At my grandfather’s
final resting place
lays an oval shaped
white marble headstone
looking as if it belongs in
Arlington National Cemetery

This slab of carved stone
marks many of the things
that have happened
during my grandfather’s life
including his date of birth
as well as his death

Among other things
it marks his service
in World War II
with the Sea Bees
of the United States Army

His career as a
founder and owner
of his own newspaper
with the moniker of “Scoop”

I've never read a Harlequin Romance
nor fucked the group-mind-think that
thought the Republican agenda
with Democratic pitch-the-dog-a-bone
and let-the tail-wag-but-say-nothing-drones
of-the-corporate empire that begat the
son of God. Jesus. How fucked up does it
have to get? And I'm lost in a bitter tea, swirling around
doomsday with nothing more to say except
that Bukowski should be raised from the dead
and piss away the last poem of the earth.

breaking bread,
breaking waves,
breaking the light
in prisms
of affection

what energy
suffuses
the moments
before
morning breaks?

a songbird lingers,

I do too.

HONEY

He slipped his number
In your hand
“A handsome man
Of sixty-two”
Said you.,
Honey.

You were only thirty-three’

You liked his Lauren and Armani
Were impressed by his Tommy
“Never saw nails so clean and shiny”
Said you
again,
honey.
“Must have loads of money…
”
That was the end of me
Now he’s screwing you
And you’re “screwing” him
Just like you screwed me
Honey.

By the way.
Did you know
I still cry over you,
Honey..

What do you stand to win?
Everything
And what will you lose?
Everything
Why challenge yourself?
It will be worth it in the end
Even though they doubt your skill?
I will prove them wrong
After all the times you failed?
I will get back up
Though you know what lies ahead?
I have gotten this far
To slay the greed of others?
To approach a dream
Why even try?
I stand win
To fall
To rise.

out here the wind knows all the names
of gesture
and shadows swallow the blue that
cries from the vaulted crown of night
swathed in fire

we creatures stir
awake from ghost dreams
with plans itching in our souls

the blacktop drearygrounds
spun in neon and skin
like the last tail
of sin to wash away the
sunwet kisses

ribbons of velvet darkness
and course street laughter

canyons of fear
deep and falling
forever

A strap of yellow with words of black should tell you that something's about to happen
But you're never around to see that any way, not many see that side
This place is a grey area, but arguments are welcome; we like to hear people out.
Welcome to a different side of the moon, a side you could only guess at before and might never understand
Still you’re here, so that’s encouraging
Maybe you’ll be the one to close your eyes and see me today.
This is my world where all are crazy and some have ink in their veins

As the winter nears its end
and time of new leaves fast approaches
on the southward shifting wind
the chore of clearing stones encroaches.

So one more fieldstone on the wall
to join with all its settling brothers,
this one the heaviest of all
but not much more than all the others.

This year's stone drops right in place
as if the spot were made for it.
In the past some others lacked the grace
to achieve such perfect fit.

Motivation pulverised deep within a low down beat
With snapping fingers and a saturday night strut
Mr high slides by.

He is filled with arrogance and swagger
He's indestructible 
A ladies man, a mans man, he seduces them all

Then he has them and the mask slips
His grip is vice like
Deathly it's hold.

His evil Hand drags them down 
Into the bowels of the beast
Leaves them there to drown.

The barbed wire of words
cuts deep into the flesh;
ask any Jew
her bloodline in the covenant
of history,
broken and betrayed
spat upon, and gassed
to death in the name
of the iron cross of hate.