Sunday, January 28, 2007
wiltshire blvd
where golden images still exist
of a sunny, sandy, seaside precipice
as some things do not fade
like the Macy’s parade or the JFK cavalcade
some new arrivals are attracted by glitter
some seek redress from birth in the wrong litter
the tide of invention is a test for newcomers
intolerant of a new life with unfamiliar drummers
from the south, an exodus from despair
seeking a place at the table, in a generation or two
from the east, bored Americans everywhere
hoping to become someone new
illegals, aliens and wetbacks
man woman and child
it is impossible to follow all their tracks
or see the future until votes are compiled
here everyone marks their border
quickly learning the foresight of a hoarder
thankful for every day that they are closer
to a dream career or food from a grocer
when night falls or power fails
the haves of Beverly hills stop to alleviate themselves
their reality held firmly as the day’s sales
like santa with a factory of elves
except the toys here are destined for shelves
at the shore, the road greets the pacific
a beach graveyard with 2,455 crosses mark this day
while family fun belies any wiff of horrific
their duty unclear while being treated like a stray
the road ends where it begins
at the intersection of awe and suspicion
no weight given to media spins or cheshire grins
or a legacy which demands too much transition
each day measured by what is, no more or less
not by what once was or even what could be
finding strength in spiritual success
and redemption in a big fee or the marquee
yet each visitor seeks directions from the other
remaining separate, except to embrace
each son or daughter, mother or brother
and the trampled seeds of a new human race
of a sunny, sandy, seaside precipice
as some things do not fade
like the Macy’s parade or the JFK cavalcade
some new arrivals are attracted by glitter
some seek redress from birth in the wrong litter
the tide of invention is a test for newcomers
intolerant of a new life with unfamiliar drummers
from the south, an exodus from despair
seeking a place at the table, in a generation or two
from the east, bored Americans everywhere
hoping to become someone new
illegals, aliens and wetbacks
man woman and child
it is impossible to follow all their tracks
or see the future until votes are compiled
here everyone marks their border
quickly learning the foresight of a hoarder
thankful for every day that they are closer
to a dream career or food from a grocer
when night falls or power fails
the haves of Beverly hills stop to alleviate themselves
their reality held firmly as the day’s sales
like santa with a factory of elves
except the toys here are destined for shelves
at the shore, the road greets the pacific
a beach graveyard with 2,455 crosses mark this day
while family fun belies any wiff of horrific
their duty unclear while being treated like a stray
the road ends where it begins
at the intersection of awe and suspicion
no weight given to media spins or cheshire grins
or a legacy which demands too much transition
each day measured by what is, no more or less
not by what once was or even what could be
finding strength in spiritual success
and redemption in a big fee or the marquee
yet each visitor seeks directions from the other
remaining separate, except to embrace
each son or daughter, mother or brother
and the trampled seeds of a new human race
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
pornographic virtue
Kiss, Kiss
Undress, Undress. Undress
Mount, He on She
Undress, Undress
Non-medicated desires for
Longings of life pulse my blood
With wonderlust
With willing wantoness
Lick, He on She
Panting, Faster and Louder
Foot on Balls,
Hand on Head, She wants him
Horny hormones
Command constant caresses
Impervious to aging or pleasure
When coupled with pornographic virtues
Moan, Hisses, Hisses
He spits into her vagina
And pushes two fingers deep
And his eyes flicker with passion
He dominates with his demands
She accepts with her desire
Contractual banality
In the obscenity of sex
Lick, Lick, Lick
Umm, Umm, Ummmm, Aah, Aah, Aaaah
Foot Stroking, Lips Lipting,
Panting the labour of love
It is not enough to have war, violence and greed
We must silent stand
While new generations are shaped
By the values that make our world less habitable
Music tells the lovers move
He stands erect the pushes her there
The butterfly tattoo in prominent view
As her ass is no longer featureless
Not to speak badly against all man or even all men
It is to state the hormone-free obvious
To those that have seen true pornography
The rape and pillage of animals, the pollution of our world
The fireplace embraces the music
As we see a close up of her smile
With his hand guiding her to his cock
And her destiny of desire
Against the background of the inhumanity
We must also smile when confronted
With something that we must kneel to worship
Because size matters, especially to supersized Americans
As the music no longer fits the demands of passion
Moaning takes up the rhythm
His heated hand demands her sycophancy
Allowing us to imagine loveless sex as natural
And to find our role
In sex and love and life
And in matters of world importance
Yet fail to see what is given and what is taken
mmmmMMMM, mmmmMMMM, mmmmMMMMMMMMMM
Lick, Lick, Lick, StrokeStroke, CockinMouth,Cock,Cock
Words, Heated, Fast. Oh, Yeah, Come on, Give it To Me
Cum, Succumb, music off, story on. Cycle cycles. ComeOn.
