Variations On Emotional Suicide, the new release from on the book to buy it today!

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

sunshine and shadows

the remains of a murdered quart
floated from his throat...
his seed had gone home
after eleven years.
he talked of the remorse
that kept his heart bound
and shackled...
the fact that regret engulfed his memories,
snatching away what should be fond smiles
and hearty laughter.
...he cried.
a sorrowful deep wail that no man
should ever have to release...
yet he owned it as his reward.
his mirror would be a score and one...
he weeps and weeps.
the song of an infant pierces reality,
shouting to the world its existence.
mother should not have seen,
for her plan was decimated
by a deliberate scheme.
she was captured by eyes
innocent and brown
...she glimpsed the long lost soul
of her father.
the fear and uncertainty of life
were trumped
by a bundle of tomorrow.
she weeps and weeps
for a future unknown~
yet defined by her delivery.

Sunday, March 27, 2011


we had come to cherish
the stolen moments
that defined our lust.
stealing away to frolic
on the shoreline
as cool sea salt caressed
our souls.
moonlight bounced
off the atlantic like shimmering
liquid metal
which mirrored my desire for you.
playful tugs
would lead to decadent dances
amid the foam.
your thighs,high and divine
as my eager lips sought
the center of heaven...
fingers in my hair
guiding me to the places
that would cause an explosion
of sheer ecstasy.
lost in windows of onyx
while the inner cowgirl
takes possession of sensuous hips.
my hands drink the supple curves
riding my power of persuasion.
as mountains moved
beckoning me into their softness.
we would roll,
onto the sugary sand
and bask in the newness
of our history.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

this moment

if this feeling is wrong
then let me dine on a feast
of my imperfections.
never has the desire,
to be held and caressed,
thrilled me~
drenched my every thought
with yearning.
to say that once is enough
would be a lie
from the abyss of never...
the soft inviting warmth
of your smile
envelopes my need
and satiates my hunger.
yet only the heat of your lips
can make my soul quiver,
with anticipation,
for the gentleness of your touch...
set my mind adrift
on cool waters filled with the sights
and sounds
of your mounting pleasure.
the touch,the feel of your skin
against my tongue
tasting delights
fantasies throb and remain burning
as none so true
has enraptured my heart
making a home so virtuous.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

plight of the demented rook

weary eyed
and full of disbelief,
i marveled
at the witty prattle
thrown back and forth
between man and fowl.
glittering generalities
that intrigued my curiosity
enough to provoke wonder...
was i napping or awkwardly aware?
yet was this enough to cause a stare?
so i stood
and digested this scene.
one so bizarre as i'd never seen.
...was it drawn near by a fist full
of jelly beans?
alas,a tear has formed on beak of bird~
trailed by a sorrowful cry of pain unheard.
"tis this not the bust of Pallus?"
faint laughter of pristine amusement,
as weathered stone replies,
a parting gift,
spinach and mayonnaise.
deposited on shoulders
of statuesque malaise.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

silent scream

the collective soul of a nation
in sorrowful moans...
panic stricken existence
beats a syncopated tune of disbelief.
possessions robbed by the power
contained in the surging salt.
alone she sits~
though many shall claim to rescue her~
needing the comfort contained
in the most simplistic of devices...
a touch.
that which once meant all,means nothing.
the only thing tangible now~life.
they wailed like a rusty trumpet,
the horns and sirens did,
and she awoke in a flash,awoke in awareness
yet dazed and secluded.
liquid hell exchanged person for person. she waits and weeps.
a haunting bellow that tears at the core
and pulls compassion
from the abyss of decay.
a fragile silhouette
frozen in time by the snap,whirrr~
mind of minolta...
she is the modern incarnation
of napalm,
the essence of what is not seen.
once again the images scream
but will anyone feel?

Monday, March 14, 2011

the siren

wearily weeping tears sublime,
through memories laid bare.
a future teetering on borrowed time
wearily weeping tears sublime.

devastation resembling sordid rhymes,
as the world peers in,will they care?
wearily weeping tears sublime,
through memories suddenly bare.

