"Dark Realizations"

When the worms are all to fill your starving belly
and the maggots in your wounds your only friends
and the fly that lands upon your sore is the only caress
you'll ever feel from anybody's hands

that's when you will begin to understand

When the truth reveals itself and it's always ugly
and shame is what you've got to show for living
and alla your children turn out to be just like you
that's when you'll know it's gone beyond forgiving

that's when you will begin to understand

when the choice is between being raped or left all alone
and getting fucked is the closest you come to receiving affection
and your voice no longer screams whle you're being murdered
that's when you will begin to make the connection

that's when you will begin to understand

when all of the people you know have turned to cardboard
and their hair's on fire as they march past two by two
and none of their eyes any longer recognize you
and you see that all your dreams have fallen through
that's when you will begin to get a clue

that's when you will begin to understand.
© Anntelope 2002

"Black Panther Orchid"

yay I have walked
through the valley
of the shadow
of "let's partaaaay"

where it's so hard to go home
cause it's always too fucking beautiful
for your own God damned good

as the long pale fingers
of chartreuse clouds
stroke the soft orange sky

its shiny moon
shimmies with no shame
in the light
of this bright
O holy, savage night

sunless evening flowers
their blue glass petals
like chimes
in the pink flamingo breeze
waft
odors of sandalwood
jasmine
musk
and rose

lovely smells
deep
mysterious
funky
and lewd

stinking of sex
vetiver
patchouly
and the dark green promises
Summer makes at night

scents from way down under
the magic toadstools
and curling purple ferns
at the edge of the mushroom forest

where lives
the only
one of it's kind
a black panther orchid
peeking up from the rich, damp, earth
grinning white incisors
dripping sparkling dew
as yellow slitted eyes
blink slowly
and ask if you'd like to have your fortune told
© Anntelope 2003

"I Sing to You the Moonlight"

I sing to you the moonlight
blue white

I dance for you the fire
blood red

I bring to you each morning
pale light

I kill for you so you'll be
well fed

I blow the sky your way
so you can breathe

I weave for you a soft nest
of fresh leaves

a place for you each evening to
take sleep

as during the night your soul safe
I will keep
© Anntelope 2003

"The Perfect Squelch"
(A Fair Exchange Ain't No Robbery)

Beckoned by his wordless invitation
(she was practiced at noticing who noticed)
she slid into his car
just as easy as a smooth hand
slips into a silk glove

He asked "how much money do I need?"
after which came the dirty deed
after which
they put their clothes back on
after which
during rather intelligent
albeit casual conversation
he began to appear
a bit flabbergasted
then more and more amazed
and finally totally outraged
that they could be
behaving
as if
it were no big deal
as if
it was okay
as if
everything was all right

unable to contain himself
he blurted out
"BUT...BUT... DON'T YOU KNOW HOW LOW YOU ARE?"

at which
she replied
without missing a beat

"And just think...
as low as I might be...
you have to pay me
to spend time in your company."
Anntelope ©Fall 2002

"Negativity Seeks Its Own Level"
(poem to Ld)

having "walked at midnight"
but not on the wild side
she could fool herself into believing she understands
when she should be thanking her lucky stars
she's never felt the pull

like when the tides obey the moon
so does the blood of the night people
they are ruled
by the monster
in the corner
of everyone's eye

we've all seen it
although it winks at some
in a more familiar way
than others

I can smell its perfume
each evening
just as soon as the lightless air
becomes moist enough
to carry the odor
of shadows
the message is sent

that's when they all heed
bats
nocturnal insects
creatures with red eyes and night vision
they are compelled
to obey the rules of their environment

it's the same with the night people
children of the dark
it's not a choice they make
it's not a sin they commit
it's how they find themselves to be

I mean, think about it
did you decide
or did it just happen
that you love your favorite color?
Anntelope ©Nov 2002

"Guilt"

Watch out for those folks
Who would do bad things to you
they'll hate you for it.
Anntelope ©Nov 2002

"Mango Moon"
(haiku - 5,7,5)

liquid mango moon,
rubs her smooth, silken fingers,
on midnight's forehead.
Anntelope ©Fall 2002

