lady-energy,
it’s so primordial, musk drips
from your wanton-lips.

I imagine your kisses
are sublime, feel electric,
would jolt my senses
into another dimension.

You make me
feel animal-like,
I want to seed you
with the same fervor
that burns in your own heart.

We tap the same keys,
no wonder you feel me.

Somehow you sleep
vibrating with caffeine
& curling fetal.

And in that lying state,
the wings of your mind
take flight
into a receding dream.

Cinnamon fragrance
reminds you
of our happier days
down by the seashore,
where everything
was a shade of grey
or cobalt or jade.

You marveled
at the sinister way
I moved my lips
& you sipped my soul.

But it was decades ago,
in the same
receding dream
I'm having
with you.

And you must,
you must know,
we were meant
to soar together.

There's frost on the corn
tonight.

I think I'll levitate
above the back forty,
check out the other crop,
the one hidden
from aerial-view.

When they pass the legislation,
we'll make millions,
the scarecrow & me,
my silent partner
in herbal-crime.

The hurricane had blown in
unexpectantly
across our island paradise,
suffice to say,
the next day was one of awe
& serious clean-up.
And in the midst of it all,
anger sprang forth
& the drunks got cut
for stealing,
feeding their hungry faces
with king crab
inside the burned out shack.

I was crazy
before I was born,
but it was genetic &
it wasn't my fault people.
Still somehow,
I was blamed.
You add the fact that
babies were having babies
& you have a ****** disaster
on your hands.

Six pounds, seven ounces of trouble
came forth after nine months of hardship & they named it me.
Go figure, giving birth
to an insane little human
with no manual given
for its manipulation.
But there was nothing
for me to fear as
they sought technical assistance
from the expert authorities.

Oh yes, help came in many forms
from the church,
the schools & the government,
all vying for control,
using their own mind games
& experimentation
to get their points across.

All were on a roll
and I rocked,
was at a loss,
hiding in the lyrics
of similar pains,
they too tainted
by their own genetics.

Love, the big "L" word,
wasn't really forthcoming either.
It was much harder to come by,
but just as devestating
when it became broken
like myself.

And it's hard to pick up
the pieces of a shattered heart
when they're scattered
everywhere.
Yet I try.

I hear every breath
coming into my lungs,
it wheezes through my nose
as it makes its way inside of me
carrying life-giving oxygen.
That sound alone
makes realize
I am truly alive.

But, I feel dead.
I do not know when
or where it happened,
how or even why
something inside me
has died.

I feel like crying,
raining tears
trying to recapture
the part of my soul
that made me
want to love you.
And I know it will be
to no avail.

For once gone,
broken-spirits never
return to the
scene of the pain.

In an age of plastic-alternatives,
brain implants & piercings,
augmentation & body building,
we can alter our states of being.

Little pills can fix headaches,
stop viral infections,
make our wood get harder,
even clean up bouts of acne.

We can paint our faces,
decorate our eyes,
replace body parts,
exchange them too.

But if we knew the cure,
could figure out the genetic code,
had the solution for stupidity,
we could change the universe.

We wanted to start a program
and call it
climbing for the rez.
We hoped
to find serious candidates,
young people
who possessed the blood
of their great ancestors.
We had planned
to harness,
to rekindle
the warrior spirit
on high mountaintops
covered with ice age glaciers.
The lessons learned
to reach the summit
would last a lifetime.
It was an excellent plan,
a unique idea,
to truly help
fellow humans in need.
But we found no money.
It seemed no one,
not a single corporate entity
was interested
in us
helping
potential warriors
find their way.
We had to scrub the idea...

The governments of the world have united,
acting upfront but they’ve really gone underground,
implementing a behind-the-scenes scheme
to defraud the global-people
of their money & sovereignty.

