Flesh of Word

No light or dark.

In the field of nothingness…only dragons un-slayed.

Plunging limbs of thought…tell me,

‘stoned walls’ corral without release…temptress choreographs with open deceit.

Amidst slender gestures that wrap my decadence around her fingers

…release, release, release.


Only a bosom for my crib.

Delicate as a bed of silence…movement, no sound.

Only flesh of word allow the urge to leave.

In the light or dark.

There are sensual curves in the open crevices.

Captured, they and I, continue on with our battle…erotic…forbidden attacks.

Light early morn.

Dark late dawn.

With walls crumbling and bearings not straight.

Never is conflict finished.

Only flesh of word allow the urge to leave.


Sly for Ashland

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“I have been jaded by life…but mostly, by, women.”
NO, response, but a simple and lovely giggle.  The kind of chuckle given unto young females who have a zest for the untold.  Purposeful philosophers, say, somewhere between the ages of 25 to 29.
Within the whisp of her menthol cigarette, a smoked filled rasp of quiery arrived.  It curled between the seats of the old ridden hard Subaru.
“Do you think anything will change?  Politics?  HRC ?  There must be a place where making a difference….(long, drawn out, and ultimely, very sexy, tobacco laced pause)….”
And, than, there had been no ending.  As if the conversation, lay in wait for a better, brighter day.
Had I been sly?  I would have pocketed the opportunity to make love to Ashland’s ideals.  Had I known…what I swore I had learned…years before, charm would have been the last choice.
But than…I only knew charm and treachery!
 “And, the one eyed undertaker blows a futile horn!  What does suppose he means by that?  I’ve searched the world over.  Not an answer worth speaking…is to be had!” I spoke with hopes of more interaction.
Again, silence.  Yet, via the crisp New Hampshire air and the waves of not quite red, not quite strawberry blonde hair.  Wedged under the earthiness Ashland wore like a badge of nonsense.  A badge of nonsense that clearly stated…anything was game.
In the middle of mid day, with certain feelings not tucked away…no response was needed.
Yet, I yearned.
I waited.
I exhaled and breathed in the common bond that is shared between dreamers.
“Tell me, what was your major in school?”
“Philosophy!” a burst of info handed to me like buttered bread handed to a starving whore.
“Well, than, I know you have thoughts!  Hand them over!”
I have never been one for photographic memory.  I do remember, Ashland, smiling, seductively and comically.  A vision of what is right with the world today.
She spoke of death, love, giving in and sometimes, giving up.  Her message had been clear…
“…we are not all built the same.  Some of us refuse to see.  Refuse to follow what might feel right…For the simple reason that…we are more at home with wrong.”
Our day progressed.  Deep, dark and stark ideas were exchanged.  Laughter had been a must.
And, one memory is for certain…
As I left her at a dirty curb’s end, she smiled that smile again…

Leaving me with one thought…Moral's Pond

Beauty walks a razor’s edge, someday I’ll make it mine
If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born
Come in, she said
I’ll give ya shelter from the storm

Saturating Sin


Nothing but saturating, sinful, sun…

Laying itself down,

both in right and wrong.

Feral idols dancing with




gulls from above

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Sometimes, intrigue has little to do with love.


Passion, oh, please.

Passion, oh, please…

bring me to my knees.

Highly Inappropriate


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These tricks of the heart…

no different from the fine lines of winter’s turbulent season.

and, what of,

the squalls of change that come and go for no reason.

The battle will rage on with seasons influx…

highly inappropriate 2lust for the infinite state of conformity’s trust.

Though, far off,

extreme wooden sanctum…

beat the savage beat of a different drum.

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A rare certain ambiguous solace can fall from stormy skies.

A distinct weathered pattern…

relinquished onto a particular kind.



caught always looking up for an out of reason for the season…sign.



“Boredom doesn’t come from lack of activities but rather from your own limitations and ideas of fun. Appropriate behavior, normalcy and perfection is what you make of it. But just in case you’re bored with perfect, come over to the dark side. Us circus freaks know a thing or two about thorough entertainment.”
― Sofia


the Distance Between You and Me

going the distance

Thou I may never touch you

Be within you

The intrigue does not rest.

All I have is my distant best.

Lurking around every corner

the beat of a lonely heart

the night’s sweat

the missing pieces of puzzle

A chance to catch my breath.

The distance between you and me

The distance between me and you

Beyond the pages of the lust I once knew.

In my mind’s eye

a sweet spotthe distance from me to you 2

a raised hair upon your neck

the look

the stare

the bed.

How far we will look for a reassurance of ourselves

How far will I look for a reassurance of me.

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