"Jasmine Tea"

the second it becomes morning
you can hear night's oily wings
taking flight
as they have every morning
since the beginning of time
flinging in every direction
whatever's left
of the evening's bloody nightmares and pretty dreams

the drops
doing staccato flamenco dances
bouncing off the city's early paleness
a thin glow of peach colored light
tracing her black tar paper skyline
stirring the mango strands of sun
into spinning pinwheels

and have you ever felt the warmth of a baby bird
cupped in your palms
its tiny bones
as delicate as a spider's web
yet the little heart
beats with such a force
as to knock you over

a beautiful Summer evening has such a heart
her weightlessness floating
on top of the transparent perfume
you find sailing
across the river's darkness

unseen
but noticed just as surely
as the taste of jasmine tea
on the back of your tongue
Anntelope ©October 2002

Liquid Evening Sky

a thunderstorm this night lit up an electric neon wall of fire on color
vividly flashing a horrid scene across the burning highway I twisted my neck
trying to see better driving by road kill that didn't die yet helpless stuck
sixty five miles an hour between an eighteen wheeler and a black mercedez
benz the poor creature flopping about the pavement only seconds from more
than anything should pain what a relief breath finally stops I'm still
waiting for mine.
Anntelope ©2002

"Could You Imagine?"

My alcoholic neighbor
brought home a pretty young thang
from the bar around the corner

they got along very well
staying awake till the crack of dawn
giggling and falling
all over and into
each other

that afternoon
she left
and never returned.

That evening
he drank
and drank
and drank some more

giving him a haunted look
wild and depraved
like in a James Dean Movie
nearly handsome
but not really

very much later
and still reeking of her
he hit on me
for the first time in over twenty years

I gently but firmly turned him down

about twenty minutes later
I heard him projectile vomiting
retching
and choking

I thought to myself
"Could you imagine?"
© 2002 July

"Lucy Cow"
something a little different from my usual

Lucy was an old milk cow
pretty smart
n' friendly too
just loved to have 'er ears scratched
and if ya weren't clever enough
to figure it out
she'd twist her huge brown eyed bovine head
and lay 'em smack in yer hand

grandma milked her before breakfast
every day
even Sunday
although she said "it didn't rightly count"
cause twas "fore the sun came up"

granny had gentle hands
never hurt when she braided my hair
but
when the time came
could fling a chicken
lickety split

I made her promise
she'd never do such a thing to Lucy
or sell her for slaughter
either

Lucy cow got so old and thin
the skin hung off her bones
like sheets on the line

there was something
I really loved about that
Anntelope ©2002

"Nothing Ever Changes"
haiku - 5,7,5 (a little play on an old cliche)

listen to the din
after the truth's been spoken
how the monkeys howl

perhaps it IS so
that whenever one dog barks
all of the dogs bark
Anntelope ©2002

"Doctor Scream"
I wish this weren't true - but alas...

I saw ya there
the reflection
of your uniform

so white
so medical
in the
spotless
shiny
gray
hospital
door

bent over ya were
somethin'
between your legs
moving fast

ahhhhh...a little mouse was it?

I watched
your hands
quickly petting
the creature

doing so
in solidarity
with my moans
of agony

oh
you didn't think I would notice
you didn't think I would realize
how easy for you
to mentally manipulate
the rhythm
of my pain

into resembling the sounds
of a woman
in the throes of orgasm
Anntelope ©2002

"PEOPLE WHO LIVE IN GLASS HOUSES SHOULDN'T EAT SHIT"

Anntelope ©1999

"Too Old To Party"
(Lucky Changs is a trendy Manhattan restaurant with a transvestite theme)

Me
on the fifth floor
in my stale pajamas
no longer living
but watching life
prowl around the corners
of another city weekend

Sleek white limos
strut back and forth
in front of Lucky Chang's
where the transvestites are dressed to kill
and the stars twinkle
like they've gone crazy.

all eyes on the stretch metal stallions
as they perform
rearing on back legs
trotting sideways
blowing fire through their nostrils
and just generally showing off

their blackened back windows
keeping the dirty secrets
of rich old men.

who wink promises
they don't intend to keep
to the young hopefuls
in search of an art patron
or if you must call it that
a sugar daddy
or if you must call it that
a trick

most of them
won't be sitting there long enough
to leave an ass print
on the expensive leather seats.
Anntelope ©2002 Spring