While we battle semantics, terrorist & drugs,
it’s business as usual for the real thugs,
who keep filling our pockets with gizmos
like I-Pods & I-Pads & tablets,
modern technologies
making our life’s simpler,
draining us of our hearts & souls,
forcing us to write about what’s missing
in this universe of abundance,
stolen by the greed-mongers.

I love you kindred spirits,
because you understand
these reasons for such emptiness,
this destruction of sacred spirit.

While others talk about it & do nothing,
you bleed your hearts & write about it,
trying to save a smidgeon of humanity
gone sterile.

You are more true
than any government on Earth,
you are a secret society of scribblers,
telling the truth.

O Sweet Lady,
I want to probe
your inner self,
glide into
your hidden knowledge,
rise up on
your wisdom.

Yes.

O Dear Woman,
take me,
take me to
a higher place
of learning,
educate me,
educate me with
your fine body arts,
mark me for forever.

Please.

O Lovely Miss,
for if you do this,
show me tenderly,
let me into your dreams,
then I will know,
I will know
the secrets of
your true heart.

Nirvana.

My fingers
maddenly
stroke across
the letter-keys,
reproducing
my fiery thoughts
about you,
how I feel
& the acts
I want to do.
To kiss your lips
for an eternity,
and to trace
your beautiful form
forever
drives me
to the brink
of raw,
pure,
primordial creativity.
It's hard,
like granite,
these images imbedded
deep,
deep,
deep
inside my mind.
You intertwined,
wrapped around
my genetic impulses,
a ball of ions,
slapping me
into submission
& I release,
I release,
I release in spasms,
these multiple emissions.
Beautiful tokens
of my love for you,
unspoken
& electrical.
Do you ever think about me...
electronically?

There was a time in my life
when I was an expert
at quarters.
In fact,
I was so good at it,
every time I played,
I would get more *******
than all the others.
It wasn't about love
or intimacy,
it was about being
the biggest bad ***.
But when I look back now,
it may have been about
being the biggest
drunk *******.

I lie here
alone in the darkness,
an empty goblet
in my hand,
with hazy brown eyes.
The taste of Merlot
swirls
in my mouth,
and my beating heart,
though numb,
hurts.
And through the wall,
I hear the static of television
next door
& I wish I were there,
lying next to her,
the single lady
with porcelain pale skin
I saw checking in
just before midnight.
I wonder if she feels
my quickened breathing
when I grip myself
in fantasy,
thinking of her
own loneliness.
(She is mine).

Swollen & full,
I search her deeply,
gently push into
her sweet wetness.

It's so breathtaking,
when I pull out
then swirl back in
to the left,
then back to the right,
again & again,
from every angle,
up & down
she opens wider
& plays her part
so willingly.

I bask in her swill,
and she
does not fight me,
so wanton,
she craves this art,
the sensuous art
of French kissing.

I want to take her with me
everywhere I go
on this vast planet.

We'll see amazing things
together,
experience
the unknown,
walk amongst
the blind people
unseen.

I want to cram her
into my patent leather
large suitcase
& connect the dots
to do it
first-class.

The dude was a serious ******.
he trained his monkey
to do criminal things.
Sometimes they'd shake it,
other times swallow.
That simian even did some
risky breaking and entering.
You could say he worked
hard for his money,
to buy his junk.

The other day
down at the shoe store
I heard a grown cry baby
******* & moaning
about his new shoes
not matching his socks.
And I was thinking,
"Dude,
are you for real!?
You should be grateful,
be happy
you've even got feet
to put them in.
I know a whole ward
full of mature fellows
over at the V.A. hospital
who would love to trade
places with you.
******* cry baby...."

I saw the black smoke
roll in from the burning ship,
it hung along the coast,
where I kissed your lips
& you spoke not,
‘cause you had nothing to say.

I watched the lone tear
make its way to
the tip of your mouth,
saw your tongue lick it off
& you were gone
with the dark mist
lifting.

I dream about silence,
the kind of silence with her,
as we lie together in our comforts.
There's no need for speech or
constructed words between us,
sensuous fragrances, tastes
& hot-visuals will do.

