all of a sudden passion suddenly

bustops
thunderheads
guardrails
and sunglass lupin.

a fresh shirt
for the humidity
a waterproof match and
a tiny prayer
with all your might-

oh lightening
3 states over, then 3 more-
north by northwest
the rain comes
day
after
day.

Eve's red shoes

Thanks for the AV titillation, Eve.


"He doesn't listen to me"
quivers, her collagen lips
stamping, ruby heels

an exclamation point for her crisis

I don't hear her either
although I pretend
with a nod
a sympathatic smile

because good friends do that

But her blouse is too tight
and neckline too low
to hold my attention elsewhere

All I can think of
is her buck-assed naked
grabbing red shoes

doing her over in a field of purple clover

ring-

big piano
boxes of
christmas music
golf clubs
tight clothes
dusted pictures
revved up past
at last

at last
this

twenty year old feet
on numbly pegs
thank
goodness
for the
creosote

dig
dig deeper
granite ledge
and shallow
wildflowers
break ground
from the same
lonely
place.

do you have it in you?
gravel and trainstops
tearstained memory
hey, a nice guy falls like a
landslide

continental drift
phonecalls
invitations
dimunitions
get small
slip thru
hungry

money on
lonesome
cash and carry
get your grocery
out the riverwater
again.

there is something about bus stops

and filling stations you gotta hold the pump steady

something about driving west
over towns like mescaline

you sit cotton drew dressed loose skirt
drapes between legs and it is hot
today

take a coke and a smile

upper black eddy
jim thorpe
harpers ferry

bridges

there have to be bridges
railroad bridges do it best
when taking you to that stone arch tunnel
year stamped in concrete reminding us


always

someone else built this
you were still the dead unborn
concept of water

connecting mountains over this
water running through it all


but there is something about traveling west
especially when the dusk
and dust kicks like a storm and radio dials
ridged for thumb and finger stuggling to find a station

we sing instead.

Stalking -
the modern way to show affection,
love, devotion,
mild interest,
hate,
anything
& everything inbetween.
Thank you for stalking
for taking the time.
Luring me here
inspiring me.
To stalk is to care...
what a wonderful world this is.




Psst...Hey BlueskyBeauty

edit to say ..i am adding the title

wavered wish

sitting here between
the third last thought
and now
which is now past
again…
floating relaxation
empty mind

superstitiously
word silent, mind filled
with a wish,
a hope quivering
unsure of whether to stay
flee
or just flutter around

twice now made,
then again
as i light the candles,
and blended, faltering
with dancing darkness
a shadow fuses to light
and curls again

ONCE upon a time
grows up and becomes
as long as I can
no magic falls from stars
sprinkling solutions
like twilight dust
making way for night
which is not forgetful
but simply absent
like sleep sometimes
so we are grateful
for hours that skirt
the edge of memory
to knit a cloak of safe
purchase against dark

ONCE upon a time
was a fiction and we
wake to real days
carry care like stones
as long as I can
is not happily ever
after I lay this burden
somewhere between
the frayed seams
of stormy skies
and the waking Sun
without a spell or charm
but as long as I can
a promise

This... might not come out exactly as poetry, but I've not stayed up this long and sucked down so many cigarettes to let go of this crazed feeling. My blood is now a polluted stream of viciousness, so thick with caffeine, nicotine, zoloft and pure-d fucking hate for this world that's spawned all the shit floating in my veins that I could contaminate the all of existence just by popping a zit on my forehead. Had I any. I'll not check under the hat to satiate your curiosity, or mine. My hands are busy telling my fingers to get to work. I want to know where this goes, I want to see the end of this trail, and you're all fucking-well coming with me.