"When I Was"
(just having some cheeze with my whine)

when I was young and precious
my body smelled of fresh cream
my skin was soft and velvet
like the inner husks of new corn

when I lived in desire
how succulent the wetness
between my legs unscented
except lightly - of honey and musk

now, many years later
my odors linger longer
they aren't the type for sharing
too gamey to call "pretty"

my womanhood's not juicy
but thinner and much drier
easier now to tearing
and clumsier to control

while all the young boys I loved
have grown fat and hairless
they do not recognize me
perhaps, it's just as well
Anntelope ©2002

"Oh No" (an impressionistic poem)

when you see something terrible from the corner of your eye

like any other
this Winter morning
began

the radiators
steaming
cozy
warm

but something was amiss
growling in the corners
I could feel it also
hissing about the room
venomous
alarming

then I noticed
the heap on the chair
did I forget to hang up my sweater again?

oh
oh no...
Anntelope ©2002

"Two Dead Flies"
(haiku 5,7,5)

nuthin' in the world
is worth less than a dead fly
ceptin' two dead flies
Anntelope ©2002

"Cliches"

I really do
try hard to
rise above
the same old cliches
like
"pearl of a girl in the world with a curl"
or
"I'm gonna cry, sigh, die - and maybe then I'll fly"
but it's really difficult
when nuthing seems to happen
but the same
old
shit
Anntelope ©2002

"Savage Love"

I do not bite my lover on the neck
scarring him
I grow flowers in between his thighs
I weave him over and around with my gentle web
to keep him still
while I touch him in all the places
he's never been touched before.

then
I kill him.
Anne Lombardo Ardolino ©2002

"The Naked Ache"
(aka "substance abuse")

they want me to paint its portrait
as it tears around the corner
only the tip of its tail showing

they want me to elaborate
on "how does it FEEL"
when your blood turns to pus
and runs down the inside of your leg
stinking so bad
children make faces
and tell their mothers

but what's the point
even after I do my best to explain
regurgitating my innards
and a few vital organs in the process

they still don't get it
they look coldly at my guts in a pile
then simply tell me
to "Just Say No."

Okay
"NO"
I said it.
now what?
Anntelope ©2002

"Lorraine's Song"
to my friend who is totally paralyzed with Lou Gherig's disease

I wish that you and I
weightless like skeletel insects
could spin across the waters
our reflections mirrored

how lovely we would be
twirling in the moonlight
pearl dust on our wings
veined fragile and transparent

while red birds and cardinals
sing us songs of scarlet
in the left hand corner of morning
where the sun glows like a ruby

but alas we have grown awkward
it is beyond all effort
our bodies won't stay balanced
for any length of time

perhaps this is our winter
the trees are wearing snow doilies
heavy grows the silence
of their stillness in the dark

but we need not be captured
as long as we can travel
to places our souls remember
brightly lit and warm

it's there I know I'll find you
and all the others I've loved
together we will dance again
the way we did before.
Anntelope ©Feb - March 2002

"Old Habits"

So
You wanna see my humility
get down on its hands and knees
eh baby?

Well
it ain't gonna happen
cause if I ever learned anything
anything at all
it was how to fall
gracefully.
Anntelope ©2002

"Oliver Hissed"

When my Ollie first died
I was forced to leave all the windows open
for nearly a week
in the dead of Winter
because so much sorrow
made it difficult
to breathe

My house roared with the loudest quiet you've ever heard
accompanied by an almost deafening lack of movement
as his dark shadow-like form
no longer stirred in the corner of my eye
but turned out to be
just my old black sweater
In a still heap
upon the lonely bed.
Anntelope ©2001

He tells stories 
He tells them up and down the lamposts 
He tells them on the walls
and even the sidewalks
All over the 
      Lower 
          East 
              Side 

Beautiful stories 
Of broken glass and fast colors 

He sees them 
through the eyes of Jerry Garcia 
On Seventh and A 
A corner with history 

He sings them on the rooftops 
Songs of ceramic 
That he glues to St. Marks Place 

He's putting it back together you see 
The city 
When it was still pretty 
Before 
They turned it into Singapore 
Neat 
Quiet 
And courteous.
©1997 

She came and woke my heart,
The one I had to beat it into sleeping,
Then hissing me a kiss,
She stood with feet apart,
With eyes like slits she watched me,
As she pushed me off the cliff.

