happiness when it’s not

there’s always someone criticizing,

someone to lay all the blame.

the sky’s not blue enough,

love is not deep enough.

the queen of the road

is a king in drag.

the tell all books

don’t tell it all.

the naive believe the fear

 the world is at its worst.

it’s a gamble to breath

two breaths at once.

heaven is not paradise

compared to palm springs.

key west is not far behind

when looking for mortality.

the cock is too long

and the day is too short.

tomorrow will be here soon.

sink your teeth in

a new coat of paint.

against your will

dance like you used to.

a dream so real

you wake up a beat poet.

broken arms and legs

from crawling on stones.

deny the weatherman

no matter sunshine or rain.

everything is perfect

even when it’s not.

jesus died to make me hungry

invaded by a hundred queens

or gut shot in a back alley deal.

i was growing hungry.

flying with robins or bluejays.

swept off my feet from the wind,

i’ll be the last leaf hanging. 

the shenanigans of my ways,

eating bark of a bonsai tree.

forever old and forever young.

i crawl up a maniac mountain.

living a brutal narrative from

crumbs of an empty avenue.

i ride with marlon brando’s 

motorcycle gang.

erase away my devil tattoos.

i’m a spectator at the sanga,

a feast of banana bread and wine.

been inside of the outside

and want back in the 

chaos of the spooks.

i mourn my hunger

through meditation and prayer.

a wild one indeed.

teach me to walk on water.

the evolution of the revolution

has left my belly empty.

i live the private life of jesus

trending in black and white.

a ghost dance of original sinners.

feed the starving soul.

i’ve been hungry for too long.

i am surely bound for heaven.

black and blue sky

the sky is mine,

i take it with me

wherever i go.

visions overwhelm my mind.

i talk to madonna

with renaissance tongue.

beads click in my fingers.

i leave my lips exposed

when i swallow the wine.

the sky bleeds

sunshine and rain.

sometimes i hear a piano play.

other times a harmonica.

at times nothing at all.

there are many ways to wander

away from the parasites

at war behind my back.

i reimagine everything

when i kiss the sky.

i amuse myself with sparrows.

sprinkle tobacco for the eagle.

in the darkness of the day

the sky does not leave me,

guarding against lethal dreams.

not divided between sun and moon.

it does not torture me

with suicide ballads.

if i was blind

i could still see the sky

six feet under the clover

i can feel heaven.

when the crows all disappear

so will the ravens.

and horses will run across the sky.

it is good to be naked

under a black and blue sky.

kiss me, brian

i have always yearned for your lips.

drawn to them like a rainbow.

your mouth tells the truth 

when they whisper sweet nothings.

your lips lift my spirits

for a moment or for a mile.

the seasons of each kiss,

touching tongues, 

a short bloom of wildflowers.

frozen in a winter picture.

i dream of your lips as subtle 

as a wandering breeze.

ghost kisses here and there,

in the night where i float.

the flavor of your carmel lips

sweet with sugar and salt.

lips to kiss my wounds.

lick away my blood.

testimony to their grace of gods.

i beg you to unseal your lips.

your taste hypnotizes me.

the moisture from your kiss

quenches my thirst.

your kiss delivers possibilities.

your kiss leaves behind desire.

kiss my body anywhere.

down the trail to satisfaction.

deer season

i don’t want to get shot

by a deer hunter.

when i walk through the trees.

each tree has their own story.

with a long range rifle,

or a bow and arrow.

that would really hurt,

or maybe kill me.

or leave me brain dead.

or flopping like a fish

out of water.

so i wear my favorite

blaze orange underwear.

blaze orange hat,

and boots.

and i go walking

in my book of leaves.

with my tambourine.

if you see me in the trees,

beg my forgiveness.

for casting the worst fear,

of dying in blaze orange 

underwear.

the only girl in my red dodge dart

red hot dodge dart

with a twisted six.

i brought home the trophy

back to o’neill nebraska.

i was made famous 

for a day by the only girl

that could make me cry.

three on the tree

i burned the clutch.

with positive traction

i left my mark

on the back streets.

but she was the only girl

that was dangerous for me.

our eight track sunset rides

with the tambourine man.

we had generous conversation.

between susan and john.

in the backseat. 

the girl that could mend my spirit.

was the only one to leave me broken.

i took her touch personal

in my red hot dodge dart.

the only girl that could 

make me meditate on

shared mindful kisses.

on a backroad bliss

at 8000 rpm

we’d meditate on the wind.

i reminisce that 1963

red hot dodge dart.

and the only catholic girl,

blessed with virgin forgiveness

that could make me cry.

baxter

cloudy eyes.

he can barely see me,

if he sees me at all.

he can’t hear me 

or he’s pretending.

if he’s not sleeping 

he protects me.

on wobbly legs

he finds me miles away.

there’s no violence

in any of his bones.

his teeth are worn down.

a dry nose kisses me.

his breath can take

my breath away.

he waits for summer.

runs from the rain.

i’ll murder any flea

that bites his old flesh.

baxter, you damn old dog.

i’m going nowhere,

you’re going nowhere alone.

march 15, 1955

for heaven’s sake

i love sixty-nine.

can’t tell what’s up

can’t tell what’s down

no one is going to tell me

what i can think,

what i can’t say.

if they try, fuck ‘em.

sixty-nine in your face.

my age doesn’t care.

i threw it all away

for sixty-eight years.

sixty-nine times not

letting it go again.

around the world i’ll ride.

even with tired bones

turn over and turn back.

like a rumble of silence,

like the ranting of a raven.

i can be that black bird 

you can be the crow. 

you can still blow it

at a ripe sixty-nine.

you can reject me,

ignore me now.

i’m not working for it.

i’m an easily bored slave.

i’ll stand on my head

sixty-nine ways.

with not much time left.

sixty-eight years 

was a twister

sucking out my years.

god’s given me sixty-nine

i’m going to roll with it.

restraints are released.

america i don’t get it

sometimes i’m a man of peace.

other times i keep my powder dry.

somewhere between the oceans,

during different seasons of the year,

i see the world in each breath i take.

or at times i can’t breathe at all.

in my space i’m always running.

if i was a cat i’d stare out the window.

watch traffic eventually going nowhere.

as noble as i want to be,

i can’t explain my weeping.

god is from nebraska,

met under the streetlights,

and forgot to ask his middle name.

i’ve seen decades of tomorrows

and forgot too many yesterdays.

there’s another explosion,

body parts and faces evaporating,

nothing is left deep inside.

memorize the words to hail mary.

queen master of war.

if i say the wrong thing,

fuck you or teach me.

sometimes i’m melancholy.

sometimes i am angry.

bracelet

the crow takes what it needs.

with a mouth full of food

he says thank you.

blue jays bogart the bread,

selfish and rude.

tolerance says the crow.

there is only hard love

and soft love.

one is the teacher.

one is the hostage.

both are blessed.

the cemetery of my mind

has spared a few memories.

like keeping a knife sharp.

between living and dying

my seasons are woven

into a buddhist armageddon.

the afterlife is neither

here or there.

i get down with moses

on an empty highway 6.

i have my rules.

i plead guilty

as much as not guilty.

a happy moon

can relax my angry face,

sometimes the sparrow wins,

sometimes the eagle does.

the binary son of man

is jealous of no one.

he loves the crow

and the blue jay too.

the beads on my wrist

strung by you

rattle in the wind.

like an unknown song

the crow knows the words

of every verse.