You R an artist

What R U worried about

Let it all hang out

Let it grow

Grow facial hair

You R an artiste

Accent grav on the E

You dont care

Reach out and touch

Paint it

Write it

Read it

Bleed it

Seed it

Need it

Feed it

Let all of your hair grow



Mold it

Break it

Shake it

Seed it

Water it

Grow it

What R U worried about




I should have done something

When I heard the homily

I actually listened to the homily

I should have done something

I should have asked Jesus

The worst thing he could have said was no

I should have asked Jesus

Now I will never know

I should have listened to the homily

Then I never would have asked Jesus

I should have asked her

I could see it in her eyes

She wanted me to ask her

Jesus bloody wept

I Think Her Name Was Derhonda

You dont know what you are missing

Misty roses and butterfly kissing

Till I find all your G-spots

Pebbled aureoles

Touches of cold and hot

A shoulder to lean on

To laugh on

To cry on

Will it be perfection

Probably not

But sometimes sadness and tears

Make the smile more endearing

While Im standing and tracing your delicate waist

Caressing your concavities without any haste

Lingering fingers

Tracing your treasures

Slowly and surely

Sharing our pleasures

Using my mouth

To take all your measures

Music and laughter

Feel your body shiver

Doesnt matter who

Is the taker or giver

Laying with you and holding your hand

Cherish the moment

Make no demands

Sunrise and sunset

Valleys of fear

Turn to waving fields of alfalfa when I have you near

Pounding,pulsating waves

Wild,stormy beaches

When Im holding you

The tide will never reach us




February sun

Far from perihelion

Weak yet effective

Leading sandhill cranes

Ever northward through the teak blue sky

Dodging Dakotas and Cherokees

Not knowing the weakness of their cause

Flying home too early

Going the way of the wooly mammoths

Lifted and dragged by warm pockets of air

Isobars and isotherms

Wingtips spread and dried

February sun of a

Whither goest thou

Towards the warming

Towards the warning

The false dawn

The February sun


Plaintive Little Songs

Voices in the night

Echoing under a viaduct

Sound baffling

Splashing off puddles of rain

Voices in the night

Sound baffling

Plaintive little songs

With sad refrains

Baffling sound

Strangely familiar

Familiar yet strange

Voices in the night

Moving in and out of range

Of sight

Of sound

Of hearing

Baffling sounds

Plaintive voices

Sad refrains

Voices in the night

Shrieks of laughter

Shrieks of pain

Plaintive voices in the night

Fading in and out

Whispering words of love

Answering with words of doubt



Voices in the night

Comforting the sick

Healing little wounds with quiet words

Opening up the pores

Of fascinating people

And insufferable bores

Voices in the night

Searching for the morning light

Running from a fight

Compliments and slights

Voices in the night

Sleepless lonely whores

Listening for an answer

Behind open windows and closed doors

Listening to voices in the night

Somewhere outside the window

Sound different than before

Starting with a murmur

Escalating to a roar

Murmuring voices in the night

Murmuring plaintive little songs

Melody spot on

Words somehow wrong

Dont know where they are going

Dont know where they belong

Voices in the night

Disturbing peoples peace

Voices in the night

Never cease



I am caught

In the silky machinations

In the sticky tendrils

Tiny grasping swinging ropes

Of the web

That you weave

Is this about you

The tendrils about you as you squirm

We are caught

In the tendrils

Swinging in the gentle wind

Of your web of

Reaching for a word

For a thought

Caught in the tendrils

The machinations

The silken caresses

The sssssss’ss

The tresses

The web and the whorf





Nobody is perfect

Everybody has something

Jesus wandered in the desert

For Forty days

Forty nights

No comb

No brush

No pew to kneel on

No fatted calves

Hair a mess the whole time

I am talking about Jesus H Christ

With his hair afright

So stop trying for perfection

Try to be like Jesus

Wandering in the desert

Forty days and forty nights with no comb or brush

And his hair was far from perfect