Pheromones spin around us
in a heavy cloud,
I trace her with my tongue,
run her entire length,
she begs me for more
with the way she moves
her awesome body,
not too loud.

It's so much fun
to up the tempo staring
into her pretty eyes
as she coyly smiles,
I inhale her musk &
she relinquishes
her healthy thighs,
sighs so sweetly
when I touch her there.

She guides me into her
& we transcend the Earthly,
explode into a fireball,
without spoken words,
just our primal language,
the silence of pure love.

You're so delicious
you precious little thing.
You see dream girl,
I can taste your sweet breath,
kiss your succulent lips,
feel your warm body move
rapidly next to mine
covered with spray
& you don't even know it,
how you make me
succumb!

O, how I sing in the hot shower
with you darling!

The skill of the poetic linguist
is measured by
the reaction of the reader,
how they make them feel.

The use of tender,
imaginative-words
pushed gently from one side
of the written-line to the other
can create the desired effect.

Configuring
carefully-crafted stanzas,
& placing them
strategically
up & down
can sometimes elicit
the most reading pleasure.

Finding
the secret-sensitivities
of the heart can be tricky,
the most daunting of tasks,
but the skilled poetic linguist
can always find a way
it seems,
to create those
beautiful,
sensuous,
fiery-emotions.

And if you can find one,
just ask them
how it's done.
They are more than likely
ready,
willing & able,
to pen you a verse or two.
And perhaps,
maybe more.

Constantly she
visits me
in this
after midnight hour.
Her great power
speaks volumes
as she
consumes me
& together we
end up,
way up high,
riding furiously
on the skyrocket
of love,
sighing.

In times like these,
I remember the words of John,
but I switched them up a bit
to fit the situation,
"As soon as it's over,
they make you feel small."

And then,
the proverbial,
"You were super,
such a great guy,
but not in this life, Mister."

You gave
everything you had & then some,
to end up lonesome
& feeling used
again.

So, bring it on Bob.....
I'm getting used to this kind of stuff,
am forever running against the wind.

The patterns are quite clear,
especially if you know
how to decrypt,
how to untangle the web.

It's not brain surgery,
there's no mystery
to your creation
of self.

And you cry,
you cry
the sweetest sounds,
lamenting your downfall
and how could you.

And they,
they love
to have it so,
inhaling a world of pain,
wanting you,
while you smile,
holding strings.

I am told by many
I was born
the sweetest angel,
and some have say,
I am the biggest devil.
Well certainly,
I believe them all,
I would not tell a lie
smirking,
with this twinkle
in my dark eyes.
I do lick my lips
seductively
and kiss the sky
wantonly,
seeking deliverance
for myself,
for my sins,
the sensuous acts
of a passionate lover.

I made the trip north,
used my Eurail pass
with dope-orders
burning in my pocket
& a stack of some
cold hard cash
to purchase a stash.

In fact, it was a secret
clandestine mission,
a paid commission to
find the highest-quality.

And I did score,
several grams
of Lebanese brick
did the trick.
The whole school
called in sick for a week,
hungover on the highest-quality,
smoked out on pins & cups.

After I got back from that
one trip to Amsterdam,
they called me
"The Smuggler"
& I became a legend
amongst my peers.

There is a dull drone
singing in the back
of my head
these days.

And when I look
at pictures here,
nothing exists.

Not even the smell
of camphor
nor mountain laurel
can bring us back
to that place
ever
again.

