The Special Organ

It awakes when aroused
growing, swelling
protruding immensely
till it has a mind of its own.

Following the scent
of tender virginity
ravenously devouring
innocence
until its juices
have been spent.

Leaving behind at times
offspring of its desires,
that grow in wretched ways
if the heart didn't inspired
their essence.

Alas it is a drama quicken
through such fiery
stiffening,
greed is an appendage of the heart
making love
like a cannibal.

Siamese

Can you truly look into my eyes
instead of passing me by like I don't exists?

Will you ask who I am
rather than stab me to death
with you bloodied spear of indifference?

But unless you take my hand in your heart,
stop and honestly grope my face
can you ever touch my reality?

For I thrive in two worlds,
one is black and I am its keeper,
a witch who lives in a nun's wardrobe,
who bleeds from her orbs
the tears of a love you'll fear
because all you see is your death in my shadowy caress.

Then too my essence
burns as a light to idols of spiritual gnomes,
speaking in mysteries from pouting lips
to hide my vampire fangs
used to suck you dry of all you are,
when you think you see golden wings
protruding from my veil of halo mirages.

In my voice dwells the anguish of my identity
being too black to taste of heaven
and too bright to sleep in hell.

On the road again

Can't remember a time
when this song didn't play in my head,
Willie's voice echoing the lyrics
feeling myself apart of being in some saddle,
even though mine was a bucket seat in my compact car.

Pretended I had a cowboy hat
with Willie riding shotgun
and Waylan Jennings in the rear seat
watching my back side.

Had a great time singing together,
tried to ignore their imagined stares over my monotone,
still felt great even if the other drivers gave me "that" look,
I didn't care,
for in my mind we were traveling together,
to nowhere special,
but feeling so proud
didn't have to apologize for not asking for directions.

Kind of sad now, Waylan is gone on to a higher stage,
Willie, well he's still there by my side,
only too busy watching out for those dang IRS rustlers.

Somehow imagining them lurking in the bushes
waiting to ambush your wallet
takes the joy out of riding the asphalt range.

Silence

Blossoms clutched by a wind's invisible fingers
descending like a feather
doing a swaying dance
stroking the soul
as it rides nature's breath to the ground.

When it touches the ground
one's insides become spellbound
by a silky caress of calm
like that single petal
were a key to the heart.

Night's starry umbrella sings a silvery serenade
succumbing to the mystery entwining of pulse and panorama
hush swells in the veins,
quiet becomes a jewel to dress the mind.

One light

One light
shining from within
can burn so bright in any darkness.

Shadows might swallow one's sight,
turning any dream's shine to a hopeless night,
yet as long as we still
cling to that vision's flame
struck by God's match of love,
our hearts will not
feel the coldness
any eve's of doubt
might chill upon our soul.

To believe with the heart
grows eyes over the spirit,
casting a glow
which brings heaven's promises
into our black closets of fear.

Facing the clouds and seeing rain,
instead of merely storms
we listen for the thunder
knowing it is not danger,
but instead is
the voice of God.

As long as our eyes
never loss their hearing
for the tones of divine blessings
in expectancy
ringing out no matter other noise,
then we can always find treasure
where others see
trash.

Blank Look

Your eyes hold secrets,
feeling so dark and tense,
but you hide them
behind a mask of faceless expression.

Yet, behind the emotionless facade
there is still a brewing flame,
which you never release,
speaking a fear in your silence,
unwelcoming of a single touch or smile.

Who crawled into your veins
and crippled your heart
till must shield yourself without trust
that one hand
could truly help to heal the scars
screaming in their pain
from the times you bite your lips,
restraining the urge to share
all the demons who killed your love.

Quietly, I pass you the menu
which you study with such indifference
waiting to take your order,
but knowing it will never
fill the void
two orbs paint
as such an abyss of dark, sad murmurs.

Concerto

Precious parchments of platinum prances in petition
like tinsel draping from a tree,
dangling in frayed strings of impulse
from each tendon of thought
and extremity of desire's
plastic wardrobe
are the rhythm keepers
of one's staggered sway
in drunken dreams.

Day rushes its rays
across the forehead,
stirring ogres and fairies
lurk in the shade of one's envelope of reason.

Breathing in the mist of maybe,
exhaling the ashen vapors of fear,
playing among the rainbow hued clowns
who hold a circus
among the sagging citadels of languishing decay.

Ecstasy blares off key in a song of redemption
by putting coins in a rat hole
guarded by a blindfolded map salesman.

It all is the collision of colors in hope's prism
saturated in a concerto
that never has an ending,
but allows us to keep
dancing through life.