Sunday, March 13, 2011

when a soul cries

she never told me
 what made her do it...
what could drive someone
 to play God
 and dangle,helplessly,
from the edge of nothingness...
a jack knife dive
 into the belly of the beast.
soaring high on the puff,puff pass
 that erased years of morality.
mama cried...daddy was used and told lies~
then daddy died,
making her cry.
yet she remained steadfast,
taking the low road to redemption 
at sanity's expense.
through pleads that fell upon deaf ears,
a mind torn and tattered.
body worn and weary,
wandering decay filled streets 
to quench a thirst
 that will never cease.
eyes stream morphine drips 
that resemble anger tinged demons~
smiling her demise.
yet my love remains,
for she is flesh of my flesh 
and we
 flesh of those that have passed on...
where does she belong?

Saturday, March 12, 2011

fiber optic frappe

titillation to the nth degree...sounds,so sweet and sensual,entice my lower being and propel my desires to naughty deeds that make my inner boy scout sweat...the visualization of your mouth~moist and wet~inhales my perverse penchant as the may pole grows to dizzying heights.the promise we had has long since been broken.our pleasure punctuated nights of verbal war have give an enticing laugh~warm and sticky...the length of my manhood slides greedily down,down tickling the tonsils.i return the favor as you mount my lips and moan a song of delight...scintillating sounds of self service permeate my lust~dancing on electrical steroids that pump like hydraulics...mental explosion coupled with dual satisfaction.i imagine you licking your lips in anticipation of our next adventure in roaming.

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

bedroom bingo

sex had become stale and longer did she inhale his every beat as her own.the washboard had turned into a tub,thus,the exhilaration factor faded...then one night,as she labored under his pathetic,strokes,it happened.she looked into his black eyes and watched as he struggled...she wrapped her wretched thighs around his mid section and pulled him deeper into his tomb.he panted and pulled her locks as she latched onto his laboring libido.streaming lines of lust oozed into his ear,pushing...coaxing him to show his metal...the pit bull on his shoulder humped and ran in circles.this was his finest hour,this was his finest hour,this is his final hour...into the abyss he rode.cock strong and determined,he came and went~then collapsed,eyes wide shut.she pushed him aside and she dialed the three numbers,she thought of aruba and smiled.

Sunday, March 6, 2011

ballerina in blue

she would pull on her mother's coat and talk,talk,talk about how this was her home~this huge hall which hulked over them as they stood,waiting for their steel chariot.yes day,as a smile adorned her sickly countenance.three dot five then a score...she danced and the crowds were enchanted with her grace and agility.acting skills,honed and channeled by a thespian sensei~the lights,action,camera was in her blood...mother still smiled from beyond the rafters.the three beat of a minuet pranced in her mind~while toes,gnarled and divine,float and execute the viennese waltz...two,three,one,two,three.then they came,with letters of lagging leone.the crowds died,as did her its place,the drone of kachunk,kachunk,machines and onions on her person.her close-up was done...fade to black.

Thursday, March 3, 2011


generations...passing and coming.the cry of a nation in turmoil while the stench of canibus floats from cells long since dead.stagnant and impervious,they march onward~singing the song of has worn out its welcome by now.yet the seed of tomorrow is germinated in a brown belly marked as psychologically damaged...sections of eight are strewn with insipid souls that dream of flight..soaring over the decay and ash which mocks the this not what one sixty and five hath wrought from the womb?writhing into existence,only to realize that death stands wearily posturing and pointing the way.or should jim and the black bird of 1928 be a better starting point?more suitable in giving less time to ignorance and bliss?the collective heartbeat of an era has eluded enlightenment and pounds at the entrance to apathy.the polarization of poverty,perpetuating and yet imprisoned by self.shed not sorrow for the past,for it has control of its own...weep for the present tragedy which stares greedily into the face of innocence.