Cha-*****
clink,
cha-*****
clink,
cha-*****
clink,
cha-*****
clin­k,
cha-*****
clink,
cha-*****
clink,
cha-*****
clink,
"Come get some
*******!"
Cha-*****
clink,
cha-*****
clink,
cha-*****
cl­ink,
cha-*****
clink,
cha-*****
clink,
cha-*****
clink,
cha-*****­
clink,
cha-*****
clink,
"That's right,
uh-huh"
Cha-*****
clink,
cha-*****
clink,
cha-*****
clink,­
click
thunk,
click
thunk,
"****,
a freaking jam!!!"
Vrooooop,
tap
tap
tap,
cha-*****
clink,
cha-*****
clink,
­cha-*****
clink,
cha-*****
clink,
"Wooooooooooooo,
woooooooooo"
C­ha-*****
clink,
cha-*****
clink,
cha-*****
clink,
cha-*****
clink­,
cha-*****
clink,
cha-*****
clink,
cha-*****
clink,
cha-*****
cl­ink,
"Ammo......
MORE AMMO!!!"

We'd walk for hours
without speaking.
The use of a speacial sign language
was what we spoke,
pointing fingers,
circling our arms,
sometimes curling fingers
to assure ourselves
everything was a-okay.

Tapping magazines
while resting in sand
& the occasional explosion,
screaming
or automatic fire
was all we ever heard
in ghostland.

I've always told you sweet darling,
it's the pretty-lace
that creates the initial stirring,
& when I push it aside,
it's the first ******
that creates the buzzing
& when we quicken
our fiery-pace,
it's the increased moisture
that creates
the spontaneous combustion
of our souls,
that creates our lovely mess.

Grasping his katana,
he sits stoic,
the keeper of the wisdom,
generations passed down,
a true follower of the faith.
And her,
a maiden butterfly,
captures the true beauty
of the entire universe.
Porcelain skin & ruby lips,
her jet black hair
blinds him,
reminding him,
that love still does exist.

They talked about
not being able
to get satisfaction,
any girlie action,
some strange lads indeed.

I always got satisfied,
knew the ladies,
it's just I needed
& wanted more.

Does that make me a strange lad too,
or just plain hopeless?

They tell us how it's done,
their litany of rules,
personal regulations
crafted from
their own weaknesses
& fears.
And
under the guise of caring,
they stealthily
steal your soul
until you are left
with nothing,
just an empty vessel,
a place
where
your heart
used to be.

I'm so infatuated with the girl next door.
She's drop dead gorgeous,
has marble skin & jet-black hair,
her jade eyes mesmerize,
tasty feminine thighs.

Still I have to admit,
her habits are a bit strange.
She only comes out at night,
has an aversion to wearing crosses
& avoids the days like the plague.
One striking thing about her
that does stick out
are her teeth.
She has the nicest set of fangs,
said me she wants to **** me.
I told I was her for the taking.
But it's weird,
since that discussion,
she's been keeping her distance.
I really thought
she totally wanted me,
guess I was wrong.
The other day,
I heard through the grapevine
that she didn't
want to infect me,
make me her prisoner
for all eternity,
she said it wasn't fair.

In fact, she's still ******
at the dude who kissed her
with that cursed disease.

She was sheer beauty,
in its purest form,
as graceful as a swan,
she floated on gossamer air.

Her gorgeous thick hair
sprawled magnificently
onto her delicate shoulders.

She was well endowed
with feminine-nicities,
certainly from the sacred above,
as peaceful as a white dove.

And she had the prettiest strawberry patch,
the tasty kind men fight & die for.
She makes me lovesick.....so hungry.

I see the morning star
crack the eastern sky,
pushing away the pitch
with pinks & reds
& soon it will set again in the west
& I will embrace the darkness,
one last time without you.
I will miss you forever.

We dropped by
in the VW bug
along the Malibu coast
for just one evening.

She wore green satin
and pukas,
had her dreads plaited neatly
& she lit candles
under the smiling moon.

We burned nag long
into the wee hours
& in the morning
we were gone
like her,
as beautiful as the surf.

She mailed them to me
in an inconspicuous brown envelope
with specific instructions,
told me
to soak them
in my mouth.

The red lace
smelled a bit musty,
but tasted
surprisingly sweet.

O what closeness
I felt from her,
from a million miles away.