It's not the fall that frightens me,
It's not the sudden stop.
It's I might find,
Myself alive,
Instead of dead,
Tis what I dread.
©1989

Something always comes to save me at the last minute, 
And I know it always will, 
Except once.
©1988 

Haiku

The desert cactus,
shows God its middle finger,
To tell him thank-you.
©Spring 2001

Each day my mirror,
Looks back at me through the eyes,
of many strangers.
©Spring 2001

Sight nearly faded
From the corner of my eye
But the movement stayed
©Spring 2001

And the pigeons dance,
By the skeleton benches,
In the dark green wind.
©Spring 2001

"If I took my children and threw them in the ice box, 
they'd put my ass in jail. 
So...What have you got to say about THAT God?"
©1993 

"The most dangerous creature in the world is a frightened one."
©April 2001

There are spirits circling my head 
They are evil spirits; they live in black caves 
they sing to me, ugly songs, while I am sleeping,
(that's no fair you mother fuckers).

coooooome hooooooome, cooooommme hoooooome...we miiiiis yoooou. 

Ah, but I cannot return to the night 
My eyes no longer see in the dark 
it is a blindness I cherish.
©1994

Once upon a time, a long time ago, 
I too was a horse of lightening, 
stark against the infra red, 
muscles shimmering through mists of weightless lavender. 

But that ain't nuthin, 
why, 
I lost an entire galaxy, 
right in that space between the throbs of pain, 
where it grows difficult to fly, 
when it's slippery with blood. 

As I contemplate my lack of future, 
and how to avoid it, 
the odors of suicide 
weave like snakes 
in and out 
the empty eye sockets of my skull 

They are 
inappropriate, 
chartreuse, 
and mildly sickening. 

A few of them even flew in my mouth.
leaving nauseau,
darkness,
and fumes I had to apologize for

Besides which, it's pretty bad,
when all you've got to be proud of, 
is that you're not as fucked up as you used to be.

And would I really whine to a blind man? 

Yoooouuuuuuuu betcha. 
Especially one so loveable,
while I have 
never,
been, 
loveable. 

I resented his hat. 
It is stylish, and looks far too good on him. 
and how the hell was I supposed to know it's a fucking crash helmet? 

He has paid his dues to be a writer. 
Unfortunately, 
I put mine in the parking meter 
and now 
I can't prove it.
©1998 

It was a naughty scene, one I'm afraid I will never forget. I was standing by the brook, the wonderful bubbling brook where I used to play as a child, a magic place of the cleanest cold water, clear as a mirror, save for a few specks of rust, crystal water, that danced along the red sandy banks, and there, in the silent pools that collected behind a few large rocks, minnow gathered, swimming in perfect formation, their graceful bodies swaying back and forth in unison, like little paint brushes held by the same artistic fingers. To some unseen instructors wand they danced, a chorus line of tiny tarty minnows, smoking cigars and wearing garish lipstick; I tell you, it was a scandal.
©1998 

"To refuse a person adequate pain medication - IS AN ACT OF PHYSICAL VIOLENCE."
©1988

Teachers aren’t supposed to
tell their students to "hold their breath"
while they’re thinking of the answers
or pass along
other idiosyncrasies
©2001

"Blood at night is not red but black and shiny"

©1988 

"Poem to Herbert Huncke"

I first knew Huncke, 
in a sleepy afternoon sun, 
boiled potatoes and eggs that run, 
dusty plastic plants, 
Greek restaurant. 

I did not know Huncke over espresso, 
in some trendy Greenwich Village cafe, 
having artful and intelligent conversations, 
till four in the morning. 

Nooo, I knew Huncke on the Louisida, 
eating canned string bean soup, 
bread, rice, and ice water sandwiches,. 
Where we never even got to talk to each other like two white people 

Plus, the subject of literature don't come up too often, 
when you're an old man in baggy pants, 
twenty five cents short for a cup of coffee at Odessa's. 

Why, I should have been in awe of Huncke. 
He knew all my original howling heros. 
I mean, 
Huncke WAS "ONE OF THE BEST MINDS OF HIS GENERATION, 
DESTROYED BY MADNESS, STARVING, HYSTERICAL, AND NAKED" 

and I feel cheated, 
cause I never really got to know Herbert. 
I just copped for him a few times.
©1997 

"I would have killed myself years ago if it hadn't taken so long."