Falling

If I never fell and learned the risk of its bruising pain,
never stepped a pace that made me stumble in my ways
my mind and heart would be lost in maze of misperceptions
not able to discover how my walk was marred
so I remained deceived in my false perfections
without a fact of flaws to be a mentor for my mind.

For in our dreams we run with endless and matchless grace
always reach our journey’s end totally victories,
but when we face those times we lose control
when our feet fail us no matter how hard we try
within is sent the message to pause and pay attention
carefully setting aside the companion of pride.

It is the mistakes that speak their sagacity
through blunt and harsh lips,
yet nothing communicates its message
more vividly unto our thoughts
as when we run into that stop sign
and finally are forced to know what it means.

Oh more blessed is the soul who grows
from every wound and accident
by finding wings to soar beyond
the detours of our haste
unto the realization so necessary
over the basic, primal truth
of how we can’t truly rise to our real worth
until we stop living by delusion.

Can you

Can you
hold a dream
or feel the touch of the phantom seducer
who has cast a spell upon your night?

Will you always chase passion's echoes
into dead end romantic rendezvous
when this heart I have
and place in your hand
beats so loudly and longingly
only for you

Those Little Motivations

Oh the inclinations in inspired insinuations
the beauty of a depraved and demented artistry
to meander the miscreant musings in mental misinformation
so to ponder and proliferate and preponderance
in a plethora in pseudo suggestive phenomena
that would prevent my goddess of the now
from wandering away from my lair in love’s façade.

What stratagem of stupendous seduction
would I render as a risked regime,
which would make my angel of my current obsession
be so content and calm under its control.

But if lurking detectives in the bushes,
bugs placed on telephones,
cameras hidden in air condition ducts
didn’t give me enough peace of mind
then I would naturally induce a few inspirations
such as some mind manipulative meds
slipped into her morning coffee
or perhaps some other mental persuasion
added to her cereal or other meals.

Ah the magic it would work
should I need that extra comfort
of a release from any worry,
unless all my prowess of cloaked antics
just didn’t proof to be
as fruitful as I would have wanted.

In which case I suppose
it would be time for a change
until I found that perfect match
With someone more susceptible
unto my sorcery with pills.

One

One
second
spent soaring
crimson currents
of love's sweetest streams
gives the soul flight towards
skies where the heart surrenders
its pulse unto a greater light
until bird within finds dove above
renewing bond with eternity's plumes
kinship's feathers sailing sanguine lightning
discover eagle's nest inside mind
where life rises to heights unseen
no longer just fleshly veil
searching as a seeker
looking for needy
feeding them
with care's
seed

Fresh Air

I try to let the beach's salt air intoxicate my passions to love the sea again,
but it always turns sour in my heart,
because I can't end that sickening horror from remembering
losing grip of my love's hand while we leaped from that sinking ship
before she disappeared forever when swallowed by the storm's raging waves.

You are here!

We read the words
upon the directory's map,
so redundant, so presuming of our stupidity,
but the epitome of public expressions
about the quintessence nature of social simplicity.

For how could you read the sign
without actually being there?

A creation in haste, undemanding of logic
sired to appease some instantaneous urgency,
cavorting with the mind's transient distraction,
served at a level of simian clarity.

Not telling us the reason for this place's purpose
who might have founded it
nor how it will touch our lives beyond a blink.

All summarized so efficiently predictable
in the label declaring that seconds of distraction
are horded lumps of impulse ticks
never inspiring deeper questions about time's tale,
otherwise written upon the heart or soul.

How oft we are satisfied
with those three little words, never wanting more,
than an appetizer to satisfy the moment,
instead of a profound buffet
that might last long
into the night of one's reality.

Water

Drops quench the thirst in seconds
but the soul's throat still is parched,
flood of visions soak with currents numbing,
till blood tastes of ancient flavors
leaving rings stains, eyes see with a sagacious glow.

Artists of the Edge

She lives within your ache,
carefully soaking up every secret forbidden desire
making them into an image
that she can beguile with spells
focusing her dark powers with all her energy
for turning the statue
into a force
which will burrow into your soul.

Until it pushes and possess all you are,
stripping away ever inhibition
letting the carnage of passion's carnivorous inner demons
unleash their savage lusts
in your fingertips.

Mind will slowly slip away from its reality
body becomes obedient to the bewitching
walking out into the night
searching to be a sacrifice
to her darkest joys.

Waking in the morning
somewhere unfamiliar
feeling violated and uncleaned,
trying to return home
ever nagged by the sense of being watched
and having a macabre image of one's heart
clutched in a grotesque statue's mouth.

