When I'm down your
My first resort, my purpose towards
Living, giving reminiscence
A second vision that involves
Me being proud of us hitting it off
Not to mention the soft
Feel of your voice, filling the void
Of feeling avoided, I'm thankful
In return I call you my angel
'Til death do us part
Sadly due to the bruises and scars
I would have to rudely deter
I'm not at all moved by hollow words

some people say i'm scatterbrained.
others say i'm way too invested, too involved.
I would only say I obsess over things.
apparently I can't focus for very long because I go so hard and I burn so bright
that I burn out just as quick.
that may be true for some things, but if you're telling me a year and three or four months
is quick, then i'll tell you the sky is red as blood and romance,
and it's true I can never remember the months, but the year is all that matters, right?

then pray
visit my archives some day
deep within your thoughts do spray
just to enlighten me

but don't betray and say
you like it just because
you don't want to hurt me

but be frank to the bone....
hit me hard with a stone
then alone a sculptor I will be
of enameled poetry
worthy of reading by all \
including me

the dead heat
like a thrush pipe drone
emptying
doppler grotto

zebra lookout legs
on a worn rubber pedal
the chrome rings gleaming
like hot wings
pushing past the double
nickel
blacktop bed

blood text threshold
and the price on their
heads

inertia contour
sleek
delusion
the manicured
and mutiplexed
one hand on
the wheel

and a burner
on a Pall Mall

The drum beats rhythm
tapping into my mind..finger snapping..paced steady.
The bass guitar strums,
that deep ambient sound..feet off the ground..slow heady.

The stars are shining,
animating your eyes..scintillating..in the moonlight.
Dance with me tonight,
sense the atmosphere..now we are here..hold me tight.

Let the warm rain fall on me
and wash the grime of time away
while bringing back the memory
of childhood days and running free.

Of splasing through a small freshet
on a warm wet summer day,
no part of me that wasn't wet,
I'd laugh and skip without regret.

Or sail boats in a roadside ditch
the waters red from southern clay
with smell of new rain fresh and rich
while watching home made toy boat pitch.

There in the valley
There is the valley
only one I know of

and

reading your version
will make me drown
in that valley of no return
where one has been

will you tape me up to your wall?
you ripped down all of the papers that were there
and I wasn't sure if you were angry or relieved
I can't tell if your head is on straight
are there two of me?
how many hearts am I holding out to you?
I can't talk on the phone anymore.
I can't help you from here.
just push the cork in tighter
let the bad things rust and waste away
you are stronger than the steel and
words are sharper than the metal

Eyes snap awake in strange dark room
skin covered with a stale cold sweat
whose stench spreads in a rancid plume
among the bedclothes soaking wet

Closed window admits clear moon light
confirming I don't know where the hell I am
Or who is sleeping to my right
it surely isn't my wife Pam

i try to clear my mind's morass
by both slapping and shaking my head
which fails to align my compass
i slowly sit up in the bed

The world is round
and spinning,
round and round
and tilting
at an awkward angle.

Retching over the side
while watching good mates
take the blue,

a wave comes crashing,
storms start calling,
and then,

the world is flat
and uninspiring;
hot and humid
in the doldrums.

Afternoons
are long and weary
and the night
brings no respite.

Naught is felt
of wind and rain;
this silence will
drive us insane.