Look at the palm of my hand fortune-teller.
Read the lines carefully. Say what you see.
Tell me my future is bright fortune-teller.
Find meaning in the bumps and zig-zaggery.

Do you know my song fortune-teller?
Have you listened through to the end?
Was it a beautiful song fortune-teller?
Would anyone play it again?

Hear the tones of my voice fortune-teller,
as it sails through the wind in the night.
Remember my foot steps fortune-teller,
as they walk steadily toward the light.

Do you know where I'm headed fortune-teller?
This road has many a curve and a twist.
Do you offer your guidance freely fortune-teller?
Im a lone traveller in the mist.

Sing me my song fortune-teller.
Sing my song from beginning to end.
Sing me my song fortune-teller.
When it is over, please sing it again.

Heart flutters pinch a breath,
when a little fear grips a throat.
And baffled words, like bastard demons,
rejected from hell trip rapidly
down to the floor- where at least
there is something to hold on to.
At least the floor isn't moving
like the rest of you.

Hold me down where it is safe,
where there is something
steady, permanent and real.
Hold me down where I cant escape,
from you, from myself, from
the way it should feel.

The blood flow is audible.
A sound heard by a cannibal
or maybe just consumptive flesh.
Who is to say? While this heart
beats back the dead- new memories
of old ghosts change color.
This soul is on the run.

Hold me down where it is safe.
Where there is something
steady, permanent, and real.
Hold me down where I cant escape,
from you, from myself, from
the way it should feel.

From however it is supposed to feel.

People speak to me in text and voice,
words and phrases, jokes and verse.
Words may uncover a subliminal choice
by humor, irony, or sarcasm most terse.

Pictures painted of one small life
become crisp visions into a human heart,
muddled moments of anxst and strife
are at the epicenter of why we start,
to notice, to care, to read between
the lines and laughter and silent pauses.
We connect with dreams, and sometimes glean,
the hopes and the fears and the causes,
for our common presence, and common love.
Our interests, talents, vices, and sins,
are noted, discussed, and exaggerated,
in a medium whereby souls dare rise above,
telephone wires, and cable box bins.
Around the globe, all of mankind has elaborated,
on current issues, science and philosophy
and every conversation has perpetuated
your individual importance to me.
Be it once said lest it be said never
your place in my heart remains forever.

Jimmy Stewart and Cary Grant
sit divided by a white table cloth
and a bottle of champagne that
represents Katherine Hepburn.

Jimmy is fully intoxicated by Kate.
Cary drinks none, and maintains
a cool,yet aware, exterior while he suppresses
his deepest devotion and adoration for his "goddess"
as he amuses himself with Jimmy's expository remarks.

Oh to be Katherine Hepburn in A Philadelphia Story!

Thanks for giving
little dishes and
hugs and kisses-
and the people in
my life that love
without measuring
spoons.

Thanks for giving
all your free time
to the warmly
decorated rooms
and the smiles
you put on
everyone's faces.

Thanks for giving

Tic toc tuck.
Life is full of muck.
Pluck up or get stuck.
Learn to drive the garbage truck
to the dump, Tree Stump.

Empty all your broken wares there.
Break down your swivel chairs there.
Learn to forget your cares there.
Discard the dirty socks from the pairs there.

Tic toc tuck.
Life is full of muck.
Speed it up or get struck
Learn to drive the garbage truck
to the dump, Tree Stump.

Lose all your cares there.
Toss your worn-out shoes there.
Learn to sing the blues there.
Don't forget to read the news there.

Tic toc tuck.
Life is full of muck.
When you have run out of luck,
Learn to drive the garbage truck
to the dump, Tree Stump.

Behind my head, paws in my hair,
Hunter the cat lays dreaming there.
Every so often he starts combing,
purring while he thinks of roaming.
The life of a wild cat would be grand.

All the world's mice to chase and eat.
Around the town he'd govern the street.
A nimble strategy Hunter would employ,
to capture a beetle or moth, some scrumptious toy.
But, where would he look for an ear-scratching hand?

