Prostrate. in fevered dream light, I swallow your kisses,
drawing sustenance from empty myth, as your waters break
over my parched dying soul to breech my needs in cold
nature once again.

Where are our fifty daughters as I howl at your passing?
Would that they nurse their father's madness with a single
waking touch, as my dreamless finality nears? There are no
armored sons close as I convulse to memories of my youthful
loves and lie, pale, and abandoned to my chosen course.

Many times when you break up...and hold another’s hands …
you always recall the warmth of the first one...
who had held your hand …

but then comes a barrier in between …
his ego and mine..

His anyone can define…
but none can mine

I all along my decades of sharing knowledge…
have requested all
take a step...one at a time… lest you fall …

and most love to fall along with the ladder…
that's about all… and then make stories tall ------

Fifteen bandsmen stand in line,
their linen white as flour,
their uniforms are stiff as death
and ready at the hour.

The weather casts a sullen mood
the air is very still,
the clouds withhold their tears for
they know its not a drill.

A rusty trumpet crudely blares,
to spit its splitting cry,
and suddenly disturbs the air:
three crows take to the sky,

Three crows! I knew that was the sign,
I saw it in my dreams,
I heard the flutter of their wings
I heard their mocking screams

All the time …
I am on fire...

my body flames …

none is ever with me to play …
my daily loving game …

so I invite all who do play…
and have a happy day….

just to read my poetry as always
and imagine how within you …

it causes an explosion
commotion and hopefully
an imagined orgasm-----

if you fail
let me know …
to hell
I will let my exotic poetry flow….

Have a try today….
such an opportunity….
comes in, if at all…
once in a way...
have a sexy day...

eye level by Ron Woodruff (BD77)

twin show visions
whispering from beneath the sour hiss
of the pump fridge coolant hum
the dust darkness smirk
as fun as the stark stare of the kitchen
window

winking red light phone
a stack of messages
before and before the tidy
hours slipped from a sun filled
departure to the midnight
arrival

blue bus thunders past the
lights a universe of flouresent
apparitions staring

i can read the walls and calculate
the codes from channel fifty four

Like eternal light touching ancient ground
his shadow appears to me.

Then his eyes are falling down at me,
it's summer and I'm standing in the rain.

His eye enamel touches my skin because
he knows I swear of tempera dirt all over my body.

He surrounds me like a cave and my heartbeat
becomes a heartbeat of a mountain.

As his wolf voice touches an ice crystal
love becomes the red juice stain on a child's T-shirt.

Perhaps that is how our fog gathers
in one place to have central gravitation.