Muse

The dance floor was dark, the air was full of electricity
The people, full of smoke and the spirits full of booze
Each bottle’s got a call mark
The melodies strike and pluck a string of complicity
A pair of eyes cut through the pitch black cloak
And they pluck a passion that’s a poetic’s muse
The dance floor was vibrant, the air was full of disarray
The people, full of lust and the spirits full of love
They know they can drive, it’s blatant
Simply put to tease and leave the rest in dismay
Confused, we try to rebuild from this interplanetary dust
I bet this is the kind of thing her eyes get a lot of
You, though, should know
A poetic would kill and a musician would starve
At just a hint of temptation
So take this as the only compliment you may receive
This passion comes from the Infinite Space of Imagination
And the Infinite Time of Dreams
Those eyes, halt. My thoughts, halt. The Muse, halt.
Don’t let it confuse you, for the Muse is just a thought

This pen
Is left for
The Wonderer,
No room left
For a sword

We all understand, this phrase
Is dull, that’s why we cast
Aside it’s word.

Of all the days left, the paper
Chose today to rot and lament
In it’s own undoing,
What more should a
Swordless man fear?

Perhaps his own paper-trail that’s
Been left, scattered
With glyphs of his first names.

#2,008

Talking and
Talking, keep
Pushing ‘cuz
You’ve got to
Get it through
Talking and
Talking, keep
Poking just to
See what you
Can do
Talking and
Talking, keep
Putting red just
To watch it
Dry blue
Talking and
Talking, keep…

Just an Apple

A snake told Eve once,
“It’s okay.”
She bit down then
Floated away.
“This is what you want.”
Forked tongue flickers
Gone again and hid
In slivers.
The lie he told her
Sent Adam shivers,
But he bit as well,
And gone was he too.

I wonder if they realize it was just an apple.

Wash

A few days ago I managed myself into
An all-familiar pocket, one that is warm,
Full of lint on the right days – after
A good washing or two or three and
They’re on – so I walk
Among the best of us, all smiles
Friendly strangers – myriad good-bye’s
Bored, I walk again, this time in the
Middle
A few shoulders holding chips, some
Smirks – no teeth and eyes carrying
Dead weight, or living love, I will
Probably never know. So, I walk on.
To the harbor, the boardwalk, dumpsters
Rusted-out car. These people –
All different; pimps, doctors, whores,
Lawyers. No chips, smiles – anything.
Just silence, mutual understanding
Of why we are truly here in the alleys,
Under news papers, giving head in
Public bathrooms and half of us broke.
No-good good-bye’s.
I realize then – this might be where
I belong. Drug-man and
Jezebel both want money…
Reaching into my pockets I
Find only lint. A reminder that I
Too could use a good washing or
Two or three.

#604

most nights – but not all
a banshee’s face shows
abrupt as an exiled druid
scaring off foul beasts, as
surprising to boot – anyway
the horror shows…

the face was once my own
a crest representing a
pure type of life in times
of innocent chains –
and not too many minutes of
these (same) ole days

the face is not me any more,
cast off like forgotten
quarters in your pocket, or
under the refrigerator
it falls into a deep-blue type
of black and down into the
misery of a typical wishing well

her hair waves in single strands,
the wind from behind lifting locks
as erect cobras, venom-spitting and
all of that

but, she only spits out a silent grey
light. the one I let guide me for
way too long. it blinks.

I’ve a mongoose spirit,
and I yell
“go fuck yourself, fragile yellow!”
…I’ve a mongoose spirit

I awoke – this is the best dream.

#7,248,184

A brief reprieve and stuck
In again – these lungs,
Surprisingly resound, no such
Marks makes a badge of
Resilience
Speak a bitter-cold,
No confidence, no room for
Common sense. Bound by
A few words and lousy
Poetry, a night or two
and Half a Decade. No
Show, just ticket stubs to
The backstage of my
Favorite artist(s),
I heard they’re all
Dicks anyway.

The Desert

The Desert is long, my Desert is friendly

Her Desert – green, mine full of envy

It’s Desert bright – but skin so prickly

Each Desert the same, lush uniquely

Our Desert is cold, the sand is lonely

A Desert is vast, painted light & boldly

But my Desert is you – and you are quite lovely

Fix

Hmmm…

Pinch & roll the
Cherry, too still
A mound in an
Ashtray, a pile
In the chest. We
Cannot stay.
A room so cold
That a smoker gets
Their fix just by
Breathing.

If they can’t tell,
Are you even sure you can?