You're beautiful, and I love you all, but man I wish I could come on your faces. But I can't, so here I go. Jacked out of my mind on sleep-dep and mountain dew, cigarettes, anti-depressants and more cigarettes. I've got my north carolina hat on, to keep my hair out of my face and I've got my glasses on, the better to see you with. It's taken me less than three mintues to get this far, and the muscles in my arm already hurt and I still can't keep up. Wear your goggles and for God's saike, if anyy gets on you, hit it with bleach and get a shot. I feel a rumble in my lizard brain, a tremor in my poetic testes that I wish you could feel (In your poetic ovaries, should you lack the ability to comprehend a tremoring testicle) This may be rude, and I'm going to love it. I make no guarantees to quality or sense. Fuck you, I'm smoking.

~!~

If I could, I'd tear it all down, just to see what
kind of pictures the rubble would make
seen from above.

I want all the truth to blaze,
I want to see justice drop her blindfold
chop motherfuckers in half
with that sword she's
always leaning on.
The world should know you
fucked your girlfriend's best
friend
Traded bj's for more blow
Booger sugar stained with the
semen of the righteously right,
or whatever they call
themselves,
all tucked in,
sleeping the sleep
of the soundly blown.

Would you kiss a prostitute on
the mouth?
I would, because I love them.
Never been with one,
I think it's unethical.
They are beautiful
broken,
diseased, sometimes,
Brash, slightly proud
Stronger than I ever
would want to be.

Put your arm around a needle-freak
ask them if they want a cup
of coffee,
just to hear their story
in an all night diner
catering to the bent, sprained
broken people
who wander the cobblestones
they've been ground into.
The late night sneaky people
who never stop looking over
their shoulders
Never stop cringing, a little,
even when they tell you to
eat it.

What's your story?
I talk a lot about what I want -
I'm uniquely self-obsessed,
because the idea of being maybe
a little crazy
pleases me,
the same way dreaming about
angels wearing cutoffs
pleases me.

I give these dreams twenty-five points,
'cos I can dance to 'em, but
enough of me.

Are you loudly foolish and
quietly insane? Would you,
could you,
look someone in the eye
tell them all your secrets

the dirty stuff you don't tell anyone?
Soulful abortions
in little crying scenes
set in bathtubs
accompanied by the sound of
your boyfriend vomiting in the toilet
These things seem to sing you to sleep,
Ease you down into blackouttime,
where you hide from the pain.
She told me it was comforting.
How many times can you scrub
anything with salt and
isopropyl alcohol
before you really think it's clean?

I think this came back to me, again.
Deal. I'm 'haunted,'
or some
shit.

I'm not a poet, I'm just
another fucked up kid with a
keyboard, too much time
to sit and think. Bastard offspring
of so many parents,
whelped by an ugly beast
in heat with ideas staining
its loins.
I raised myself in front of a
piece of paper, sucking
the life out of pens,
bullshit ideas.
my guardians were pop-
culture icons,
who wanted to borrow
five dollars
and watch me get high,
handlers who never
fed me.


there ain't much food in the world
when they kick you outta highschool.
Ain't many jobs when you drop
outta college.
There's love in the world, though
Truth and beauty.
Personal responsibility.
You can't eat shit like that..
They do make it easier not to feel
such a waste of po-fucking-tential.

I was tossed out on my ass
for not believing they were right.
Thinking I was better than
busywork
and bell curves,
punching that jock in the balls
when he called me a faggot
for having long hair and not
liking rap.
I probably should've stopped after
a couple minutes
I couldn't.

If you don't leave with skin under
your fingernails
blood on your hands
they don't remember you.

Shit like that isn't pretty,
it doesn't dance
things like that can
only cavort,
little demon memories
that never get behind you,
just caper in front of your face
forever, spraypainting and spitting
on every lovely thing you
step around.

Right now, the sun is up
the trumpet vines
outside
are blooming red bells
with hummingbird bowties
and all I can think about is
how my daughter has
never heard my voice,
will never hear her father,
like I did,
and feel safe,
like I did.
You don't curse the ones you love
especially if you're the curse.
Her mother was right.

