What are those people thinking,
developing toxic weaponry,
chemical compounds
in aerosol form.

Oh those nerve agents,
they can scramble your brain,
put you into seizures
with no control over your bowels,
foaming at the mouth,
it ain't pretty.

And when your lungs fill
up on blood
from AK,
no way
you're gonna make it.
I wonder how
those guys would feel
if you sprayed some of that mist
on their next of kin.
I insist
they'd lie.

I wonder if other lifeforms
have Twitter & Facebook,
watch You Tube,
or if they are more advanced
& use other forms of social media,
like anti-gravity billboards,
clairvoyant message boards
or mind-implant videos?

Wandering the ridge line
alone on high alert,
I kept my head on a swivel
as I moved down
into the humid-cool-mist
toward high camp.

Boulders strewn about
the size of Volkswagens
littered the landscape
as I walked
cautiously
expecting to see
Teradactyls in flight,
scavenging for their
next meal.

This place was the real deal,
barren, rugged & brutal,
the place where flying dinosaurs
could ruin your day.

It's no wonder most
people never come up here
to play. Alpinists say
they love it that way,
the fewer the better.

But I have my doubts.
I read something somewhere
about being able to outrun
your mates in the event
of an aerial carnivore-attack.
'Cause out here all alone,
I was an easy meal,
a sitting duck,
fodder for those
vicious-creatures.

I was overjoyed
when I saw the yellow speck
of my nylon tent.
I jumped with happiness,
thanked the mountain-gods
for my safe passage,
warm soup & gossamer feathers,
a restive-stronghold from
hungry reptiles!

How can I watch,
watch you &
not be drawn to you?
Your effervescence flows,
feathers & lace,
a spectacular face,
it makes
my cold-blood boil.

O how I yearn, I yearn!
I burn,
I burn,
I burn
under the full moon,
am forever in ******* to the pitch,
the darkness
that has become my life.

I watch you down on Bourbon Street
with your Mardi Gras spirit,
flaunting your wares,
seemingly without any cares.
But I know better,
I see you
in between the Johns,
tears streaming down
your twisted anguished-face,
no longer pretty in the shadows.
My candle burns,
burns slowly.

And I lie,
I lie in wait,
waiting for the proper time
to make you mine,
my love is genuine.

O my darling street-angel,
soon we will float
forever
in the mist,
vampire-lovers
with the same hot ice-blood.

My kiss is lethal...painless.

And in my slumber,
I crave
the taste
of your delicious lips,
traces of me
on your strawberry tips
& your sweet nectar,
oh, the
thought of
licking
your sweet nectar
arouses me &
keeps me up,
all night.

I remember the crazy times
we'd travel down south
to the outlaw town of Ensenada.
We'd swing by Hussong's
for some golden elixir
& Mezcal mixers.
It was a fun wild-place,
where having your face
rest in your own *****
was allowed at your table.
I mean nobody gave a ****** about such things.
It was truly a place where anything went,
especially drunkenness.
The last time we visited,
some twenty years ago,
we lost two hitchhikers
we had picked up
in Malibu
on the PCH.
Now years later,
I wonder how,
or if
they ever made it back.

I can't wait for the Apocalypse.
It will be anarchy,
about staying on top,
a helluva lot of fun
for guys like us.

Ours is bigger than theirs.
We've got killer skill-sets.
I bet we win.

The fullmoon glow trickles
into the stillness
of my empty room,
where I lie awake,
naked atop cool sheets,
burning.

I feel your presence
wrapped around me,
warming yourself
with my wantonness,
my desire to be,
to be part of something,
part of something supernatural,
craving the same thing,
eternal love,
forever.

Every night
I touch you gently,
lost in my sensual thoughts,
feel you burn,
arching,
holding me tightly
inside
your own imagination,
such frustration,
do you ever feel me
shuddering
sweet darling
alone?

Always I gave her
three good reasons
to be my intimate-friend.
Two to warm things up a bit,
one to finish her off
with an explosive meaning
I know she dreams about.
She gave me the same
three reasons I can't forget.
And I get the feeling,
she knows them still.

In all environments,
the best friend of survivalists.
On the battlefield or not,
it is quality encased in brass
& can kick your ***,
fast.

We are all puzzle pieces
to some grand picture,
a scheme made just for us,
before the big bang,
before our parents
had dreams about us.

Can we, do we
see it more clearly
from table level,
six inches,
eight, maybe
thirty thousand feet,
from beyond
the stratosphere?

Eternal questions will
continue to haunt
our hearts,
our minds,
our bodies,
our souls,
the very essence
of our
sacred-beings.

I want to fly,
soar forever with Eagles,
ride starships,
view the wonder & splendor
of the the part I play,
my piece,
through a crystal kaleidoscope,
carried on the back
of my guardian angel.

There's nothing inside today,
an empty street & no moving feet.
My city is silent,
except for the ticking.

I've left my heart in different places,
it's been slowly chipped away at.
In La Paz,
it was the chicha
& in Mendoza,
a Malbec at Azafran,
nice warm saki in Kyoto,
some anejo in Ensenada
& cheap beer in Seattle.
Now all I have left
is enough for shots
of fine whiskey...
I'm still ticking Darling,
cheers.

