of soul

my life's good time

and happy head

are dependant upon

a steady flow

green...ya know and ninety year old

cubans

singing.......WAILING way beyond the limits

of soul

i maybe hope to be that old

i never thought i'd see THIS old

and the expression that

i give when smile is donned 

     and stomach kicks

is not enough to keep the brain on pause

never gonna justify the treatment

i take on

never gonna steal my quiet

          time away

and tomorrow, yes...i guess

i will follow brother's lead

and tell the man no longer

will i bleed the tears i've spilled

my wrist and gut breathe 

a collective sigh,

as my anger lies asleep...

ready to strike at will-

(2.3.00.)

so purple'y

brush my teeth 

till gums bleed

rocks shaken and

rocks shakin in my head

little while longer

then livity

just stayin and

just stayin in my head

and how much longer

should i stick to

that choice i chose

was given me

          (?)

-empty-handed,

pained to see how

busy rainclouds

lay forest down 

while busy stormclouds

         inside of me

     ...against a sunrise

        so purple'y,

  wretch with hailstorm

       and enlightening

(2.2.00)

of paranoid failure scenarios

we sail through auburn skies

and seldom see

needle:  in eye

a joy is lost

in discovering that

we limit ours to self

and miss the bigger 

canvas

random chance is

one handful more

than lucky

more that opportunity

deeper than preparedness

-reluctance to study the 

foresight

of paranoid failure scenario

willingness to look 

on the bright side

is all i have now.

i don't wish to be 

enlisted

in the service of man

anymore

-none but  the urge to forge 

my way

runs thick like rivers

of mercury

streams of imagination time

seeing in my store 

again

the pages of my mind

to paper words from inner voice

come

fresh painted glossy

still smelling and

sticky to the touch

the hard base reality

the true illusion

that will provide for many

so importantly much

(on the subject of self employment i think...4/18/00)

& is

soft hair on smooth 

peach and only some

through frantic garden shake

but take enormous white mother

watch baby and

one and those is lazy

        & is

less like need girl

above like someplace

though time falls beneath

      men to beauty

asking cry and swim

       sit      smelling

            blue

 (4.20.00)

delta dawn 1997/8

spring in autumn time

inverse universe mind

smells of orchid blossom

cherry sage and chive

bear with full throttle

lifetimes and aged

loves set to beat and rhyme

um, fruits yes

not yet lending sweet

and sticky water to tongues

nobody 

yes nobody topless

cigarette

cling now to the instant

between waking and 

dreams

write this down:

the woman gave birth 

before him.

he helped with breathing

and stomach rubbing

and then it lay

in translucent packing bag

no cord but juicy

he cut the bag open

and there's the boy.

like smoothing a lump from

a tired muscle she

once again was sexy

only seconds later

a bullet would strike

her right between

two starry eyes and

she is neither first nor last.

he was the women's

volley ball coach at

some university

she was known by most 

as infinity

they were tangled 

from the second

their eyes met in

February.

dry ass veggie burger

made barely palatable

by breath she'd 

left on and extra

special bitter,

and dairy-

soul vicious the hammer

that rains blows on

a mind

in the forms of

millions of memories

of a life since time

began

-that and delta dawn

and his mansion

in some sky

icebergs and blue 

    followed

and memory of the winds

which used to blow 

him clean...

dreams forecast since

dreams broke through

the milky bubble's skin

and into flesh

coloring inside lines

skill met fumbling

natural law leaving

spirit in jars

called religion

son of a bitch.

love with vital hand grenade

the random white car-jack

   steam-loaded apple-smack

the sound that gets the garage door up

and lays the children down

viscous

ever chilled with

vibrant

hand soap colored

shroud

love with vital hand grenade

launched dream time into mind

moon   as earth and

grey as diry

men dig trenches so

clay won't hurt

eyes won't move anymore

and love is all i'm for

strong torn every part 

                 of

storm haze twizz-ted lot

seeing pictures of

a barn

much hay and straw

and numbers on why

my penmanship

may start to drift

funny thought how

brought to now the image of

the scribbled words

written me sent by

my grand aunt:

my hand won't do what

i tell it to do...what i want it to.

fucking daughters

i would bleed for you
right here on my carpet
i would die
just one moment
i would lie onto my
blanket

i have learned the words
you like to hear
and i say them
i know the taste that
blows your childhood mind
i suck and dance
and stink at style
but if only for a chance
if i only had that chance
to be raised like you
i could show too...

the fragile world when
raised like me, i see through

i kick the bucket in on xanadu
and kubla khan
pours sweet drinks to
my soul
and nothing but my shoes
feel quite that old...
and silver and gold....(sing)
silver and gold
plated
in the window just for show
is the luster of that love
i used to know
and the flowers in the garden
that you grow with
the pieces of my soul so
picked and so raw
bet
i must be the worst
you ever saw
and liar,
i am chosen to be free
to roam inside the lies created for me
and i am so many things-
through improper representation
i am a fable in their eyes
just a work horse
fucking daughters
a tasked master alone on
coal black water
a dish of stone and caviar
'tween brothers
a justified worryin' for my mother

and through this massive hell
my children suffer,
suffer and hide fast your holy name-
the tribe you're from has come to pick up
the broken clay pots and flower's luck

lonely mourning snowflake
falling dove,
butterfly, just drift as we stand up......

one day i'd sing into those eyes so
sad and blue
slightly hypnotized by
enchanting candle fire
some called you

a sexy candle's voice that
talked like you...i write
and smoke and fumble off my
shoes,
my shirt and pants and
mirror's laughing fast at
lack of glamour
at stumbling
sense of urgency to
mark a blind man's territory
pissing
in braille lavatories is all we seem to do
so what are we leading our children here to do
and why does your perfume sing me right to
lust
-napping, as mimosas bloom at dusk...
soft pink and white from green leaves
against pastel like dying sky-
wishing out of all i know
i never learned to say goodbye.