From "Light Through the Pines"

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Breath

I’m looking for a way out

To evaporate and echo in bubbles

Where

The melody of thought

Never ends

An escape from survival

Where the needs of the body 

Are nonexistent 

Where avatars of our consciousness

Play

Stout and clean

In easy breath

Dance For Me

I love the way

you navigate around foreign cities 

like you have walked the Earth for ages

you flicker

in and out of memory

as a part of the view

Traveler

In JFK airport

there is a woman whose only job

is to say " welcome home"

to Americans coming in from abroad

I want to kiss the ground

but 

the concourse is filthy

still

to live without fear

with guns and land

to drive until the road is lost

and still find soul food and tea

it's the best we can do

so I celebrate

and

soak in the moment

coming home

to

abundance

Forrest Gump / Bury Me in Dixie

Be free

and find a new life

where

the universe blossoms

for interactive enjoyment

Find

a Homeostasis of the soul

Find your colors 

And let them fly

Ragged and powder burnt 

Over fields of agony

Survive

Breaking the law

In

Foreign hostels 

For those golden years 

Of color in the streets

Of abundance and laughter 

All we must do

to fulfill

A cosmic duty

To

make it to tomorrow

Semi-Charmed Life

Busting smokes in my shitbox car

We sit in the Waffle House parking lot

Giggling to inside jokes

The waitress knows us by name

Our favorite haunt

A jukebox and a meal

For ten bucks a piece

We eat edibles

And roam around Big Lots

Lost in scents

Of ocean breeze and midnight cotton

The same candles and furniture

We gawk at every friday night

Making out in the isle

Rifling through tiny t shirts

For your perky pomeranian

Checking out with some chocolate

Some diet coke and candy

For the ravenous munchies

That overtake us in quiet hours

Running lines for your summer comedy

The inflection of your accent 

Pops and dips in dialectical staccato 

Until nine-thirty on the dot

When we take our meds

And slip into an intertwined coma

As I reassure you

This show will be the best yet! 

To Kingdom Come

There are no more words for where we are

Afterglow

Dizzy exhaustion

An achievement 

A clean burning stream

Of endorphins and oxytocin

Where 

Each night is an event

To put on our best to kingdom come

Still

Life goes on

In the details

Riot Grrrl/ Domestic Disturbance

What are you hiding

behind that crooked smile?

you become

an inconspicuous piñata 

taking a beating

falling to the ground

with grace

you say we must save the world

from devouring itself

eyes of molotov cocktails

flags and slogans

you rant about your ex of Facebook

but you wont

do your dishes

White Lighter Society

Legend says

Every single member

Of the 27 club

Died with a white lighter

In their pockets

a memento mori 

Before rock and rollers

Did yoga with millionaire gurus

And

Became shredded vegans

To fight the wear of time

One more celebrity scandal

Or perhaps

The machinations of unseen puppetmasters 

Sacrificing sensitive souls of particular brillance 

For the New World Order

A psy-op to enshrine new gods

And tease the imagination

Of the curious and pathological

I put a cigarette

On the tomb of Jim Morrison

Summoning the mojo

Of some mystery cult

To tip the scale

Towards creating a meaning

Worth living for

Crash

General Mattis getting married in Vegas

Is the best in us

I clap and sing and yell

Shaking and flailing

To

Psychedelic blues

Catching up with old lovers

Sitting indian style on an unmade bed

To

Relive our greatest hits

With your pictures scattered

Working together on the line

And 

Day drinking in the city

I lived an entire life

In a rumspringa fever dream

Glory

I pick up some champagne

at the gas station coming home

a plastic rose between my teeth in the doorway

"these bubbles go right to my head"

as we trail off into strings of tender moments

contemptuous of responsibility

"tell me something I don't know about you"

we make playlists on our phones

and sing on the porch till dawn

harmonizing  

something radiates

after a night of stargazing lust

the memory foam mattress

swallows our mutual gifts

I am guilty

I have lied

but in your presence

ego disintegrates

into ephemeral fireworks

still

you would do better to skip town on a whim

and drive to the ocean

so you can feel

a freedom beyond the flesh

One  Breath

God is good

I can't explain it

after a decade of winter

for one perfect moment

all the world was light

we count our dollars

as the fallout rains

Plush Safe

I want to be so good the government kills me

where my phone dings all day

healthy and beloved

the stars see the error of their ways

and dazzle me to sleep

each night

where echoes of your laughter

birth new universes

Uncultured

A static screen sky
Takes pot shots at our sanity

Tires burn on the horizon—

Its only make believe I know
This construct of words and images.

Bad noise and bile

Back and forth the blame bounces back
Inevitably to your doorstep.