I wanted to name her
Evening,
after the color of ow
I felt about her,
when I first heard.
She was named
for spanish mountains.
The idea of it
makes me shake
until ashes flake down
on the ground.

Hat's pulled low,
down around my heart
sunglasses are on
like when I helped
change the guard
all night out at coffee.
Verbal duelists with spoons
sugar packets
worthless rhetoric.
I used to feel like Charlie,
from that series,
with geeky little comic
girls as my Angels
running behind me
angry vaginas at the
ready.

Fantasies are fun like that.

Now, hah!
Hah, and hah!
I'm trying not to drink
outwaiting the sunlight
thinking about the cost of
arrogance,
ill-use
stupid pride.

Which is worse, the fool
the fool that follows
or the fool that remains?

I heard, "Not knowing" was
the answer.

I wonder.

~!~

Satisfied.

~D.A.

God,

God, i should take to drinking or something...

one minute at a time

keys scattering the floor,
abusive explosion to silence
clashing reclusion,
seclusion

a conclusion of deduced,
reused life-time
of teardrops,
a casual passing hurricane

mixed up in a struggle
of sunshine,
clouds pushing,
juggling of insane

dizzied mind
as eyes fracture
peripheral vision
then quickly
swoop center leap

stomach lurching,
disharmony gusting
instinctual dance,
sidestepping another
mishap

roof tar paper,
ragged and black
glistening teeth
so tiny
they intensely scrape

and you wonder
this time,
stooping slowly to
reclaim your keys
as silence settles once again

a resolution,
absolution of the seconds
which pass
until everything is right
once again.

home fire

the hearth glowing
stoked by the breeze
as you walk absently by,
unruffled cool

a stalking glow,
radiating seize,
pressure snapping ember,
ignition past denial…

feed me and teach me
all your desires
fanning flames
to complete dusted nothing

then stoke me all over again

every time you change dates
I do the math
multiply cramps
and subtract moods

september 27 28 29 30
there's a 10% chance
of adding those things
I multiplied and subtracted

I'm aware of your square root
the circumference
and need to divide
my isosceles triangle.

screw math
let me get out my flowchart

a midsummer night's
dance in
a hollow so hidden
it takes bare braile feet
to get in there.

the dna
of summer clay, nitecrawlers, here
hold my sweater,
pitch black, dont tickle me
until the waning moon
pokes out on the
orange river

bearings
set and a
pine bow couch
in an allnight thicket

a hollow so removed
ospreys dive
in the deep pools
just in front.

hidaway
casually plotting stars
pimpin the crib
lean too's and benches

the place holds up to
6 but its most cozy
with 2.

Those Fates are fickle ones,
bubble bubble, rack and ruin
stand in the shadow of trouble
and the rubble of plans drive
you something soon, but wax

wanes like night takes down
the fading Moon, puts it to bed
all hush till Eos rises radiant
relief and raindrops pirouette
from Sun. I learned that. Saturdays

across the sawdust talc floor,
tights, en pointe, en leotard,
pick a spot, focus, spin you
into something new and straight
ahead till morning's hinting autumn,

shut-down brilliance, time for plans
and gathering, a harvest at last
twilight drive drops a rainbow
hung like a varigated gauze flag
waving good night sweet dreams

early morning mist
blankets old man mountain
and virgin forests

what are they up to?

white frock
blue grey pallets
parchment
cell phones
pagan muxic
windowsill
sparrows and
resprirators on foreheads

some far off sparkle
keychains and
half a tankof gas
eventually
pudding
like mud
under wagon wheels.

the cleanest sheets
with claystains
where the potato diggin toes at least still have a dirty wiggle

Faust in long night with quill descending
Bearsdley
hugs the heavenly hips
of midnite while
Napolean clutches his
soul
between
buttons of gold.

The jailhouse
is full of such reclusives.

I love you too much
and it must stop.
Today, I will love you less
than yesterday.

A decrease in affection.

