Wednesday, October 20, 2010

What Eye Want


Picture me as the eye in the sky
Pentatonic form of Pii
Breathing your musk, denting the sky
Feeling like an ass going zoooooooooom

Punch in the ribs, smoking a stick
Hips perfect, legs thick
Listening to the velvet moans of Grace Slick
Watching the birds hit the moooooooooon

Look at your teeth so perfect and square
Skin white, complexion fair
Comb tangled up in your big red clown hair
Tossing the stuff in your rooooooooom

You want my senseless rabble to stop
What a fucking writing cop
Words dangling, a smelly wet mop
I stab you with the point of my pluuuuuuuuuume

Get this
Oh miss
My bliss
I write what eye want

When She Sings

When she sings
He paints pictures of heaven
With an olive branch
Scraping ochre colored rag vellum

When she stops
He lays down his branch
And longs for the taste
Of  flesh from her upper thigh

When she sings
He paints pictures of hell
With the tips of a lepers fingers
Organic depth, fleshy tribute

When she stops
He washes the paint from his hands
Lays still and touches himself
Living for the next time

When she sings

Membership Has it Rewards

She opened the speak easy port peering perfectly
White skin
Pink cheeks
Green eyes…..fuck

She whispered my name in tones to die for
Red lips
Sultry voice
Soft lilt…..glow

Her breath smelled like ice and licorice
Warm smile
Cool breeze
Ice crystal words…..breathless

She asked me for the password
Fogged mind
Beauty trance
Winter queen…..perfect

“A frozen kiss” I whisper
Lengthening grin
Quick beats
Gentle click…..sigh

You realize once you enter….
Pushed door
Sheer sundress
Marble smooth…..lust

You are a member for life
Soft kiss
Cool touch
Lie down…..happy

Rock Bottom

Cast into the pit, no more than a rusty metal bowl
To deep to claw and scratch my way to the top
My mind still sings her strangled lyrics
The siren song of a thousand bleeding orgasms

Bending fingernails until the yellowing gelatin snaps
Using them to cut deep, dripping black thoughts and paranoia
The result as desired, the odor of stinking synapse wafts up
The smell of a need to reason for release, he smells it

His smallish head appears at the top of the pit…beaming
Roundish glasses, smart ass intellect….prying
Clown like hair and caved in chest….lonely
Smile at the corners of his thick and drying lips….smacking

"You have hit rock bottom my friend I can no longer help you"
He drops a mass of quivering flesh and a bottle of Valium
"Cry yourself to sleep, bathe in the feces of a lack of self control"
"I am your Montresor and you show up in jesters motley"

I wipe the stew from my own brow….stinking
My squarish not attractive jaw line…clenching
The foulness of my hatred and bitter thoughts….reeking
The salvation of a final thought…triumphant

I stare at the sullied drainage grate in the middle of the pit
And spit
I smile at my Montresor and squint
Eyes brimming

"It seems that you are mistaken"
"But it happens to the best'
I close my eyes and puff into smoke, slipping down the grate
I had not hit rock bottom after all

Monday, October 18, 2010

Before I Go.....


For Christ sake
Look in your own heart
For what’s right and lift it in your hands
High in the winds, sprinkling change

I am not a savior or a crush
My pants are designed for one leg at a time
Pick up your neighbors troubles
Be a mini Messiah, drink the fears of your brother

For Christ sake
Look to your own mind
A country in trouble that I cannot mend
Placebo for a misplaced yearning

I am not a prophet or a bard
My snake oil isn’t good for your everyday problems
But you buy it because it is easier than making your own
Here is the recipe, start cooking

The best that I can possibly do
Is to help my fellow man
In a manner consistent
With my upbringing

A World of Her Own

Her hair smelled like the Wyoming sunshine
He asked her where she'd been
Through her new found lover's aura
She whispered, "just out"

He hung his head in deep despair
Wondering what kind of man could let her go
She placed her hand on the back of his neck
She whispered, "we're fine"

She took him ever so lightly
To a place behind the alfalfa fields,
Next to the cottonwood stump
Beneath the lilac bush