©1996 

"Flat Line"

Here comes death 
stalking 
slow walking 
then racing like a downhill sled 
a cheetah with her ears 
pinned against her head 

body pointed right at me 
then striking like an arrow
into a tree
it's time 
for the flat line
©1996 

I started writing this peom many years ago - in fact, I keep adding to it as things happen - it was done as a protest against  police brutality - in particular - I was left permanently enraged after my friend Clayton Patterson was nearly beaten to death by an out of control policeman.  (And what was Clayton's crime?  Video taping a fire).  Meanwhile, he was not in anyone's way, nor had he broken any laws.  Apparently, this policeman was angry at Clayton over the videos he had taken of the Thompkin's Square Police Riots.

And so, this poem is dedicated to each and every ROGUE police officer who ever existed - in this or any other lifetime.

Suck Death,
Bite down hard on it, 
Break your fucking teeth on it, 
Choke on it, 
As it slides down your gullet, 
Into your belly, 
Then out through your blood strings, 
To-every-part-of-your-existence. 

And may tiny little droplets of it, 
Ooze from your pores, 
Making your skin, 
Shine with the grease. 

SUCK DEATH YOU FUCKING PIGS.

Fuhrman the vermin,
Volpe the plunger,
Michael Dowd and his sleazy crowd, 
Should not be allowed,
To step on the ground. 

We should construct giant toilets. 
We should have public flushings. 

And take that thin blue line, 
Sharpen it to a fine, 
Point,
And then stick it where the sun don't shine.
©1985 - ?

"The Old Marble Cemetery"

I see him out my sad window, 
The thin Winter crow, 
Stamping his feet in the graveyard, 
To the tombstones, 
He complains.
©1998 

I can sing fire, 
I can speak in over fourteen different colors, 
I can paint with words, 
That which could never be seen by the human eye, 

Such as, 
Black rainbows at midnight, 
Trees that dance without moving, 

And so then why am I not a poet? 

Just because I never use words 
like "scintilla" 
or "iota," 

But tell me, 
Why is it even necessary to be so fucking dramatically ar-ti-cu-late? 

I know how to bleed in the dark, 
Without getting all bombastic about it, 
Without spilling a drop. 

Oh - you don't like blood? 
How it flakes when it dries? 

But it's my poetry, 
And I only feel obligated to mention, 
That it stains.
©2001 

From the woodworks of the cockroach hotels
Slime Sophocle's misfits
you know
Eddie Piss and the gang

To pour upon the streets
in the nite
when the dirt
doesn't show

                   n
         i 
                                  g
p 

                                         p

                                               o         n

                                                                       g
 

on and on
till night is gone

Past Sunday morning, Ave C and 8th St.
to the riverbanks and broken glass

Daylite
you have no crescendos
your sun leaves me waiting
for the wild nite dreams

of railraod tracks
deserted shacks
and weeds that grow in the sidewalk cracks

hobos
skid rows
and the wind blows

from the midnighte beaches
to my tin pan alley

where I dream
out the dark night hole

where I lost my soul
and tossed my empty dope bags

Shed no tears mother moon for your vagrant rays
they'll be reborn
this early morn
to became train whistles

drolling blues for me and my people
who remain
unled children 
searching for something forbidden

like Pied Piper
tinsel rainbows

Peter Pan and Neverland
and Tinker Bell
and pixie dust
to make them fly
high.
©1967

Perhaps it is you
the one should explain
what made it happen
who was to blame

what were you thinking
at that very time
were you the evil
caused hate in their mind

what did you do
what did you say
why did you make them
treat you that way

maybe your karma
pulled it to you 
perhaps it's because
you deserved it to

did you have it coming
is this the truth
and besides that what is it
you want me to do

why were you present
why were you there
when you could have been
almost everywhere

oh yeah, here you run
you're scared as can be
but what if you cause them 
to come after me

I would like to help you
if only I could
and if there was something
to do , then I would

Sure I'm your friend
remember, be tough
though a hand I can't lend
I wish you good luck.
©2000

You,
Ya wouldn't like it here in the fire,
After you can't talk,
And you can't walk,
And yer body falls off,
It's reeeaaaallly boring.

When your throat gets dry,
And your saliva turns to steam,
Clouds your eyes from seeing,
You can't sing,
And you cer-tain-ly-can't-dance.