And adoration,
what of that?
You are saturated in its excess,
spoilt man.

Worship has weakened me.

Utter devotion has me blissful on your cliffs,
where gusts of disapproval, disappointment,
free-fall me to a crash.

Weather has no control over itself,
though, the meteorologist on channel seven does.
His mother-in-law has a yard sale this Saturday.
He smirks and changes sunny to thunderstorms.

"Gonna be raining all day, folks."

The weather man is gleeful.
He predicts clear skies
for his vacation next week.

Praying
Raised eyes
Tears
Fill ears
Drown out reply

rainbow food
quite by accident
after home boy licorice river silt pies, lets
pastel the meal
and cough up the mud-

hell,ankles gritty enough
and the wormers and the clammers are taking
bets on where you lost your shoes.

she showed me so much-
vital things
carrots and redpepper and purple cone flowers, jalapenos as red as baltimore sun, the green shocks of chard, stringy artichokes.

while heartworts and other weedy low crawlers-
tiny hidden medicinals,
are the most delicate of all.

Problem panting

The trousers, fighting fit,
face their daily struggle
but he is gaining on them.
Soon the weight
will take it's toll.

Ninja caterpillar

Invisibly descending
Chameleon blending
On threads of steel

Just another inch

worming his way
to rewards
waiting at touchdown

snap!

mid air intercept
breakfast is served!

Old souls

He pulled me from my slumber
kissed my nose
curled my tongue
stroked my sides
worked me into a lather
burnished me with cloths of fleece
bound me with laces
then slipped inside
a well worn fit
and off we went
together

so maybe I don't want to be cleaned up
punch u ation blocks
straps tie me down to the line
scrubbed and polished can't see you for the glow
and rouge red deliciouls ruby red luscious
eyebrow
pluck
plucked show me where it starts

words clipped of wings
washed of shit crusted clod hopper falls in the shape
of waffle tread

buff and shine and buff

I miss the smell

high precisiion laser beams
reflect
interfere
project three d-minsional apple shot
paralax baby
all can see
none can taste

feel that crunch
but look rot and bruise free
cardboard cut out put it in your pocket

lock it for the day your eyes hunger for something
red


ignore the obscenity of a three dimensional image
on a 2 dimensional sheet

it starts with suggestion
move this switch that
are you


sure

this is yes
maybe
what we were saying
hollow milk sticky tupbes
not for straw drinking
but wouldnt you rather


taste that bitter

alkaline
suck it down
like the monarch
it seeps from your skin


no one will bite you now

dirty little poem

rough raw

without pattern or prediction

dont write a script and road maps for him

he nkows his way
just follow
that thing that you follow
damn flipped like a flap jack was not expecting own that either

put away that towel
let it soak in

let it soak in

catch my big old mess block and tackle

bobbing over the surface
but today no one is fooled


no one is convinced

and dont you miss that crunch and core
danger of the rotten spots

overdue for a dream come true
i know she feels that now
knobby knees
and walking shoes

chipped paint
on old doors
and new pinky nails

thresholds americana
mad hitchiking
avenues of the giants
lumber hewn
register rings
dont trip
first step is a doozie-
register rings
she has a sapphire nose thing

whatch her walk
listen to her talk.

no rest for the obsessed

not guilty, am I? should have been you
up there on a pedestal, well, it kinda was

I still see your face in driveway sand
washed free from ancient sea beds
your smile in beetles feasting on
storm-weakened pines, needles browned
and falling, not unlike your thinning hair

I hear your voice in squeals of the red tail
circling above my home and feel your touch
as breeze-born kisses sent, all the way
from Tampa Bay, just go away!

Your tease and tempt and marriage sudden
you chose to treat me like a fool,
shame on you!

I intend to chop that pine tree down
as soon as I can find my axe,
My rake is waiting to absolve the ground
from influx of your thinning hair
and if there is a God, that red tail will choke
on a sour mouse ;D