father...are thou in the cavern

if the almighty father knew

what this moment is for me and you

he’d be the prince that slew

the dragon in the dragon’s lair

and placed upon his tongue of fire

the hand that wisdom cast

on blood and flesh and passion

to feel the burn of time

scorch the monster’s head

who sparked up all the novas

of the universe’s thread

but god’s a captive in this minute

that time has spun on rock and sinews

and in the lion’s den he stands a single

man to feel this dawn’s first rays

spurting from the beast’s fangs

with tongues we are made to taste

each time with crimson tears

of brick and steel (love concrete)

the person foretold to become will be up next

keeping the hour of engagement without fail

_coincidence or a lottery could explain best_

doubtless we learn the score in a lone move

to pass through the doors aglow and dead

-here music…preferably The WASP (Texas 

Radio And The Big Beat) by The Doors-

we know the score 
we can take the heat

the guardians of our circumstance

holders of our keys 
(sponsors of our dreams if you may)
deal our portion by chance fortune 
or misfortune _tell you a fib

i shot my darling when our angel

turned against us lovers 
we had placed our emotions in a bid

to ride the wheel spinning our hearts

on a tread of faith set to live 
the given play with our own will 
and failed

eighteen months later 
i was cursing the land of the free

and the one of cockaygne riding
a penitentiary van on a saturday morning

with muzzi meisner and hollywood 
from east side buffalo aka cocaine

_remember the set_ the skies grey

and everyone quietly playing the current

take of the foolhardy knight’s tale

the one to steal the show gets the most time

in jail _we remember little else 
and we say in virtue of the fruit taken

for eden’s sake don’t forgive us we're threats

light burns oblivious of that first breath

blowing sparks to no end only to fail you

when your heart has stopped

‘the poets down here don’t write nothing at all

they reach for their moment and try to make

an honest stand’ _quote on the wall of a ny jail

everyone is gifted with fear and faith

everyone is gifted with fear and faith

in its breath to live through its earthly

inheritance along plain memory and hope

in the mist of alternative shootouts

(when in the queue or elsewhere

 _better make it a rule -just

 anywhere- mind the telling

 gestures signals ground writings

for in due time we all get the call to be

in the game and we must be affixed

with a pledge in spite of any handicap

or ability

hardest is to be picked out as fisherman

or tax collector _no head role's welcome_
(the outcome's well known and the cross)

but the question is how to achieve the will

for holiness while trapped in cosmic flesh

and blood and with the universe inherited

as a mental block...and one toils to strike

a mark to see justice on the score though

at long last one couldn’t expect to be

remembered at all

so while on the road we meet at rest-stops

over proverbial cheeseburgers and coke

sometimes one’s too weak (not that the soda

is too strong) and they have to take down

the water-closet door to drag you out

harboring in the myth

he can think not

his rolls and waves as if beating wings

flashflood the blood vessels

turning his eyes blind his ears ringing

his head dumb until his will

quits reaching and gropes darkness

wanting like the ostrich he believes

to hole-in the panic

and it gets deeper surely

all is at ease underground

his senses blind him fooldigger

ready to go down on truth

over his head and believe

anything thereafter unreal

love story (of wine and roses)

i love you i love you like i never
loved before love is all verses in bloom
banging oblivious the walls of time hard 
and blinding the sensical redolence
of flesh on flesh flood waters colored
with reflections expectantly sudden
of neon lights flushing indistinct 
the dregs of sweat in crevices where brews 
the seed of jets to a finish in and out of
love and gain flesh and pain fire and rain

when passion smolders bare in the hay
and sheets flame up to cover burned out
remains of wanton thirst i don’t ask you
to scratch my back i just reach where i can


"...and everybody says i don't care
  i'm just trying to remember the days..."

feeling milky way

if we were ever to succeed
we should walk to encounter life
primed and willin _no small feat
after a long haul through the south
west and mexico the cargo
customary cigarettes booze
and illegals_ though unsteady
and blearyeyed but confident
with the perspective of weed wine
and whites and dallas alice last
after every headlight it'd make
sense to hope for glee at long last
to befall the lands of greed grown
in every seed to venom all
but those with good will and resolve
you could begin embracing love
(and the gift of being yourself)
and begin enjoying life fit
with the wink of time at the vile
and the nod of heavens with signs
wondrous and far observed by some
instantly turned to salt never
to return in the endless ride
except perhaps as a verse dark
in the dream of a burned-out gal
sleeping in the cab of a semi
off the road one august night

of course there was much confusion at the river

of course there was much confusion at the river

trading words of penance for the remission of sin

we saw it from atop the terrace hotel

and through every nonsense

and under the incantation of a full moon

i lost my best lies to you right on the gaming table

fatuous and warped by the numbers

dizzy at the sight of revolving angels

_and with feathers in our drinks_

before a wild crowd who cheered the mighty engines

pulling emotionless spinning their giant wheels

as the days meandered away with each other spells

showing you immodestly wanting to be mine

as I was yours plenty and always

with guitars sounding like bells ready

to usher our way into the whirlwind of being in love

and ring our hearts in tune with our darling songs

in a way we could not convey to any of the present

though some said they understood the drill

so we went on becoming with the feeling

that no one knew the right words nor the way out

we sat there holding hands moist under the table

and saw the numbers blurred on the wheel

signs beyond recognition held us still

and then and there we bared our telling phrases

like litanies of tall tale bits their meaning

uncertain fitful to ourselves