Carcass of Desires

Decaying vessel's skeleton lying listless on the beach
fisherman from village treating it as headstone
refusing to touch it out of memories over their missing comrade.

Forced hush of confusion comes over their sorrow stained lips
each time they think of his bizarre story
claiming to have found a mermaid when storm left his ship adrift.

His eyes burned with convictions and lips spoke of passion
when talking of how she cast a spell on him with her sea shell voice
before magically taking him to incredible ecstasy that brought tears.

Villagers treated his ramblings as delirium and tried to restrain him,
but he broke away and sailed alone, his empty vessel found later on the sand
sometimes on the boat there lingers a haunting sound of sea shells.

Feeling Fine

Mime seduction
from black widow lips,
rigor mortis awakening
in time for eulogy.

Sweet And Sour

Eyes dipped in stereotype stigmatic sauce
see on a one dimensional plain,
they confine and restrict every sight
unto their framed foundations in facades.

Never looking beneath any expression
for all that is shall purely be
either sweet or sour,
have only their flavor
that their minds crown upon that face.

Lost is the precious power to perceive
the deeper elements in any shape
and what dies is the beauty of paradox
those enigmatic moldings from irony’s clay.

Ever playing matchmaker by superficial means
to preserve assumption as the truth
and deny the right of our creator
at the option of giving His creations
more complexity than our mannequin theorems
will allow to have life.

Soul Survivors

Grains of haunting hollowness
stretched as a endless Sahara of loneliness
across the mind's playground.
Treading step by painful step
in futile social nuances,
praying some sanctuary of compassion
will appear that isn't another mirage
of someone's false promises.

Midnight's wind storms of recrimination
rage in the pillow easel,
suffocating the inner deliverance visions
for finding a single heart to have ears
that might hear one's sobs
over feeling so invisible and insignificant
even in the middle of a crowd.

Soul finds solace
beholding the sight of hope's forming clouds
which hold the promise of love's rainfall.

Moving ahead, feeling so parched inside
from the emptiness,
surviving upon the spirit's eyes
who see possible lovers and oasis
waiting beyond the desolate horizon.

This long night

This long night,
this sudden shadow,
a mar of ashen trepidation
served on a visionary buffet of extremes.

Decayed twilight vows
leaves morning's ruins
erected altars prepared for slaughter
of last eve's fumbled strategies
for winning messiah lottery
at local cathedral convenience store.

Anxiety's escape hatch opened
to zoo for stallion deliverance
out of melancholy's sewer treatment plant.

Stumbling precariously into abandoned play land
where scribes of pubescence
claim bones of forbearers died from terminal risk.

Anticipated wasteland becomes park of self discovery
inner epiphany scroll unfurls with intuitive fingers,
sagacity's lights glows from dawning lucidity,
wisdom's language written with butterfly strokes in tranquil hues,
peace drapes over conscious with still voice assurance,
passage in spiritual pilgrimage booked unknowingly
from steps out ignorance's dark chasms
and into park always thought was graveyard.

Just Passing Through

Asphalt amnesia,
others forgotten,
racing towards gold
heart paved over.

Secrets

Garments hiding
bruises,
parent's marks
kept secret,
avoiding
worst beatings.

Slices

Day's distractions bleed such stagnancy into the soul
lethargic mind wanders aimlessly
into a foggy maze of myriads in musings,
momentary mirages spread fantasia's delusions,
paradise's scent teases nostrils,
quickly suffocated by some moral mar's stench.

Looking upwards in gasping resignation
at the turquoise, cloudy envelope,
lifting one's third eye razor blade
to penetrate natural translucent envelope
and see into the starry lattices
where eternal epiphany plumes
await to dress the spirit's light.

Moving effortless through the portal
within the layers of one's senses
touching in such intensity
all the jewel of forever's sagacious gold.

Feeling the soothing flush of knowing
drape one's essence in pure euphoria.
Gazing at the chaos and clatter
strangling others souls,
seeing its irony and sadness
for how they have yet to soar into realms
where reality is more than growing old.

Prosperity

Fumes of smoke stacks darken the skies,
hanging like death shrouds over the city.

Industry owner looks down from mansion at his empire, sipping his cocktail
while casually perusing the secret report
about the number of those who died
from what his business poured into the air,
which he bribed officials to claim was safe.

Grateful, nobody notices the toxic wastes dumped into river,
causing so many lives to be extinguished early.

Glancing over at the cemetery sprawling greens,
mind making mental note,
to find out how many plots are still available,
always pays to know how many more can be sacrificed
before he will have spend money to make his plant
finally conform to laws, he has only had to obey with lip service.

