Friday, March 27, 2015

Pulling out of Poetry

Whatever the heart wants....
Well, Ive got to tell you
I'm always waiting to long to tell her.
The ones ive told 
while penetrating
both body and soul
I'd say , hardly the place
for big decisions.
to pull out or not to pull out
that should
the only
question in life.
Whatever my heart wants
you can ask the bluebird
that Bukowski never
lets out
all night I sit here drunk on the words
the whores
and the
that never die.
Ive had my fair share of pulling out
and not.
this time
think i will 

Sunday, March 8, 2015

Wonder Lust

you told me 
secrets in
and out
when my finest moments
were inside

i mistook your words
for gold. 
consider them
as if you spoke
to clouds
or hide them away inside of 

just don't look up,
when it's
raining down

vapor trails 
of all

Sunday, March 1, 2015

Words are for Sleeping

Looks like an April road-trip-
Days-off  from work approved. Tattoo appointment in N.C. scheduled. Tickets for shows purchased.
It will be Lydia Loveless up in Asheville, NC. and on the way back home gonna catch
The Avett Brothers at the House of Blues in Orlando, Fl.  All the in between isn't worked out, like where to stay, hike, camp, cabin. Gotta leave somethings to chance. 


It will soon be summer-
 The short lived cold spell is over down here- back to the Heat.
all the attitudes. the short fused tempers that make this place
just so special. .
clouds. clouds. rain.
Shiny condos sealed shut until next year.
beach cottages in Kool-Aid colors-
It leaves you,

sea shelled and boat dizzy,
the tourists pack up
to go home.

Saturday, February 21, 2015

There are no false prophets under the sea

and you were over here,
you were under me.
When my bed became
our church
as we ached for
When words
poured down like rain
so thirsty
drank from them 
so empty
we let them

Sunday, February 8, 2015

What mistakes?

Whatever that is:

I want to come up there
kiss you on you your Mid-West
smart mouth
and have
winter sex with you.

Like a worn in t-shirt:

turned out my favorite
was you
and I keep wanting to wear
over and over.

Like a glove:

I know we fit.
doesn't matter im
so much - well, slightly older-
with sometimes scratchy beard

faded tattoos
mixed with the new
ones we collect
like the bruises
 I give to you .
We have some kind of chemicals
or maybe its your ass
I just want to spank
and tell you
things, like how I fit into you.
and that we are drugs
and summer
and winter snow
and this sounds like bullshit
but its our
it's our starry night
when all of sudden
all our nothings