Ya get old,
Right smack dab in front of yourself,
And even your shadow,
Grows aged and wrinkled,
And curls at the feet,
And all your holes close up,
And you can't FUCK anymore,

Because love's not true,
When love's not new,
It's been kicked in the ass till it's black and blue,
Nah you,
Ya wouldn't like it here in the fire,
You just sit,
And you burn.
©1996

When Marty spoke
rainbows whirled 
bright flames curled
like peacock plumes 
from his tongue 

on the walls he passed
he cast 
stained glass 
shadows
of every color

he climbed the Indian rope
where he learned from magicians
how to weave red poppies 
between the letters of his words

but perhaps breathing life 
into the un enchanted
who could not understand
finally taxed the poor man

now who will there be
to cook dinners of roses
for the spiritually homeless
God’s un chosen people?

Now who will there be
to sing musical speeches
that the tin ears can hear 
for once in their song-less lives?

Now who will there be
to make the promise
that some-day
God WILL say
to the souls that lay
in hell

"Okay - time served - you can come home now."
Anne Lombardo Ardolino ©1992

When I first met Gregory Corso,
He told me,
"I DON'T DISCUSS POETRY!"

And he was,
Obnoxious,

And I was,
Afraid to be around him,
Lest he get me killed.

Because,
He'd say these things,
My Gawd!

Such as,
Telling the waitress at "Princess Pamela's,"
That "she looked like a man!"

Just-before-she-served-us-our-food.

Now,
You've got to admit.
That calls for balls,

And yet,
Basically,
He went through his life unharmed,

Forgiven by his friends,
For his every sin,
Even as he commited them,

And I'll never forget what he told me,
As he stole forty dollars from Marty Matz,
Who was passed out on my kitchen floor.

While stuffing several twenties,
Back into Marty's pocket,
Gregory looked up at me and said,
"NEVER TAKE IT ALL."
©FEB 2001

Wearing small round hoofs,
An "Asian Betty Page,"
Pranced on soft blue lights,
Leaving  invisible evidence of her weightlessness,
All about the yuppie restaurant.

Her mouth - the color of kisses,
Eyes - purple as bee stings,
And hair - blacker than the night,
With your eyes closed,

She moved as clear water,
Spills on glass.

While serving the tiny waisted portions of food,
With hands so smooth,
They would not scratch silk,
As do mine,
On my old pajamas.
©1998

Nod, is God.
©1995

This poem is dedicated to those people who invaded my privacy and basically RAPED MY PRESENCE. 

I cannot cover the sky with my hands,
But neither can you,
Sneak down the middle of the street.,

You know that I know,
Yet, like  good nieghbor,
You want to borrow a cup of sugar,
You want a "top o the mornin' to ya"
And my smiling unspoken approval,
While you sell my pain to the carnival.

O,
But while you have been giggling like little girls,
I have been learning,

That though I must stand before the entire world,
Naked and covered with shit,
I SHALL NEVER HIDE MY EYES.

I may be embarrassed,
But I am not ashamed.
©1992

"It is one thing to kill yourself,
  It is another to die."

©1997

No matter how far I go,
I'm still right there,
So you will excuse me,
If I don't know where to begin.

Though I twist and turn,
It remains right beside me,
It appears,
The monster,
Has learned a unique way to heal.

Keeping just one stumble,
In front of my next step,

And here on the razor's edge,
It is not good to lose your balance.
©1999

"It was so quiet you could hear an eaves drop"

©1990

"Being dead is the same as before you were born"

©1988

"After The Wound"

It is after the wound,
I am lying very still,
Waiting for my blood,
To clot,
Or rot.
©1996

If it weren't for the relief drugs afforded me 
I would have killed myself years ago
So, who's to say what is self destructive behavior?
©1997

I am kneeling at the alter I have constructed.  Unfortunately, poverty limits my purchasing ability and the chest is but a wooden crate into which I have placed my most precious gifts. These too would earn me no coin in the market, their value known only to myself.

Ah, but what jewels, seven of them, neatly tucked into a little black plastic box,  perfectly made, with no clasp, still, the top fits securely, never allowing its contents to spill.

And they?  Diamonds in the form of seven little puppy teeth, three pairs and one odd, each given to me freely, this present of her greatest and only  posessions, carried by mouth and carefully delivered to my hand.