The Game Of Hearts

Shuffled decks of cards
left on the playing table,
there’s no fret over the winners
in a game of solitaire
as there was in a game of hearts.

But the ones who were
partners and challenges
still stop by to weep and scream
about the scores collected
even though they really don’t matter.

And you just keep playing
against yourself,
content with the outcome
because it is honest
without any impassioned words to hear
while tolerating the mumbles and moans
from the voices in the hall
who carry on a monologue
regarding what two lives can never give up
when they scored together.

So they hit their head against the wall
call your name like it was their life
even though now all you care about
is playing another round alone,
unable to muster a single twitch
over what stopped mattering
because that duel of two lives
was more boring than riveting.

2030

The glass domes look like small blisters
in the place of cities that have been abandon
because the air has turned to toxic to breath,
but before it did sanity just faded away,
governments were consumed by personal prejudices,
until the new leadership was based
on some private bias and preferences.

In the land of the red, white and blue,
this brought about regional empires
run by extremists group
there were the fundamentalist,
pro-drug and liberal lifestyles,
and several others that had their own capitals.

Around the world others did the same,
as the world economy suddenly
was based upon exchanges of good,
with fast foods and candy on the list.

Oh there are still a few cars,
industries run by computers,
but the calm and peace remains
since everyone has free basic cable.

Gone are the acres of fertile farmlands
along with all the endless miles of ranches
everything is synthetic and produced by computers
who add additives to keep everyone complacent.

There are no worries about the future,
just the next viewing season
plus drug are legalize and no one cares,
while they vegetate before the television.

In small clusters a few scientists try to work
at some vision for the future,
of course their resources are limited
so little progress gets made,
yet nobody gets stress over it,
even when those brilliant minds
make some disappear for their experiments.

Liberated Soul

I love order, cherish is as a god,
but tolerate those who are different,
unless they violate neatness.

Every photo frame on my walls
perfectly level and precisely placed,
not a single detail in my realm
having a hint of disarray.

Faithful deep within,
even my sock drawer is organized,
bills always paid on time,
dutiful recorded in flawless listings,
schedule for the time ardently obeyed,
no time for variation or the unexpected.

Feeling so free in my path
for I inhale the joy of my stalwart existence,
paper clips kept in concise chambers,
pens arranged by color and usage,
each detail of life methodically aligned
so no mar of moment might shred my control.

Have a twinge of remorse on my birthday and holidays
when I spend them alone
wife and kids elsewhere
unable to cling to the prefect life I have created,
though I'm confident they shall return,
have it scheduled for appointment
in my weekly organizer,
only hope they bring enough napkins this time.

Reefs

In panged heart I knew the time had come
to scuttle my old rusty four wheel, compact dingy,
find a mighty luxury vessel
for sailing proud upon the asphalt sea.

Paddling my leather swim fins
over to the used car sales parking reef,
treading the current of opportunities,
and find that special coral motorized beauty.

Then he came in my direction,
such a grinning vision of pure confidence,
reeking of Scope and Brute aftershave,
I knew his predator leisure suit stance,
circling me in ravenous eyeing lusts,
smelling blood of profit
nearly drooling as he exposed
his set of mouth ivories
speaking their viper promises.

When I asked about warranty life preserver
and the proof his teeth marks
weren't on the contract,
all his comrades descended upon me,
clearly prepared for a feast.

Each one ravishing my flesh of questions,
jaws of assurances consuming my will.
Pulling into their office for the kill,
my wallet's blood spilled on that paper.

Driving away in tugboat they said
was sailboat,
another survivor of their pitch's shark attack
with 60 month payment plan as bite wounds.

Two Hands

Two hands,
one, old and scarred
weary, trembling and weak.

The second, young and tender,
soft, innocence
frail from still being a child.

Both are of different colors
unable alone to lift
most any weight of burden.

But working together,
with the energy of love
bonding their labor,
they can do what neither does alone.

How much more does a single heart beat
when it is held by another
where without words of hate,
laced together to create
care's masterpiece of art,
no single pulse can duplicate.

The Hourglass

I sense the sands of time
steadily slip away in an hourglass,
which changes everything I see,
though it happens so slowly
sometimes we think things don’t change.

It’s when all around us
in one day while our eyes are truly open
that suddenly we notice
how those grains have honestly
been poured out of a place or person
where they are so different,
aged and weathered by the days.

Then we pause and remember
about the precious gift of every sunrise,
while each life has its own hourglass
silently running out of its time.

For a while one we hold so precious,
the thing we love the most
and to hear that draining of the heart’s sands
is to hold each day as special.

Among the many joys we every know
none becomes more satisfying
than to treat those we love
with an embrace of each second
as if it might be the last.