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

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

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

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

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

nature rules

Sitting on the floor of Death Valley,

An oasis in an america that seldom sanctions silence

Reminds me of the first time I visited Sable Island

An oasis in the North Atlantic that still silently serves

where the harsh winter equals the harsh summer here



life can’t escape time and nature

and death isn’t hidden or sanitized

the remnants of the harsh seasons and past generations

lie about like scattered treasure

and humble reminders of impermanence and vanity



The salamander, snake and scorpion here and the wild horse and seal there

live and die by nature’s rules

in a land unfrequented by people and exacting in it’s harshness

where each plant and animal can survive better than man

but only man can survive the rigors of both



As marram grass anchor the sands

the snake outgrows his skin

and man returns to dirt

the insatiable soil and sea stands silent

set for the next unsuspecting visitor


man has always viewed each natural wonder for richness and resource

the path of one thing often leading to the destruction of another

when only remnants of man remain, it will be plain

That places like these should serve no person

and remain silent testaments to the art of the great spirit

LostLagoonFound

My first visit to her next new city, now a country apart
Only today do we have enough time to waste
On a serendipitious expedition to find the lost lagoon
Although I secretely wonder how anything lost could be on a map

Florentine crepes and chocolate strawberries apetize our path
Through the week’s first sunshine on savory robson street
Flooding our senses with sensible senselessness
And renegotiating reminders of all matters, now trivial

I self-suprisingly suggest roller skating
prompting my youthful relative to exaggerate my relative decrepitness
my dexterity long forgotten, like the distance once between us
we engage in a playful dance of the ages, the aged and the ageless

Until we find ourselves Enroute to nowheres
in a quest for Sunday memories
Embracing each upright encountered,
we gleefully wobbled like newborn foals

Then recovered enough bravado to not turn back or back down
Our stroll becomes a 12km test that finishes on uneven sidewalks
Although our newfound courage is clouded by disapproval and laughter
we are too consumed by our accomplishment to let others invade

like all seditious travels the return is as foreign as the start
freedom that we never knew existed when we were unharnessed
somehow connected another memory of separation, not abandonment
the lost lagoon of our love found not wanting

Even though I secretly wonder how anything lost can be found
Her life now evolves Less around my fatherhood,
As my life evolves less around her childhood
It is only normal I reason to myself

On the map of my statistically anespectic uncle role
As we continue to walk with renewed respect for each other
And the comfort and safetly of shoes
That have been walked in for a long time

With total disregard to their mission or purpose
Other than to be there when needed
Whenever called upon for a quick stroll
Or a journey across the country

After veggie dogs and some photography at a war protest
we retrace our steps, soon joined by evacuees from still life
At the crowded turnstill, my daughter infiltrated the front
Knowing when the gates open that the race for dignity ended

A prime seat saved for one, promised for another
Became the line crossed by each father
I wanted my child’s offering
He wanted to offer his child

Words hurriedly measured frality and committment
While battering the seemingly uncaring passengers
As our daughters stood as somber sentinels
Witnessing male rage and their future modeled

My peaceful self saw his true nature
And understood the protection-level male primate
His anger transparent and ridiculous
Yet released with abandon in an unstoppable procession

My coolness inflamed his anger
His crudeness offended my sense of scale and theatre
Each position dismissed by righteousness
I watched his daughters illusions evaporate

As stolen stares absorbed the exchange
Searching for signs of flosum
For some as yet unplanned dinner party
My daughter quickly, intelligently offer her seat

As our sea bus paused waiting for strays
My passive/aggressive humour met his colourful assault
The primal scream held all captive
When a challenge to step outside was ridiculed

As we competed for false pride and dignity
Long after the seat was given up
the cry for justice, as in all wars, was unjust
To those securely on safe shores of childhood

What is right when it must be taken my might
What is fright if it brings no delight
It began with rage and indignation
And ended with an apology

But no understanding or reflection
Just the futility of making a smiling man angry
Unable to dissolve habitual patterns
Or provide any path to peace

An adult view of a childhood fear of an adult view
Resigned to the familiar
With the suspected truths of youth
Another memory not wired for civil realization

I secretely wonder if the lagoon can be found on foot
My fatherly self swells with painful wisdom
With lifes design beyond by reach
I accept that I am without the words to teach

InsideOut

The outside world enters
even after much abuse
It still turns me inside out

She reaches out to me
in a "I don't want to be hurt" manner
that easily reads as insincere

Like a fishermen trawling
prepared to throw away everything
but the exact fish they seek

Am I the one
that got away
or the prize?

Now, after years of separation
she wants to reconcile
our differences

She is more her Mother
now than ever
I am more me

We’ve grown accustomed
to not trying
how can we find trust again

Or is my age
and her rage
that keeps us apart

beach blanket burial

above, seductive sounds insulate the hastened steps
below, childhood rainbows reek of old lovers
here nature lures the unsuspecting and the ill gotten
as all the important things are remembered for a day


nearly imperceptible processions takes form
a cacophony emerges from the unnatural inundation
as all claim their turf and begin to circle
like a zamboni before the big game


a festive day after a mindless week of toil
mostly suspicious and poor
not yet tempted to kill for the privileged life
anxiously waiting the stolen promises


a fleeting cenotaph sprinkles the shifting sands
of flag-draped caskets and white crosses
each mourner carries their own terrorist thoughts
desperate to make sense of patriotism


the palpable smog and pollution idles
while the righteous hang onto hope
in order to breathe fresh air another sunny day
fearful that the escape is futile

hollywood disneyfies californian beaches
with freshness and freedom for all
nature and youth are taken for granted
now they are measured by those pornographic images


many seek understanding for their plight
more simply want to forget
in a land dying for democracy
a day of rest is fought on many shores


the kingdom has reached it’s pinnacle
yet nobody noticed yet
like the body, ignoring the early signs
long enough for the brain to announce death