Hunter, the cat is really a genius.
He understands exactly just what he needs.
Tis why never a fairy-tale shall come between us-
why never this puss-in-boots does evil deeds.
The life of a pet cat is just as grand.

Every morning Hunter is cuddled warm.
When he is hungry food is provided.
His fur is never mussed in a rainy wind storm.
He receives special treats when he has delighted.
Hunter never suffers at a human hand.

Although whether wild or pet Hunter does not choose.
His purring cuddles I'd loathe to lose.

The keys were here. Where? Over there?
Were they right here? Yes right there.
I thought I dropped them on the stair.
Where? The chair? Yes. The chair there.
Well maybe they are in the drawer?
No, I always hang them behind the door.
I do not think you are actually sure.
Well help me look.
Isn't this your book?
I don't know I think I meant to read it.
It could be good but you do not need it.
Now? What was I looking for? The door?
Yes! But I still can't leave, without my keys.
Oh dear me! I'm trapped by key!
Did you drop them in the yard?
No, that's where I dropped my credit card.
Why is this always so very hard?
Did your brain get stung by a bee?
No, but now I cannot find my Id.
A key, an Id, a credit card,
simple things make life so hard.
You know it could be much worse,
you may have lost your new coach purse.
Wait that's it!- when I find that sack
I may place all of those items in the pack.
I'll store them safely in one place.
Organized, Ill dominate the human race!
But until each item I deftly find,
I remain a prisoner of my broken mind.

I lived to love you- one and only.
I lived to love you- while I was lonely.
Wished away dark wonders within your eyes.
Weeping willows were my replies.

I live to love you- one and only.
I live to love you- while I'm lonely.
Sleeping sadness sells my soul.
I sweetly savor your control.

I will live to love you- one and only.
I will live to love you- while I'm lonely.
Thoughtfully, this is what I'll do.
You'll agonize if this is you.

As though it never happened
because you were out of bounds.
Calling "foul ball" is part of "fair play".

But because I called "time-out".
You want home plate inspected-
Even though we never even got to first base.

While I was in the outfield,
You came at me from left field.
I never took the short stop's side.

The pitcher pitched curve balls,
while the batter stared desperately
reaching for the grand slam hit with bases loaded.

All of a sudden, in the bottom of the ninth,
It started to rain and the field flooded.
Game Over.

The road glows rose.
And, as it goes toward the horizon,
he takes the low road with leaves gold,
grown, a man, a boy only one spring ago.

On the low, rose, road, where the leaves blow gold,
he shall traverse slowly and climb in time-
when the road rises, a gradual incline,
gentle to the soul.

A perfect road would rise just right.
It would never leave an explorer tired.
Such a road would absorb the rain,
so that never in mud would his boots be mired.

Such a road would not be lonely.
The ease of the journey would appeal to many.
Purple blooms that release a sugared perfume,
would attract a joyful crowd and a merry friend.

To such a road such a man would want no end.
On such a road all of his thoughts he'd spend.

And what if there be something more astounding,
far beyond the man's endless bounding?
Would he strive to try and seek
that thing aloft a mountain's peak?

Would you choose to struggle if you were content?
Even if your soul could know love more brilliant?
Perhaps, when God mapped our roads, this was all he meant.

Hearing heels click down the hollow hallway-
These are hollow thoughts in hallowed places.
Where the sun streams through stained glass,
I can see the dead skin float- in the spaces
that the rays illuminate in the cool, dim,
incense infused air.

A breath, a prayer, and I close my eyes
to concentrate and obliterate the distraction
materially caused by matters that take
no priority in any world.

Is God here? I wonder if God can hear
the wrinkly old lady in the pew behind
me when her breath starts to rasp.
I wonder if she might possibly grasp
the disturbing affect her death in
church mid-prayer could have on
the collective chanting mind.

And it is so enchanting, so divine,
the archways highlighted in gold-tone paint,
It is so inspiring, so very Byzantine,
the detailed carvings of the ultimate saint.