Thankyou, O dearest Josephine.  RIP.
©2000

Where have I been?
I have been with the nightflowers,
In the graveyards of yesterday,
So far and long from morning,
The sun is but an empty white hole in the colorless skies.

Where have I been?
Searching for my angel,
O white haired nomad from the sands of time.

Where have I been?
Walking in the cities of the midnight sun,
On the three thirty a.m. pavement,

Screaming to my own echo,
In the halls of anger,
"I WANT WHAT I WANT WHEN I WANT IT."
©1976

When somebody
does something
Bad to you
they will hate you for it
©April 2001

Why do they do it?
 Call him? 
  Perhaps, 
   Because he comes
     He’s had his ears pierced by  sirens
      his skull cracked
         by the wooden dildo of an impotent police officer
          his teeth broken from the bone,
           and both of his eyes blackened,
            (for seeing the truth).
              Balancing on the tips of the toes of madmen,
               He's run with them past the devil, 
                Just to get there in time.
               Meanwhile,
             Take it from me,
            No one believes they’ll be part of this odd theater,
           The decision only made,
          During the most lonely,
         Last minute hour,
        When it finally occurs to them,
       They want the tragedy documented after all
      Their own “syllable of recorded time,” 
     recorded.
    And is he,
   An emotional pawnbroker?
  The jury’s still out on that one.
©2001

In my garden.
I saw,
A peacock tailed
Multi colored, shiny black fairy,
Run across the left side of Dawn,
Then scamper up reflections,
Of the old tiger tree.

Disappearing without a trace
Right in to thin air, I swear,
Making a peculiar noise,
Which immediately woke the leapord lark,
Who began to sing
Stained glass songs
Through a ruby red beak
While the tree leaves
Tinkled like chimes
in time
And lines of the sun 
Painted soft lemon stripes
on the lime green grass.

But even so,
it didn’t fool me.
I have learned to recognize the signs,
The wrinkles in the atmosphere,
What warns me,
It’s going to rain,

Did you know that raindrops can sing?
I hear them all the time,
Just before a storm,
They grow particularly loud,

“Shimmy shimmy shake that rain,
Dance until you go insane,
Shimmy shimmy shake your ass,
Rain in Summer is a gas,”

And right there in the center of it all,
This fairy,
Making lewder gestures,
Than even Madonna on stage,
rubbing her crotch,
spasming her back section like a tom cat about to spray,

And I could not believe this was happening
In my garden.
©2000

Some hapless creature, 
was murdered at four this morning
I heard it flash orange across the sky

as the screams echoed widely
over the first arch of Dawn,
and I understood,
it 
    was 
            already 
                          too 
                                  late.
 

Even so,
out of respect,
I would have collected the bones,
put flowers over the eyes,
but they'd have never fit in my basket 
you remember the one
I made for my dreams, 
woven from the threads of unexplainable beauty,
I found being neglected 
in the middle of night,
way back in the days, 
when I roamed free,
and could see in the dark,
and could live on my own blood.

Ah, but things change, don’t they Clayton?
I need that basket myself now,
for somewhere to put the mess, 
the one I can’t clean,
since I don’t take Coke anymore.
why, I haven’t even dusted my piano since the old cat died,

But in my defense,
it might not be unfair to ask,
“How could I take a chance 
on tossing something
He may have touched
and in this way,
made sacred?”
©April 2001

I saw ya there,
At that line where the sky meets the sea,
Pressed up flat against the horizon,
Walking on the water,
Followed by Hewy, Dewey, and Louie Duck,

But Jesus Christ Jesus Christ,
How do you expect to be taken seriously,
When you do shit like that?

Oh
Don't get me wrong now,
I have prayed,
Even got what I asked for a few times,
And that was when I really found out what hell is.
©April 2001

I have always lived in a severe environment,
I have never needed to “act as if” for it to “become.”
It always “was,”
Because,
Here on the front lines,
It is unnecessary to play "war games".
©2000

When someone “takes my word for it”
Where do they “take it?”
Out to dinner?
For a walk?
©April 2001


"Massage Therapist"

My next door neighbor,
Can call the names, 
Of all the bones,
And muscles,
Of the human body,
In English,
And,
In Latin.

She’s studied extensively,
Attended lectures,
Taken classes,
And written numerous, articulate, and intellectually stimulating essays,
On the subject of “massage.”