Kiss, Kiss, He leans back
Like a lead dog
After it has eaten and
And his sperm has seeded
The pornography of our age
Is swallowed by all that submit
To an unkind hand or a loveless embrace
As we comply to the larger lie
Yet between youth and desire
What matters more than size
In the life we bequeath
With a wink and a smile
Undress, Undress. Undress
Mount, He on She
Undress, Undress
Non-medicated desires for
Longings of life pulse my blood
With wonderlust
With willing wantoness
Lick, He on She
Panting, Faster and Louder
Foot on Balls,
Hand on Head, She wants him
Horny hormones
Command constant caresses
Impervious to aging or pleasure
When coupled with pornographic virtues
Moan, Hisses, Hisses
He spits into her vagina
And pushes two fingers deep
And his eyes flicker with passion
He dominates with his demands
She accepts with her desire
Contractual banality
In the obscenity of sex
Lick, Lick, Lick
Umm, Umm, Ummmm, Aah, Aah, Aaaah
Foot Stroking, Lips Lipting,
Panting the labour of love
It is not enough to have war, violence and greed
We must silent stand
While new generations are shaped
By the values that make our world less habitable
Music tells the lovers move
He stands erect the pushes her there
The butterfly tattoo in prominent view
As her ass is no longer featureless
Not to speak badly against all man or even all men
It is to state the hormone-free obvious
To those that have seen true pornography
The rape and pillage of animals, the pollution of our world
The fireplace embraces the music
As we see a close up of her smile
With his hand guiding her to his cock
And her destiny of desire
Against the background of the inhumanity
We must also smile when confronted
With something that we must kneel to worship
Because size matters, especially to supersized Americans
As the music no longer fits the demands of passion
Moaning takes up the rhythm
His heated hand demands her sycophancy
Allowing us to imagine loveless sex as natural
And to find our role
In sex and love and life
And in matters of world importance
Yet fail to see what is given and what is taken
mmmmMMMM, mmmmMMMM, mmmmMMMMMMMMMM
Lick, Lick, Lick, StrokeStroke, CockinMouth,Cock,Cock
Words, Heated, Fast. Oh, Yeah, Come on, Give it To Me
Cum, Succumb, music off, story on. Cycle cycles. ComeOn.
Kiss, Kiss, He leans back
Like a lead dog
After it has eaten and
And his sperm has seeded
The pornography of our age
Is swallowed by all that submit
To an unkind hand or a loveless embrace
As we comply to the larger lie
Yet between youth and desire
What matters more than size
In the life we bequeath
With a wink and a smile
Friday, January 19, 2007
NoClock
In the 'middle of nowhere' Nevada
Where the world extends to the horizon
There is an unspoken beauty
That nobody has yet marketed
The secret value is not shared
With those that fail to value anything
That they can not exploit
Or carry away
In this inhospitable garden
The delights, although remarkable
Are only available to those searching
For no reward
If there are distractions
That remind you of
Another life, another time
Then looking further means looking away
Nothing much happens here except
a rush of people going somewhere else
Not much has changed here except
Man has lost touch with its beauty
Casinos and whore houses
Now lure gold diggers
As Borros claim the wilderness
Abandoned by miners and prospectors
Here there is no outside news to fear
There is nothing to do that can't wait
Here the rhythms of each day
Shower an indifferent land
Here time is not measured
By the clock or by appointments
A refreshing prospective, like the first time
I held my tongue out to catch snow
For some it is the rebirth of thinking
About your life outside the rhythm of your life
For others it is the rebirth of wonder
About the timeless cycles of life and death
For me, no clock can erase
The memory of these moments
Time has witnessed this land for too long
To allow my life significance
The brief moments that I feel connected
To a world beyond my reach
Are these times that I connect to the ticking
That keeps time of eternity
Where the world extends to the horizon
There is an unspoken beauty
That nobody has yet marketed
The secret value is not shared
With those that fail to value anything
That they can not exploit
Or carry away
In this inhospitable garden
The delights, although remarkable
Are only available to those searching
For no reward
If there are distractions
That remind you of
Another life, another time
Then looking further means looking away
Nothing much happens here except
a rush of people going somewhere else
Not much has changed here except
Man has lost touch with its beauty
Casinos and whore houses
Now lure gold diggers
As Borros claim the wilderness
Abandoned by miners and prospectors
Here there is no outside news to fear
There is nothing to do that can't wait
Here the rhythms of each day
Shower an indifferent land
Here time is not measured
By the clock or by appointments
A refreshing prospective, like the first time
I held my tongue out to catch snow
For some it is the rebirth of thinking
About your life outside the rhythm of your life
For others it is the rebirth of wonder
About the timeless cycles of life and death
For me, no clock can erase
The memory of these moments
Time has witnessed this land for too long
To allow my life significance
The brief moments that I feel connected