Is God here? I wonder if God can hear
the priest attempt to suppress a burp
while the lay people take their turns
reading snippets of the Gospel with somber
faces and awkward pauses during sentences
placed in such a way that it is quite clear
they do not understand the words they read.

And it is so uplifting, so divine,
the majesty of Christ who died for my sins,
it is so provocative, so very Byzantine,
the money for the poor collected in gold-plated bins.

Is God here? I wonder if God can hear
the feet that shuffle out the door just
before the closing prayer but immediately
after communion. A bite and a sip,a bit of
body and blood is all they need to satiate
their spirits until next week.

And it is so captivating, so divine,
the power of the spirit holy,
it is so righteous, so very Byzantine,
the echoing footsteps exiting church lonely.

Suffocate and complicate while you placate me.
Manage the damage and alleviate-
I know you see what you will, while you do what you do,
Just remember it isn't me, and we know it is never you.

Internally forever the external structure whithers.
While you attempt to suppress me, my light gradually flickers.
The realization may come too late-
No need for me to obviate
the situation nor spell it out.
You know as well as I do what is soon to come about.
"I told you so". once- you pretended to listen.
A ferocious song in the dark rings while my blue eyes glisten-
Yes! There is rage, quietly denied, deep down on the inside
my pride will not abide the pain.
Not again, not ever again, not ever.
In the end, there will be no choice but to sever,
the ties that bind my mind to your breath,
and those sweetest soft sounds a Shakespearean death,
whatever that meant- the river meanders,
toward the gulf of the ocean, and the notion,
you have about "always" is chopped by the waves,
while the wind screams no way!
You thought it was fate.
But it all came too late.

two pieces of paper
one that causes desperation
and one that soaks up tears

two pieces of paper
one you could wipe your
ass with without guilt
and one that you might
wipe your ass with but
then wash off to trade
for another piece of crap

two pieces of paper
a tissue and a dollar.

Crackling voices cackle
the way aluminum foil tears
the enamel from one's back tooth-

Bumps and excuse mes
crowd through aisle.
Bile pushes the steel carts.
Consuming like dragons the
card board boxes and tacky
plastic bags.

A belly-ache
for the beast paid for
in greenish-grayish paper
that looks like its been
stepped on or crushed up
some shopper's epithet.

I wish I could befriend Emily Dickinson.
The lady could turn a phrase.
Confined to her domicile
by choice her words praise
the natural spirit of God's creation.

Her meter has been called awkward.
Yet her style moved poetry forward.

I wish I could befriend Emily Dickinson
May her soul know she is often read.

Spray in the fall winds
washes summer dust away-
The berries bear finds
greet the black earth's
furrows o'er turned.

Wheat rushes to tell
the secrets of death to
the cattle grazing on
the last sweet grass.

Old crows soar against
a scorched sky soothed
by the scent of frost.

Summer pays for what time shall cost.
When the harvest is nigh childhood is lost.

The womb whispers.
Wanton words and wishes
welling up in my mind.

Move me to part.
Motion toward start-
Then stop and pull
but don't stop.

Until we free
nature.

The Law: "Res Ipsa Loquitur"

Arbitrary arbitration,
consequently consternation,
arguably augmentation,
of inevitable ineptitude.

Intuitive insinuation,
lengthening litigation,
justifying adjudication to
some baseless bastardization.

Contractually contradicted,
excruciatingly executed,
mediated and mentally mooted!
conveniently convoluted.

Legally legitimized,
scathingly scrutinized,
practically patronized,
the patriot personified.

You want the red light district inside my heart?
You can't have it.

I wont give it up for you- or anyone else- so "fuck off."

I don't really know what makes me say such things.
Still, I like saying them.

Everyone has their own dark side.

You don't need to be a Jedi all the time.

I'm free to express myself here-
even if I have nothing to express- so "back off."

It isn't like I ASKED you to read this.
Did I?

