the glass patio door reflects
the small world that I live in,
and thereby doubles it.
when a bird flies by,
there are two birds.
the tree that stands a few
feet away has a twin within.
the birds sing their happiness.
the trees extend their arms
in prayers to the sacred sky.
life is richer, life is fuller
in water colors
and passion thru the night
promises are blinding
hearts have taken flight
spirits rise and sing
a song that's called 'forever'
but dwindles to a dirge
of broken notes of 'never'
one night can last a lifetime.
an iron memory, forged of passion.
she may have arrived like a star
descending, burning slowly
in that low cut dress,
the entrancing fullness of her breasts.
a man could put his lips there
on that trembling flesh,
and never want to remove them
slow death in a pretty bottle
the story of my life, written in spilled whiskey
bustin my ass all day for a few bucks
so i can blow it all on crow every night
in a string of broken down saloons
ghosts of foolish dreams hangin on my back
whispering love stories that never happened
you will find these instructions
in a military manual
in a children's coloring book:
"the hand grenade is
thrown like a football"
"the hand grenade is
not meant to be caught"
children must learn these things.
our future depends on it.
* Ivory Tower Magazine....
she's in 1 of her moods again, nonstop talk about
somethin you don't give a damn about, her sister's
thinkin about divorcin Fred, he's whorin around again,
she considers it every year about this time.
it's ok, you're gonna finish your coffee, you gotta go,
your shift starts in 20 minutes,...
darken your eyes...
prepare to attack. the night.
dragon girl. seductress.
choose your lipstick. that lusty red.
the red that was stolen. from cherries.
accessorize. fire opal pendant. and earrings.
that sexy mini. black. leather.
harlot's dress. that just barely covers......
this is for you, because you're there
looking at the moon and seeing
love songs written upon it.
you're trying to find the one that has
your name in the title, and it doesn't
matter that there are a million other
lonely people with the same name,
because someone wrote that song for...
it was too hot to sleep. I had to get out of my suffocating
apartment. there was no air conditioning, and the fan had
decided to retire that morning. I walked thru the dark
stillness of the town. the moon appeared briefly from
behind thick clouds and then hid again, not wishing to reveal...
shadows danced on his face
caused by the mortars exploding around him
as he clung to the plushness of the jungle floor
too frightened to pray or hope or run
he thought of his mother at home
unaware of the jungle the horror
and the mortars were falling closer now
the next one would surely...
the cat had my tongue but gave it back (untangled).
i stick to my pens (guns are too limited).
i put it in my pipe, the smoke conceals my sorrow.
i've never rolled with the punches. somehow, it beat some sense into me.
i've been There & i've done That (it wasn't what i expected)...
the art of the nude
the naked purity
the purity of nakedness
this is what i hunger for
that unencumbered radiance
do our hearts flutter?
do we die...and live again?
what ingenious Hand
this walking work of art?
must gaze upon his nude model...
if you break down
the word 'lonely'
you find that it
repeats the singular
('l' 'one' 'l')
and ends with
as if it were
by the sound
of its own name
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