Anger slowly burning
Rage ever consuming
It floods and it flushes
Pink into the cheeks
Like a human torch exploding
You who holds my matches
And sears the heart with yearning
Scalds the soul with hurting
Igniting hidden reservoirs
Of oil and kerosene
Wicks heated with gasoline
And with a word or a touch
With love or with hate
My arsonist, you create
Within and out of me
A pyromaniac

lurid paperback meaning
like a drive in screen
driven by the power of the
lamp machine
..
he loves the way she feels
hip too hip
she loves the way he looks
tastes lip too lip
speakers static overide
moans and steamy breath
the cries primitive
and full of duress
collapse to a finish
beneath the ghostly
glow
the giddy after show
a beverage and snack bar
replenish the want
for more then the sweets
of pleasure
drive off sated
happy with the treasure

For another tomorrow
Music is life
When one has
no hubby or wife
no gf or bf
none is gay
as of today
some be lesbians may
but music when we play
we never think of that way
its only harmony and symphony
we musicians are not phoney
like artists and painters
poets too
we love all what is naturally nude
'tis true
it pleasures us
as it does all of you
now I will musify
this for you
kindly do

The chains of mortality
breaking,
falling apart.

One last breath
and the soul loses its skin,
spreading its wings
to soar across the endless sky.

Free
from worldly pains,
the troubles stalking the living
and the long wait
for them to end.

The spirit is dancing
laughing in joyous harmony,
continuing its journey
to another realm of beauty,
unknown to many
who are still earth-bound.

The canopies slowly dance and sway
above their dappled trunks,
the percussive flourish through
wind tossed leaves, an ephemeral
emerald sea above

Nothing more, moves inside the frame
of this window, no pain could diminish
the powder blue sky or cloud,
all is static inside this shroud
of curtained soft screen and silk
which, tenderly touches up the edges

lingering scene
clinging like the oily trade
rothmans pallmalls pot
and oils
swirling in the beams
piercing angles
Beat Narcotic Thudding
from the ceiling down
knocking your brain
like a freight on a bad
rail scene
and all the bad cats
and leaning foxes
are shone up
glassy and gleaming
shot up toked up
juiced up jammed up
and the electric fender
stratocaster tortures
a note on a glass slide
And the pool balls
click
and I come alive inside

What we once thought was ours,
Was not; We carried it anyway,
Even when the pain was great.

We thought we could not take it anymore,
We did; Time went on and on,
Then we found ourselves, hard, cold, and ugly.

We could not even look at ourselves
without a deep sick feeling inside;
With that sick feeling…we just carried on,
We could not, would not let that sickness go.

Then one day we just had to stop,
And there, at the water’s edge
We saw it? In the mirror on the water,
We saw what that sickness really was;

You still are O! poet
one who reverberates
through the sweeping
strains of moments

and

forms ripples as chimes
in the imaginary
dying motion of times

but

time doesn't die
it only just says good bye

and

silently, unobtrusively passes by
to that luring distance
over the sun setting horizon

but

has it set really
it has risen
Albeit elsewhere

we alone in memories dwell
time cautiously does spell

gripping numbness
ripples across my face,
infinite timed tears
burn through my skin,
glittering a fire
of unrivaled suffering

grief beyond measure
rips apart my psyche,
keening at a moonless sky
I am bereft of my star,
mourning an existence in pain
filled with belief of miracles

all is lost, stop the clock
mark the time, the name, 
is mine, pack my horses Pa
I'm on the long muster

digest human reality
but you must know