She's passed her exams,
With flying colors,
And now has a license,
Verifying that,
Her fingers are indeed “professional.”

She does however,
Skip, 
Approximately four square inches,
Of the human body.

I, 
Do not.

And so
I am considered,
A whore.
©2000

Aint nothin in the world worth less than a dead fly,
'ceptin' mebbe two dead flies.
©1980

A smooth black leopard,
Wearing smooth black spots,
Ran through a white night’s light moon,
His shadow was one of a weightless blond silence,
That hung like a vapor beside him.

From his feet fell invisible footprints,
all across the cobalt sky,
And it amazed me that I could tell, 
Where he had been
©2000

"Lonely Tree"
(Poem To Pearl)

Lonely tree
In a cement cage
Looking in at me

There will be no fruit for
This old poor
Avacado tree

You need to run
Across green fields
And let your roots grow deep

And sometimes when
Your drippings flow
I wonder do you weep

Alone outside
Where cold winds
Cut you like a knife

But if you weren't there
Dear tree I swear
I know I'd take my life

Should I visualize my love
Through all your leaves entwinced
Would you accept affection
Projected from my mind

Or should I touch you with my fingers
And my hands
If I leaned upon your body
Would you understand?
©1976

I saw the outline of a sunlit spirit
From the corner of my eye in the air,
It disappeared when I looked harder,
But the movement was still there.

Sometimes it's a boneless sea with clean lines,
Or a single cactus, desert sky,
and the eagle's red cry,
Is scary.

O karma,
Where are ya,
Are you far,
away?
I see your,
Horizon,
It's rizin,
Today.

And the pigeon dances.by the skeleton benches,
In the dark green, lonely, paper swept wind.
Trusting his own rythm, I am always given,
To watching him.
©1978

I'm Annie Weedseed
and indeed
I've a real need 
to be high
it's no lie
I like to smoke
it's no joke
it takes toke after toke
and it's rough
when I can't get enough stuff
It's tough.

I've asked my,
friends to buy,
me some,
Columbian,
but there's a panic and no one can even pick me up a little old Tai stick

I smoke too much
it's losing its touch
I can hardly get high
ooh why must I
have such trouble
keeping my bubble

Is it wrong to be so strongly hooked
I love the feeling to be reelin and to be shook

My head off the ground
my feet going round

I can see clearer
heaven is nearer
I'm sincerer

Cause without it
Everything's the same old sh-
ame to waste a lovely day
but there's no other way
I know of to enjoy
being with my boyfriend
let's do it again.
©1973

Where I come from is past understanding
But I rode here on fire to love you
Come to my world and you can be king
I will see to your royalty
You are my religion and everything is good
This I always know when I love you
And if you leave me
I shall not die gently
And if only you I see
In my dreams
Then I would love to be sleeping.
©1976

Have you ever known someone, a lovely, delicate flower of a person, and although you wish it could be more than friendship, you know it isnt possible?  And so you must content yourself with that small measure and be grateful.  This poem is dedicated to that person.

When I look at you I do hear music
When I say your name, I see a rainbow
When I feel your footsteps coming my way
It is like a bell that rings the ground

Right inside myself I feel your heart beat
You have given life to every day
animals, plants and children bloom around you
Far better than they ever could alone

How I wonder how you gained such goodness
Nothing evil from you ever spills
Even those few times I’ve seen you angry
It did not contain what I’d call cruelty

I realize that I can never touch you
Some part of you, I sense it would die
Like the kind of orchid bruises easy
Never to be moved from where it grows.
©May 26, 2001

I'm like a pin ball that's trying NOT to hit anything, 
cause the minute it starts to hurt too much,
this game is over baby
©Spring 2001

"When the cock gets soft, the heart gets hard."
©1999

You ever played the flesh flute?
It ain't got no notes mind ya, 
although, 
ya could hum a little if ya like
but ain't no guarantee anybody's gonna clap for ya
in fact
maybe clap ain't such a good thing to mention
under the circumstances
I speak of

Oh yes indeed
the flesh flute
they love to have it played
but just don't ask nobody to listen
that's all
They're usually too busy
tootin' their own song.
©May 2001 

poor gray dying bird
sad partner watching helpless
pigeons mate for life
©October  2001