In the inevitable, cloaked face of the Reaper's scythe
we all do whatever necessary to save our own skins
jump from world trade centers, escape a searing fire,
or throw lottery stones into a face of forgetting twin!
Poems
Looking on the bright side
A point of path-forged wins
Filled with buoyant brass bands
No teeny violins
Letting all remorse go
A symphony of grins
Free from the anguished stings
Of weeny violins
I'm already broken by it all
Bob Dylan's life story floats like root beer
sweet and delicious yet unbreathable
like our father it choked me, so I turned it off
Watching pirate style free online
I couldn't get past Bob meeting Joan
they were young, him still unknown
and she already a star, but
I had nothing to tear for
no children, no family, no span
I'm a devoid human failure fragile as a glass giraffe
and I already know what happened to Bob
I've seen his life pass in real time
as mine has gone by for naught
and I'm already with the roots
I'm already drowned in fear
Bitten by a kissing bug in Puerto Escondido, Mexico
I saw the little bugger in my room
but don't remember if after or before the attack
yet unknown to my gringo eyes, I didn't recognize the insect then
Apropos for the horny old bastard which 'tis me
to be killed by an unwanted kiss
now, 15 years later, megacolon joins the melancholy
her symptoms are my massage, and sepsis shall be my doom
Let them out, set them free
All the demons inside
Seek the eye of the storm
There is no place to hide
Air it out, let it go
All the longing you feel
Find the truth in the fact
There is no better deal
My humanity 'tis devoid
worthless, powerless
rancid, like rotten bananas
putrid but fruitless
My art 'tis debauched
unworthy, meaningless
sickly, like stale root beer
creamy yet soured
Every word counts
Every word stays
Pieces of us
Gilding the page
Every word waits
Every word lasts
Poignant or plain
Flying half-mast
Every word weighs
Every word means
Lost but long-lived
Spilling our beans
Hanging out in Lahaina with my friend Christian Dave
playing games as chess jones, 'pon the sea wall all day
Along comes a kid who thought himself to be gangster
as he lured me with a jibe I waltzed in to challenge her
but I soon looked away, and he kissed me a right cross
moved my jaw with great force, offered up pain-n-loss
Yet my great spirit stepped in, so wonderful her sound
as she went forth high wind, burnt Lahaina to ground!
Just sit right down and scribe the words
some shall be golden, a few will be turds
Only let yourself dwell in boxes o'absurd
your mind 'pon the pen, as free as a bird!
I should simply pop up with something
I want to write the novella but I'm done
my atomic energy levels shan't allow it,
what can I say having yet to been said?
what then remains long after I'm dead?
Is being a poet a worthwhile of causes?
may odes heal the world, lessen losses!
I'm here 'pon my arse, pen moving fast,
'tis everything good to be a poet at last!
Life is heavy as big boulders
Booming down steep mountainsides
Massive much worn rocky masses
Rolling bumpy random rides
Life is also light as feathers
Floating in the weightless breeze
Plumages of barbuled branches
Bringing grown men to their knees
Life is leaden and yet fragile
Rushing on full steam ahead
Solid hefty fleeting echoes
Hanging by the thinnest thread
