lost songs

the sweat on her shoulder
cowboy boots bruising my legs
always and nevers
blue eyes
reliving our love
she cries at what we do for money
she goes home to her baby
listening to songs lost on the cities streets

Bent in love with Straight

Apparently it's my "thang", straight girls.
Could it be a fetish?
Love would be easy if you could choose who.
Sometimes I find myself wishing it wasn't you.

No big-E, just a little f.
fuck.

this is not a love song

I told myself to be straight-up on this blog
but i'm a bit afraid who may stumble across it
out of respect
i'd like to name names
but no lighting
"bonfires of contemplation"
unattached to how the story
ends and goes
into experiencing the flow
this love for her
a six year old child...
my friend zoe asks, "why?"
why her?
I don't know
It's a feeling inside
you can never FULLY shake
It doesn't have to be HER-
No, it's not like that.
A muse, the only one.
no lover has ever undone.

Here now absorbing changes
wo/andering a slippery slope
with good equilbrimium though.

I go in, lay tracks down
without taming & suppressing emotions.
Sing into the sounds
songs
an inch shy of loving you outside these notes
they carry on...

no doubt

Real quick, a fistfull of love.
Whatever you want to call it.
Everyone's piled up stacks of shit.
You want want to bite into something.
You're not too sure just what it is.
We like alot of things.
Many we'd never admit.
So veering off into a dupes right field...
will you catch the ball or MISS!?
Minutes tick as travellers approach the clock...
it's now if you hurry up.
Tic-toc. Serving the wrist-worn clock.
Tic-toc, hurry up, and wait.
I don't want to admit that I'm full of it.
Who does?
I have no confession to bring the worst out...
except that I have lied, cheated and stolen.
Will we again?

unbeaten paths

hopefully not too many of you wander this path
i enjoy writing with the computer
it comes out different
the slow hand that moves the pen
it's like switching rails
or being homeless again
don would correct me by saying
living amongst friends...
the second time with this experience
my question was, " Why is it whenever i'm out on the streets
women come flocking?"
They keep on knocking on a door you don't have.
As if they couldn't resist the poor, tragic, bohemian artist
it sucks regardless, you don't have huge urges or a bed.
i don't feel sorry for myself,
(liar)
ok, well that's not entirely true,
i am a bit of a headcase
and get in moods too.
worthy of an ounce of pity

i have a secret-- she answered a question...finally
she's a natural healer
none of this needs to make sense
it's more of a self-indulgence
things will always make us wonder,
if they don't- then you're fucking boring!
i spent the night in full assumption
boxing in and filing judgements
sipping the savory vodka with a lonely drunk
who watches too much t.v
i won the chess game with an aloof hoof
by animating and giving into my natural weakness
my opponent gave into their impatient contempt
like a madog i attacked at anything
frothing at the mouth; hungry for the kill
with each apparent clumsy move their confidence grew
eventually revealing the inherit arrogance which
would lead this particular opponent
to their inevitable downfall

an alarm clock has been buzzing for twenty-minutes
someone is very late
i also hear a cat moaning a small pain
this whole building is asleep

i want to write about how much i miss sex
the smell and the taste
untamed love blazing into wildfires that jump rivers
no poet can rest in this lovemaking
"How'd you get so good?" love asks
"Where did you learn to kiss like that?"
Right here, right now
this is the old made new
the first kiss seduces the fourth
it's never quite the same but every time it's you
always changing
staying the same for just long enough
to wake up and snap out of it
into the moment now
i wish we get the chance again
i think you do too
have your fucking kid and divorce already
oh my gawd! did she just say that?
harsh
and it is
but i want you now and yesterday
they call up to say loves running late,
and don't bother staying up to wait
it's just that i can't sleep
it's just that i'm fucked up
it's just that i miss you
it's just that...
it's just
well,
i love you

pick my brain for more craptacular wit
walls of words melt into a pile of shit
you think you can write better--you probably can
you're afraid to marry a woman
cause she can't be your man
spew a load of love,
love-making your first baby
you think i sound crass
an ass that's fucking crazy
if this post is any indictation,
you may be wrong
you may be right
I'm in love but I'm lazy.

Tell me some dirty jokes
i'm not smiling, this is a grin
you can shake your head
but we both know where our hearts have been
above all
we belong together

secret fantasies

...aah, en route to a secret fantasy. May uninhibited
posts force their way into the mix. May this page be
a place of solitude. Where censorship holds no reign
or weight. May I write in plain english and not remain
prisoner to the rhyme. A window into explicit fucking~
confessions and freedom. More backwater than the
backwater front page. To rest behind a curtain.
A safehouse to curse you all and purge and spew.
A sanctuary where the best and worse will overflow.
Let it be quiet. Behold the cloaking device which will
protect these secret fantasyz. The keys are on the table.
The door is unlocked. Peek into the deeper eyes of
a monkey named milli...

i N v U

They want to curtail on your parade.
The need to succeed seems like desperation.
This drive makes them afraid and spite you.
They hate you because you are beautiful and talented.
They love you for the same reason. They want you
to fail and succeed all at once. Coveting your ways.
Amused and inspired. When you do not perform,
they grow restless and tired. Conflict is no stranger.
Your path bares scars. Your hair holds their eyes.
They don't want to hear your truth.
They hunger for your lies. You hold it against them-
because you think you're all that.
At worse, you think you're one up on them.
Like your truth is closer to the real thing.
Reading into scenarios with the keenest of insights.
Sure, you've been humbled and held the weight
of a nation inside your heart. Wondering the ways
of life and death. Enjoying the experience...
Full of ideas but slow to manifestation.
We walk the unknowing-wondering what will fall next.
Being in this moment. Accumulated events.
Coincidence and synchronisty interweave our stories.
Magnetism draws us together. Energy freeflows everywhere.
I am guilty of wrong-doings. Ones you and I define.
I am innocent to everything as it happens.
These words trap me in a blunder. These sentences
are not truth, they are streams of consciousness.
These thoughts awaken as I write.
I read them for the first time as each letter falls.
My writing is a mystery to me. I am full of it.
So are you. What has brought us here? Who cares?
Will mankind eat their own ass? Will symbiosis and
salvation take over mans hearts? Questions and answers.
And all of the in-betweens we name journeys, dreams, futures,
pasts and presents. I am it. It is me. We are it.
This monkey has no idea what they are talking about.
I'm suprised you came this far. The boats rocking.
The seas are high. This digital package only adds to the
pile of bullshit. This paragraph will end with no point.
No intention of reading satisfaction.
It will remain a sliver of the fraction.
Equations of letters and languages.
Blabbing and blah-blah-blahing....zeros and ones.
A binary multi-verse unfolding and everchanging.
Adds up to equal an unknown sum.
...and one wonders...