Humanity is starting to bore me.
Life is getting old.
Who thought I'd be tired before thirty-three?
Half past six has never tolled
an hour when I finally see,
how much time I waste in cold, linear type.

So I keep thinking, I may as well,
reorganize the words that start to sell,
the strangeness inside my brain,
which doesn't matter and doesn't gain...
a dollar, or a smile, or a sideways glance
I do it just because I can chance

the opportunity on a roulette wheel
that another person just might feel
something real and understand- life isn't always what you plan.

Now, there was a time, when a little inspiration dripped
off the rounded edge of my pink cheek.
I was paralyzed when you'd speak-
and biting my tongue- a lip lined
with salt blood, satiated my taste for pain.
And all at once, we did it again.
Was it good for you?

Dive into my dream without clarity,
and without fear, a curious year,
a long song that lingers mindfully,
to the tune I can dance- but the feeling
cant be faked, or reproduced, or recorded
Once it is done, Im all over- "you"
and it doesn't matter that there is no closure,
you can't touch me anyway and you knew you never could.

More closed off than you'll ever know,
You pretend you exist within the spaces
where you can see the meaning, but I know
all you are gleaning is emptiness. The reason?
You aren't brave enough to deal with the substance
or the excrutiating pleasure that comes
from the profound understanding of another
in true naked form.

Did you expect sincerity, when you have none to give?

Live she'd provide the tide that rocked
one swollen ship while you'd bite your lip -and now,
I call you out, while you drown down the ample fear
that beats up your hard heart.

A hard heart ceases bleeding. Marble is cold and dry.
Still it is used to build and save
as the Egyptians did- round the tombs of their greatest
eternal treasure. You guard it like a dead god.

And in the eve, I knew it wasn't even me, for you it was a reprieve
from her- the one responsible for your desperation-
and the reason you will never ever come close again.
A sad end to a beautiful well covered by a sewer cap
to block out the rats so the water stays pure.

Keep your aquafina, I crave flavor
a kiss I can savor and a hold that can
deny me flight. The only way it is right- a touch I'll remember
And then, only to him, will I surrender.

miles of lakes between
the space makes time seem
fast because it is not now
not really just once I would
like to be in the same space
where your breath makes
the tiny light hairs near
the nape of my neck rise
as I feel your eyes glance
down my back cool and white
while my cheeks glow red

believe me when the night awakes
in cool darkness your hand takes
mine sublime in time my heart
beats through skin dampened
by the steam that radiates from
your skin in contact with every
touch you love so much to
dream with me completely

And so we move through time
and space to a place where you
dare to feel something real but
not quite new its something old
something true and we know it
was built to last forever if
only we can can remember that
every second matters and never
take for granted the seeds
we planted so shall our garden
grow

I believe you are mine as I
am yours and there is nothing
beyond the shores that could be
better than this place I find
within myself where you reside
and control the tide of the
emotional wave I want to
drown in with you and die
to be reborn new. Try now in
this moment please sieze all
that I am and all that I have
to give- Love is where I live.

When in the morning you came
It came to me at the same
and as I lay there shaking
from reality's dream
feeling something free
I flew- to you, happy, true-
Yet I am mad to linger here
A space where you
are not near

Listen to me, little cat.
While I tell the tale of that
which makes the willow tree
weep for thee and me.

In the early morning hours
I confided to the flowers
as dew settled on the graves
I'll not come back to ye-

The head stones are imaginary.
All are scuffed by earth's graffiti-
for spirits have no coffins
and smiles cant be snuffed.

Still the graveyard exists,
where yesterday's love remains.
And as we tramp on through the mists,
We let losses die to make room for gains.

This I tell you, little cat-
As in my lap you stretch your paws
"Past Love's Death Wears New Hat"
It is safe to now retract your claws.

Blazing beams of fire flies,
flutter viciously past my eyes.
Summer night's air is ripe with
the scent of swamp.

Frogs freak dance croak-
S'pload toad throat soak-
In time with the slug slime,
slithering in the dark.