O Pretty Doll Face,
pardon me just a bit,
let me paste my kisses
upon your sweet-deliciousness,
hear you scream my name
aloud in sheer-delight,
reaching the
ultimate-ecstasy!

My inspiration comes in spurts,
explosive thoughts
emanate in my mind
then ramble through my fingers
to create configurations of words.

It probably happens like everybody else,
when we're least expecting it,
I cover my paper with
tidbits of
myself,
sometimes it hurts,
but most times
not.

Feigned words are
always read like pulp fiction,
contrived for put-on reaction
& personal satisfaction,
the temptations ****.

But your diction
does seem perfect,
& are those moon phases
outlined on your face?

And who can wait
for the tides to change,
what matter?

Like the patterns
on your dress,
they're always the same.

I started my healthy diet
just last week.
Was going
to incorporate it
with a daily dose
of Ashtanga & Kundalini.

And wouldn’t you know it,
I pull an intercostal
the very first day
of a new routine.

Now, I’m laid up
with sore ribs, full of fish
& smelling like menthol.

O how I love her,
she brings out
the beast in me.

And how can one
ignore impulses
rising
from a genetic level,
try to keep
a voracious
caged-tiger
at bay?

Pray tell.

We rocked, we rolled,
strolled through the revelers,
rocket scientists
wearing ripped jeans
& pointed rattlesnakes,
some had rose tats.

Cocksure, we rode
the ferris wheel
above the skyline
of never never land
& right down the street,
there was enough armament
to level all the strip malls
in the Springs.

Funny, they told us
we were the violent ones,
the dangerous kind,
tightly wound psychos
who sung anthems,
those sweet child 'o mine
pop tunes.

So hell yea,
we were tough,
the no-prisoner-types,
trained-to-**** fighters
wearing pearled buttons,
sipping Boone's Farm,
we continued
to spin circles,
spitting into the
cold Colorado wind.

The first time
somebody swallowed me,
she was a tigress,
left her mark on me forever
& I miss her bite.

Fresh flowers
& a gentle summer rain
you frolicked in,
we made circles
on the solstice
& in the jungle,
you taught me
the power of your sacred soul.
Time stood still
just long enough
to know true love feelings
& we were gone.

I wish I could
slow down time
& count the raindrops
falling
on this rainy morning.

I hear a lone songbird
singing
& I wonder
if it is counting,
singing its
beautiful
song in time.

Day to day activities
blend into the night ones
as we toil,
act as if
everything
will last forever
& the numbers
balance.

Time the equalizer,
waits in the shadows,
watching everybody,
all the people,
coming & going.

Have you ever wondered
what ever happened
to your first lover?

Of course,
I am dropping my metal coins into the slot on the carved-cross box,
floating paper dollars into the passed around basket,
paying rent for the reading of The Gospel
& of course,
attempting to buy my salvation
with my hard-earned-mammon,
which of course,
the colorfully robed-folks love so much
and seem to get so easily.

Ancients stare down
silently,
sitting atop
the inscripted stelae
from across the plaza.
Icy winds rip
the Altiplano
& if you listen,
listen hard enough,
you'll hear
them whispering
the sacred code.
I've heard them twice,
it gripped me &
I stood frozen in my tracks
to hear the condors
sing primordial tidings.

I wonder what it was like,
what it must have been like
to be a bohemian,
a member of the
beat generation,
strung out on drugs
& alcohol,
falling down
in countless gutters
uttering philosophies
about simple daffodils
to unspeakable perversions.

It must have been so cool
to push the envelope
beyond the wildest dreams
& escape the ******* stupid
status quo people
who seem to just plug along.

It's crazy but true,
but a lot of them
drunken bohemians
died young.

There was always a fine line
between taking prisoners or not.
It depended on
if we needed
intel or not.
Sometimes we did, sometimes not.
Some guys were lucky
& others not so lucky, too.
And at times,
it saved us on zip-ties
& staying up late.

The shower is a wonderful place
to dream,
to play make believe,
to relive the moment.

You can shut yourself in,
adjust the cascade of hot water
& get lost in sensuous thoughts
privately.

Singing &
shouting at will,
you build
to an explosive crescendo
imagining your sweet lover
hovering over you.

And soon,
under a rushing waterfall,
she receives your warm love
spasmodically
against the white-tiled wall
as you call her pretty name.

O, What a crying shame,
she's not here
to catch
my falling star!

Her pretty sad-eyes grew
cloudy & hazed over
as she filled her emptiness
with stinging-mouthfuls
of wonderful-whiskey,
drugged her pain
to feel,
to feel,
to feel
whole-grain
again.

I lie alone,
certainly madness
as infiltrated this body.
Now seemingly with
a mind of its own,
wandering off to those places
to satisfy the heartfelt-desires
of a deadman's soul.

Do you know of this madness,
about these glorious sighs, me
imagining your ecstatic-cries?

I close my eyes
in my own sheer-ecstasy
to feel your heat
inside of me
dear.

