Wednesday, January 28, 2009

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

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


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


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

Thursday, January 18, 2007


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

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