In the wet grass it died,
shoved off the pavement to the side-
where the cars whizzed by close
As its guts dripped from its nose.

Its death was more than grim
And it did not die by spear for meat
But as it bounded across the street
The choice was me or him.

What do I want out of life?
What do you want?
Why do you bother asking me?
If I had an answer, to that
particular question, would I be here?

I became disatisfied with my life-
just about three years ago-
when I realized I had done
just about everything (I thought)
I was destined to do.

And now, I wander
instead of wonder.
Now, I parade
instead of plan.
Now, I accept
rather than achieve.
Now, I tolerate
instead of try.

At least you relate
when I cry.

this head presses back against the soft cushion of my chair
a sideways tilted chin and a face is bathed in the harsh glow
of a computer monitor while the evening hours dwindle
toward the morning din of people doing what they do to
live this life of exchange

and exchanges are made
we exchange free time for work and
work for money and money for consumables

we exchange lust for love
we exchange love for a cool friendship
and friendships for social networking

we exchange truth for the satisfaction of judgments
and justice is exchanged for speedy process
and process is exchanged for the bottom line

and while the virtues of Jesus Christ are
exchanged for the vices of Machiavelli
Mother Mary is only a lyric in a song by
a group of bugs and the devil applauds.

these nearly empty rooms
like the first day
of a new year of school
or the first time
you thought about
kissing a boy

you have
romantic plans for
fresh beginnings
although you realize
there were moments
you were frightened
by the seconds just
before you walked through
the doors and sat
down at your assigned desk
or the seconds before
the inevitable impact
of his soft lips
as his face moved so
close to yours
you had to close
your eyes-

and there you are
with eyes wide open
dreaming in these
nearly empty rooms
full of possibilities

Close your eyes now, as you lay in the dark.
The force with which your mind can move a
thought may generate a lightening spark-
It is best to rest now. Let it rest now you've
given it enough time and been careful to nurture
the qualities you require meet a bright future.
Under your covers on your pillow so deep
Close your eyes now and let lightening sleep.

The fray comes nigh and I am not shaken.
The spinning thoughts cease and desist.
When the morning comes and I awaken,
all swords shall be sheathed by the mist.
A salubrious breath satiates my breast.
My muscles elongate and then retract.
Your heart could console my head upon your chest.
I am compelled to dream but not to act.
The time is not right, though it is fleeting.
My organic clock can has taken a beating.
Although no blood may now spill forth.
There are other ways to prove my worth.
Sand and salt and rock and clay,
create the earth upon which I stand.
And while I stand solidly against the fray.
I look for the solace found in your hand-
that I imagine softly slides across my cheek,
while I yearn to possess what it is you seek.

Please do not sit there so still the next time the winter wind blows.
Hypothermia can murder a Mastodon and in your sooth you know-
That you are not a creature of such massive size. Experience shows
you must not amble on to petrify but instead pick up the pace and run.
While it is also true that fear can freeze, Father Time shall not be stunned.
When the water of the world stagnates, pray for the rain to fall anew.
Noah saw the water alter- his thirst was not quenched by dew.

To my skin Ill apply a steel wool pad and scrub off the burr
that attached when I clung to a drowning tree. From the muck I stir ...
If I must bleed for my vigilance, this pain I shall outlast.
"You have no choice." says the voice. You cannot change the past.

He toddles and jams the
chocolate cookie into his
mouth. And then, after it
is sopping wet with saliva,
he smooshes the cookie
into the crevice of one of
those plastic noisy toys
that sing and shriek and
light up with blinking lights
to his delight.

The noisy toy does all
these things and more.
It even makes the chocolate
cookie more mushy and hence
more desirable.

He glugs the milk from the
sippy cup. So delicious as
it runs down his chin and
neck. And then, he moves along
to another plastic noisy toy
that sings and shrieks and
lights up with blinking lights
to his delight.

He makes a poop and takes
a nap, he chases a ball and says
"deeeahuhhh" which means:
"pick me up, I need a hug."