Together we lie
enveloped in the
beauty of our nakedness,
intertwined in exquisite
compromising-positions,
meant to stimulate
our heavenly bodies.

And when you shudder,
every hot-cell of yours
melts my heart &
a little bit more
of me is shared
deep inside
your very soul.

Seems like every ****,
every deep ****
I take
of this crazy life,
things get sadder
& more beautiful
at the same time.
My lungs burn,
burn with the visions
of the next sunrise,
the tears watching moon glow.
My love continues to grow.

A  major ruckus is
taking place outside.
I hear a hawk squawking,
it's piercing the morning light.
Blue Jays are circling around screaming,
the squirrels are chirping like crazy
& the neighbor's dog is
barking up a storm!

O glory be,
good gracious,
I can see the reason
for all the commotion!

It's really no big deal....
just a tomcat,
crossing the empty-field,
incognito!

The bird feeder is quiet this morning
& there's a pile of fresh feathers
lying below.
I guess Tom Cat is at it again,
up to his same old tricks.

I would love to
tongue your gauntlet,
from your delicate neck
to between your blades,
taking the long run to
your small pool
& hot-buns.

Then the real fun
would begin in earnest.
Sinning in your
sweet pretty flower,
I'd make you
explode
with great power,
all the way
down to
your pretty
little
painted-toes.

I can't break another heart,
the pain can be unbearable
& I'm not sure
if my own heart
can take it
again.

I'm not really good
at calling people names,
I've been called so many,
I would not know where to start,
So quite frankly,
ir's better to just be polite
& not rude,
like some unhappy folks,
who are mad at the world,
calling people names
or being rather rude.

Hot chai,
a sprig of mint
and a saffron lollipop.
Babbling brook,
crickets singing
and a million stars.
Top that.

She blew into the party
like an F5,
hellbent
on making things happen,
she stood by the keg
guzzling straight from the spigot.

The ace of spades on her forearm
& teardrop painted on her face
should have been a warning,
but I always liked wild women,
especially the tornado-type.

She lived up to all the hype
& left me in the dust
& I gotta tell you,
it was worth every f'ing minute,
getting blown away like that.

You lay & yearn
& I
will hit you
from every angle
& we
will listen
to the sweet sound
of our magical waterfall,
hear torrents of our love
rushing through us.

She has everything
at her fingertips
& she knows it.
She sashays around
breaking necks
at breakneck speeds
& the things she wears
obilerates imagination.

With her natural essence,
she doesn't need perfume
& what matter
if her is tussled,
the wilder, the better
with her thick top.

Dudes drop
all over the place
to get into
her good graces
& her face,
let's just say,
God used up all
the pretty parts to make it.

And like I said,
she has everything
at her fingertips.
The Lord knows
I know it,
'cause
I've been so very blessed
to see her,
to see her
sheer beauty
in the ****.

The smell of *****
trickled through the streets
immersed in honking
swirling in carbon monoxide
& hiding there
amongst the ****,
I handed the *******
a handful of nuts.

A noble
generous gesture
he quickly tossed,
& I pressed on,
leaving the beggar
to his own demise,
swimming between
lifeless black eyes
& mangy
barking
skeletal dogs
looking for
their next meal.

I want to guzzle gasoline
to make my motor run rich,
inject high doses of nicotine
to take care of my itch.

You see good people,
I'm toxick,
gonna change the world
with my mood swings.

They hide in the open,
moving in the shadows,
watching you from the
outside
looking
inside
your dark alleyways.
It's all part of a network,
a cyber inner space,
full of imposters
waiting for the proverbial ****.
It starts as just an ordinary *****,
but you won't bleed out.
The toxin will permeate
all of your senses
& you know,
deeply you know,
it's too late for you
to get back to reality,
to save your soul.

A jaded tree I held,
felt the rough bark
between my fingers,
my hand
cupped the texture,
smooth & uneven,
glazed hues of
malachite,
azures & cobalt
titillated my senses.

I was intoxicated
by the aroma of mint,
tasted the raw honey
that warmed my heart
& produced an inner glow,
traces of Marrakesh
linger yet.

We experimented
like zen monks,
wrote haiku in the sand
& frolicked together
in spirituality.

Your circle of candles
enlightened me
& pachouli whirlwinds
engulfed our
sacred hours.

O Woman,
you were
the dust
trailing
behind comets,
the samukaze
upon my face
& traces of you
still linger
in my heart.

I'm not real anymore.
I touch my drawn face,
these fingers scouring
my cheeks
down to touch
my parted lips
and I remember.
I remember the last time
you touched me so,
and I felt alive,
so ****** alive.

Covered with moon dust
& packed ***** to nut sacks
at over a hundred degees,
we heard the beam riders over head
& the **** of mortar fire.

Perspiring into lakes,
we crossed our fingers,
trying hard to fake comfort,
smelling like sardines.
The memories still linger.

O rupture me Miss Poison,
let us sin,
use me
for your folly.

Impale yourself on me,
ride me
like no tomorrow
& inject me
with your strychnine.

'Cause I want
to writhe beneath you
& return the favor
with my own
brand of toxin.

****, you're so fine.