To a world beyond my reach
Are these times that I connect to the ticking
That keeps time of eternity
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Deathcamps
A trailer hookup
With conveniences
Brought the illusion of comfort
But being on the road
Destroyed the warmth of escape
And the joy of being somewhere else
We set out on our journey thinking
That our life was important
And that we were important too
After a lifetime of following the beaten path
To the waiting rooms of Arizona
When you reach a certain image
You begin to understand
That death is the next big thing in your life
Then it hits you, like an diseased lover
A waiting room is the place you spend the time
That you have left before you die
No more Doctors anymore
Death camps for 'snow birds'
Where Still Life is acclaimed as Life still
Every year the regiment becomes routine
A game of cards with the boys
Or some gossip with the girls
And a trip to Wal-Mart to break the monotony
Keeping track of time is deceptively easy
Friday night is the dance (until 10pm)
And Monday is the Blood Pressure Clinic
Everything else is free time
Paid for by a lifetime
Of sacrifice and servitude
The 'hot tub' rules are clearly posted
Rubber pants are encouraged
No one under 18 is allowed
No one with diapers
No one with open sores or infections
Uniformity without uniforms
Is the casual order of the day
One day bleeds into another
With one season and not much reason
Each rig in a tiny spot
Crowded by Neighbours on all sides
Surrounded by brick walls
And a 24 hour sentry at the gate
No lawns or green space
Mostly concrete parking spaces
The size of cemetery plots
Fear is a great time filler
Fear of everything on the news
And fear of everything different
Becomes the conversation of the day
The men always talk about their rig
Or about the sunny warm weather
And how cold it is back home
The women always talk about pets and children
or about the sunny warm weather
and how cold it is back home
A lingering smile is sometimes an invitation
And sometimes a judgment
Of a sterile life without effort or result
It doesn’t tell the lies
A life has taken to escape
Or to be rooted in a home with wheels
When hope was a possibility
And death didn’t have a lineup
With conveniences
Brought the illusion of comfort
But being on the road
Destroyed the warmth of escape
And the joy of being somewhere else
We set out on our journey thinking
That our life was important
And that we were important too
After a lifetime of following the beaten path
To the waiting rooms of Arizona
When you reach a certain image
You begin to understand
That death is the next big thing in your life
Then it hits you, like an diseased lover
A waiting room is the place you spend the time
That you have left before you die
No more Doctors anymore
Death camps for 'snow birds'
Where Still Life is acclaimed as Life still
Every year the regiment becomes routine
A game of cards with the boys
Or some gossip with the girls
And a trip to Wal-Mart to break the monotony
Keeping track of time is deceptively easy
Friday night is the dance (until 10pm)
And Monday is the Blood Pressure Clinic
Everything else is free time
Paid for by a lifetime
Of sacrifice and servitude
The 'hot tub' rules are clearly posted
Rubber pants are encouraged
No one under 18 is allowed
No one with diapers
No one with open sores or infections
Uniformity without uniforms
Is the casual order of the day
One day bleeds into another
With one season and not much reason
Each rig in a tiny spot
Crowded by Neighbours on all sides
Surrounded by brick walls
And a 24 hour sentry at the gate
No lawns or green space
Mostly concrete parking spaces
The size of cemetery plots
Fear is a great time filler
Fear of everything on the news
And fear of everything different
Becomes the conversation of the day
The men always talk about their rig
Or about the sunny warm weather
And how cold it is back home
The women always talk about pets and children
or about the sunny warm weather
and how cold it is back home
A lingering smile is sometimes an invitation
And sometimes a judgment
Of a sterile life without effort or result
It doesn’t tell the lies
A life has taken to escape
Or to be rooted in a home with wheels
When hope was a possibility
And death didn’t have a lineup
Sultry winds
I fell in love with strangers
now they sleep within me
As I walk alone
with the shifting balance of time
falling to one side
Yet today I lie beside you
with confidence in tommorrow
As turning metal chafes the wind
into a sirens call
I sense a moment
that stetches beyond reach
into the despair
of dreamy comforters
This is one of those pure days
too hot to fight, or play
as the sultry winds rise,
like elapsed loves
carressing the still depths
of my aching bones.
And the love I feel
for my lover
Everything is taken
but not for granted
now they sleep within me
As I walk alone
with the shifting balance of time
falling to one side
Yet today I lie beside you
with confidence in tommorrow
As turning metal chafes the wind
into a sirens call
I sense a moment
that stetches beyond reach
into the despair
of dreamy comforters
This is one of those pure days
too hot to fight, or play
as the sultry winds rise,
like elapsed loves
carressing the still depths
of my aching bones.
And the love I feel
for my lover
Everything is taken
but not for granted
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