There, in the hollow of a furled elm leaf
Existed an entire world, albeit small
Everything a world should have, existed there
And primarily love

She smiled at him and held his hand
And watched as the world, her world, ebbed and flowed
And then, when it was time to go
She whispered, "pure joy"

The next week after the last of the cameras had left
The little world was dead and gone
Crushed beneath the big worlds prying eyes, he invited
She whispered, "I'll die"

There are places in this world 
That exist for the hearts of the worthy
There are places in this world
That are not meant for you

Monday, October 11, 2010

My Fault


The moon waxed philosophic at the stars dim outlook
The ice crystals floated and shimmered in the still frozen night air
My toes like frozen twigs, threatening to snap
You put on your sunglasses and tell me you love someone else

These things happen….

The words hang in the icy vapor above your head, leaded
I can’t tell the difference between your breath and your cigarette smoke
You look at me from the corner of your eye disgusted
I should have known I was not good enough to hold your company forever

I can change….

I apologize for not being enough, for not being manly
You exhale; double clouds billow slowly forth against the silvery moonlight
I apologize for being too emotional, not being low maintenance
You scoff and look the other way, across the snow crusted field

If I had another chance….

I gather myself, tear tracks frozen to my cheeks, glistening
You answer a call on your cell phone, voice too loud against this backdrop
I start to head back to the truck
“Yeah…I told him”, you say, to someone who apparently is good enough, for now

My Town

This was inspired by the Stephen Morath painting "Sunset Ride" and the Wall of Voodoo song Mexican Radio with a small nod to the Authority Zero version of the song thrown in cuz their remake was boss.

I feel a hot wind from the border…..
And a touch of a world that is older…..

Sunset makes quick work of slowly developing friendships
This old truck is made for sitting close
Rumbles down the hard pan main drag
You put your head on my shoulder and yawn

I hear the talking of the DJ…..
Can’t understand just what does he say…..

The picture show starts as the sun sets
The clouds hectic, windblown patterns, yellow and beautiful
The movie we have seen a hundred times
The bar we visited a thousand times….the bar it is

I wish I was in Tijuana…..
Eating barbecued iguana…..(sipping fucking ice cold Caguama)

The burgers drip, drip, dripping grease and cheese
Cigarette in one hand, papas fritas in the other
You ask if we can have pie, I say “to go”
You tip too little; I wait until you’re gone and add five

I’m on a Mexican radio…..
I’m on a Mexican, whoa-oh, radio…..

I see Julio sweeping his front stoop briskly
He sees and calls us to join him for brandy
“I have pie” I shout, and raise the bag high, she sighs
She takes the truck and heads out, I will walk

Tomorrow will come hard

She Shimmered


Cars were small
Buildings were small
The planet was small
But most of all, the hearts and minds of men were small


A baby girl is born on a roundabout, near a clock tower, in Great Britain
Her brain was on the outside and different enough
To keep rhythm with her oversized heart.....bleeding hope
She shimmered as she grew and things evolved


Cars were large
Buildings were large
The planet was large
And the hearts and minds of men were large

She didn't have to convince anyone to evolve
She simply opened her mouth and flowers grew
She simply waved her hand and lovers embraced
She shimmered and the universe answered

She Grows Cars

If I have said one thing in my life
That has been the cause of another man’s inspiration
To write something so longing or so sad
Or something that seethes magic or irreverence

It is only because she taunts me squarely
Her long legs and high ass dressed in candy
Lips smooth like the reddest of red carnival glass
Hips custom made for resting my cheek on

She busies herself about the yard
Gathering the seeds I require
Those fucking high heels aren’t for weeding
They are merely there because they match my ears

She places the seeds, burying them with lithe fingers
Tipping the watering can and whispering my name
From the ground sprouts a 65’ Mustang convertible
She glances furtively over her shoulder to see my smile

She is my muse and suffers a fate
Worse than any woman should need endure
Keeping me interested enough in myself
To write my lust as reflected in her eyes

She grows cars