He takes a bath and wears
fleecy pajamas with built
in slippers and a long zipper
that zips from the ankle
on the rght foot up to his
neck. He gets another chocolate
cookie and moves to another
plastic toy that sings and shrieks
and lights up with blinking lights
to his delight.

Imagine if he were thirty-five?

while
his soft hands
interrogate
simply
please stay
entertain
relate to me
simply

Moving on is much easier when you know for sure
which direction you want to travel. Choosing is the chore.
When the second foot you possess follows your best foot first,
forward movement is the motion toward the better from the worst.

But still...

Still I drag one foot behind as though I caught it in the door.
It is as if the dragging foot fears what may be in store.
Sometimes there are cliches I use even though I say I won't.
Sometimes I choose the devil I know than run to the one I don't.

Perhaps one day my fear of devils will diminish from my mind
And once again I will trust my heart in love to that princely kind
of man that I imagined, existed "once upon a dream"-
Where rainbows dance, butterflies can talk, and faeries eat ice cream.

But common sense reminds me that devils and princes do not exist.
Life is full of characters and some will not be missed.
And in this life, that I live, it is known that never-the-less
the winning smile, and sparkling eyes, I am no princess.

Little legs in the snow find their way through the deep.
She pushes forward with determination toward the slide.
She has a goal, a destination, a reason not to sleep,
Little legs achieve little dreams and withstand the tide-

Of cold winter breezes, frosty nosed sneezes, icy flakes
blowing in her eyes- She knows the pleasure is with the work,
and so she keeps going, though she falls, she tries,
to regain her balance, and lift her knees higher,
she trudges with purpose, and failure unknown-
With my whole heart I pray, that with each passing day,
she remembers these moments, when her little legs are grown.

A safe place to put a simple story,
A safe that comes with a lock and key,
A safe place where I can read and remember,
What you once meant to me-

Safety doesn't come in numbers.
It is not money, nor intellect, nor fame.
Safety isn't secured by armies and weapons,
Safety isn't found in an anonymous name.

I once thought safe meant barricaded.
I once sought safety in your arms.
I learned I was not safe but subjected-
To each vile deed a criminal farms.

By your hands my body you raze.
By my will, your wrong will faze,
the mind with which you profess to see,
the fading bruises, black, purple, cherry.

Where did that last tear go?
I thought I kept it here.
Bloody hell, where is that tear?
I simply just don't know.
I think it dropped below.
I'm sure it is not near.
Where did you put your spear?
Grab it with an arrow.

Such small things are easily lost.
Such small things can't be kept.
Such small things, so great the cost.
Yet to suppress this tide, I am inept.
In the name of the father's holy ghost-
I wish I never wept.

The wind winds the leaves
The leaves float upon the waves
They shall never fall

The world is whitewashed
Snow lay upon the old earth
The drifts grow deeper

Rain spills from the clouds
Everywhere the flowers grow
Their struggle never ceases

The sun burns like love
The ocean spray beckons now
Each wave brings new fish

Tic-toc sounds the time
Calendar pages tear off

Salacious gossip slips and slides.
It is slop for silly swine to swallow-
Slime slush to sprawl in.

Sweet songs soften like salve
and sparkle scrutiny of speculation.
See the smut exeunt?

Once upon an afternoon,
Half-past a frosty morn,
Fluffy flakes flutter.
Frozen smile so forlorn.

Flip on slippers.
Slip Slip around the floor.
Two feet flop toward the foyer.
Find the newspaper at the door.

Follow footsteps flipping fast.
Questions in quandary but never asked.
Doggedly prepare repast.
Mouthing motions may outlast.

The words which were wisely wasted,
are needlessly noted, cut, and pasted.

Ring the bells and clang the crystal.
With the new year you arrived.
Eyes wide open, heart still hoping,
Love's paradox survived.

Ring the bells and kiss farewell,
New Year's tide has passed.
Eyes wide open, smiles still glowing,
Friendship like the champagne overflowing.