Calabash, North Carolina

Iced tea on the veranda

replenishing the tiny beads of perspiration 

dripping from my brow

a refreshing reprieve from the  muggy heat

some mayonnaise and tomato on white

the creak of a rocking chair

a hint of lemon bursting and lingering

in fleeting trancendance

watching the shrimp boats pass 

and

hitting balls into the swamps

a snap and plop

over the din of cicadas

In Search of Lost Time

stoned in the grocery store

romping down the isles

I'll never go hungry again!

the multi-colored shelves tower

endless rows of choice

the abundance serenades me

with family friendly muzak

by the dollar DVDs

as

my stomach recoils

at the sight of a squad car

in the parking lot

Truth

Truth is non-linear

It is only the inadequacies of language 

Preventing two competing realities from existing simultaneously.

Have I not existed in one timeless moment?

A precognitive black in the cosmic soup of souls

Waiting for my time under the sun to Inhale

The first beat to the flatline in time lapse lucidity

Roiling and morphing in a breathing living memory

A Bed of Flowers

The poison won’t stay down
It comes out in the anguished gibberish of talking heads

To escape–

In midnight reveries
Searching endless night
For a cosmic pause
To live square and paid

Channeling rock stars in satori moments
“When I find my peace of mind, 

I’m gonna give you some of my good time.”
The living promise to posterity
To lift the mystery

Utopia awaits

On alien moons
An alternate universe

Where Woman never bit the apple

I show up
After the work is done
Only to gaze in wonder at our clever disease
In luxury and comfort

still the prison of consciousness
Tethers me to time and place

The same old lovers
roll their eyes and sigh

Each time 

I rattle off a get rich quick scheme
After a manic session of intimacy

sharing a cigarette in bed
I chisel my essence in soft moments
Soaked in the cloak of night
In utter surrender to instinct

Bare Feet on an Oriental Rug

Exuberant fields

a phosphorescent joy

rolls towards the setting Sun

the moments stretch

overflowing with power

into a living stage

instinct and order

surrender to

a playful spirit

teasing life into a frenzy

until,

piqued into a conduit

for heavenly sight

spilling over into spontaneous dance

flirting with the edge of reason

a crescendo sustained

by

electric euphoria

building between our eyes

a Holy high

reaches for your essence 

focusing the crown of creation

into each salty lick

my worn soles 

take me back to a cocoon

in which 

we emerge together

tempered by the dizzy heights

of naked confession

An Old-Fashioned Love Song

We’ve escaped—

Thrown off expectation and fantasy

Eloped to the eternal now

All that exists is the sheets against our skin

and the hot life

 of your shallow breath

surrendering to our senses

in a liberation of self, merged.

Soft Days

Hi-Definition  spring showers

the metronome—

(rapping on my tin roof)

Baby shag fields—

( a glistening, bosky-green oracle)

Like the old coloured man

with the sunlight for a smile

a sobering retreat—

soft days  in aged rocking chairs—

(That favorite-stained coffee mug,

held close with two hands)

days go by—

[impressionist filter]

milky soft-beaten cotton—

nestling my face

(the breasts of my  Venus)

as shredded down rains on us from the ceiling

•        slowly close my eyes

•        fall back onto the mattress

to the rhythm of my grandmother,

stirring chicken soup (wooden spoon)

Born on the Fourth of July

The fear 

Seeps into oppressive nights

Each choice

Each step

Closer to an eternal recurrence 

Merging into singularity

A perfect Christ consciousness 

Outside of time

Waits until you can hold no more joy

We were kissed by God in the Garden

As galaxies flare and stars burn out

As seasons blur

Until

Light as laughter

A reunion across aging empires

Finding each other anew in each life

A chain of primal memory pulls us

Into the wet and dirty

Immediacy of breath

Back into the ether we climax to applause

I am a young soul

In perpetual becoming

Bulls on Parade

Mae West flickers

On a monochrome screen

I’m writing her love songs

She’s got her feet on the ledge

A waking dream

Where I ignore

Drunken rants of suicide

Until she passes out from exhaustion 

So I can keep a lover in my bed

Running from the moment

Like an ax murderer horror show

Each day is a triumph

The will to survive

Waxes and wanes

But you are not alone

We’ve been here before

Like bulls on parade

When Engulfed in Flames

I am beside you in a glimmer of amber

Falling, stretching into the past

Intertwined

In a mix of memory and music

Flashes of you peak into bolero

As your hair falls

Blue eyes blink and roll

I melt into the Earth

With exact efficiency

And bloom into an afterglow of champagne and travel

Unfinished

I’ve been dreaming

Of

Cartoon money bags

And

Fleeing mushroom clouds

Waking to find

Bland indifference

In

Fluorescent light

Paper Planes

Foreign spires

And

Guava jelly

I have only now begun to breathe

A precipice passed with careless soul

The highway blossoms

Into

Sepia slide shows

Of 

Our restless summer

A bubbling lottery

Pushing always

Up to the Sun

Time Regained

We are each the chosen one

Stranded

In

A scientific siege

Tragedy and hope

Float

Above gasoline prices and traffic

These cycles of pagan wrath

Artificial scarcity

Where

I don't even own a TV

A subsistence romp

These vulgar days

Where

Existence is a rolling orgasm

Awakening fresh

Eating my fill

Then

Sleeping like death with nothing to say