patrons of kisses
christened in lapels
and perfumed pits
on knees dwelt
in din lit coffin wells

"whore" in marker on
the floor
and squashed match jackets
and chemical killed roaches
legs splayed
like shadows grimace
stuccoed hewn walls
where darkness fills
empty fists and blade thrusts

where heaven is a light bulb
speckled with a universe
of gutteral howls
hilted carboned hard ons and gleaming
manifestations of hollowpoint
prayers

The manifestation of thought
and the remembrance of those
who are now naught
makes voluminous content of dreams

someone is seemingly screaming
far from the poles of eternity
come along with me
your tenure down there
has lost all lure
there can be now no cure
but to stop your dream
stamp it out
to fetch you I am coming

midsummer's gardens
grandeur paradise
rain puddle lynch
agrarian and dust to dust
chronicle icons flashpoint iris
bulletins tin bullet " perusing'"
narrow voyage
from up-chin target
treadle a whetbriar needle
pedals nitro fled from theater impalement

I walked into the kitchen
and saw your note
full of lies,
full of spite,
full of casual malice,
and sighed a familiar sigh
as I took it down
from the fridge.

I read it once again
as I opened a drawer for matches
and stepped outside
into the clean,
fresh,
morning.
A morning of promise,
a morning of hope,
a morning you worked to sabotage
with your cruelty.

Dead Grey Wolf Skins
(Tribute: Aldo Leopold)
By Michael Lee Johnson

Dead grey wolf skins hang
on white clotheslines across Baraboo, Wisconsin
the dark surface, side of the moon,
that only exists in memories hung high, long before.
Hunters in the past did their job well,
sold skins, collected a few bucks,
increased deer for hunting, saved cattle,
decreased fear, told tales, short stories, adventures.

Laying down in this field just resting.
Resting from life’s riggers
just for a minute.
But never to rise again from an eternal sleep.
A green blanket tucked about their heads.
So many are they now.
In their counting that inevitable question,
When will I increase their
count by just one more.

Be not alone
all are lonely,

somewhere in the vastness of eternity
someone calls out instantly
still we say wait
time hasn't come yet
then the loneliness vanishes

the unknown comes in one’s dreams
and screams
where have you been!
one says
are you now asking
an autumn leaf?

the invisible one smiles alongside
now tis autumn
there is no surprise

hope you too will be
some day
flying about
side beside

What's this? There are low voices
Faint footsteps in the hall
No one supposed to be here
Just the Reverend, that's all

Tight and angry whispers
"We will kill him now"
" He's done this thing to all of us"
No more and that's our vow

The young girls filed in slowly
Steak-knives and clubs of wood
Killer shrank back in the shadows
Should he stop them... if he could?

capricious lantern brush
her first blush enchantress
a phosphorous merchant
cushions spells to curb him
withdrawn from nativity
like the cobras lazy form
who in turn caresses him placental
gives him the mammary placements
grape chests for patients paralysis tugging

I smell tinged and sharp....full of adrenalin burned off and night oases
i smell of crotch and ass from riding the trail....armpits from
the drugs wearing off..spandex and cotton wrapping my long
legs...dust and dirt in a heady mix....like a horse in heat....
shirt pockets smeared with old cologne and bent cigarettes
and a long black leather jacket worn in and worn tight with
love seeped into its pockets....sweat daze in its frayed
interior skin draped open at my visits..my meetings..my arms
splayed on chairs..my chair tipped back..