The Picture You Paint

as i grasped my quesadilla

warm and gooey

cheese dripping

i had a sudden thought

i smiled in satisfaction

i could hear the screaming of dear bessy

powerful suction hoses viciously tugging at her udders

i chuckled in amusement at the thought of uterus forcibly spread open to receive sperm she didn't ask for

poor girl didn't get a kiss

and i laughed a mighty roar

i looked upon my chicken burrito

plump and juicy

i briefly wondered why henry cabot henhouse III

didn't swoop in and save this lovely lady

and i remembered super chicken was a cartoon

as i delighted in this birds flavor

i was brought to tears of laughter by the faint echos

of chicken sobs

and then it hit me

a flash of insight so profound i was taken aback

this is the picture YOU paint of me

YOU paint of me out of hatred

hatred for my lifestyle choice

yet

yet

there is no hatred from me over YOUR lifestyle choice

no protest from me in defiance of YOUR philosophy

so while YOU stand side by side with me on choices

such as freedom of 

religion

race

orientation

choice

YOU abandon me when i choose to have a steak

the picture YOU paint of me is a monster

the picture YOU paint of YOURSELF

is hypocrisy 

The Last Slice of American Pie

firm and round

full and smooth

the storefront mannequin had wonderful tits didn't she?

we rode through the frosty night

past sleepy farms and axle bone yards

forgotten memories of an america well lived

the dreams of an empire swept under the tidal wave of lightening we hold in our hands

a trip to yesterday planned in the wee hours of today

a search for one last adventure

possibly a chance to find the answer we missed all those years ago

maybe even touch the infinite we always knew was just down that creepy looking road over there...

blank and emotionless

empty and coarse to our eyes

someones decency had the mannequin removed a few years back

goodbye baseball

goodbye hot dogs

goodbye chevrolet

goodbye pie

all deemed too offensive for sensitive viewers

Shades of Icarus Blue

take the night

take the day

just take me away

crash the midnight flight

once upon a time i could run

once upon a time i could chase the sun

once upon a time....

 ....was a long time ago

the long nights have settled into fiction

river of dreams runs blood red in the troubled dawn

summer days squeezed into packages

good times stacked and loaded into boxcars bound for never

memories linger in flights of fancy stuck in holding patterns over an unfulfilled life

take the night

take the day

just take me away

crash the midnight flight

once upon a time we could linger

once upon a time we laughed at danger

once upon a time....

....was a story book ago

without seeing

without feeling

without the chance of falling we all fly too high

take the night

take the day

just take me away

crash the midnight flight

i don’t want to fly any more

Unique is the Serenity That Can Be Found it the Flames of the Uncharted Night

the faces of a thousand memories flicker and dance around the embers of your soul

peace seems to be a forgotten word you scribbled in a time from beyond the ability to feel

the hues of red and orange mingle with the blue that resides in those corridors you long ago walled off

“why tonight?” the mind is a terrible thing to taunt when we wander the rooms alone

the surrounding black seems so eager to listen to the hiss of chances sizzling deep inside the flame

as if demanding an encore, you halfheartedly consider performing while another log is tossed along with the lingering hope of tonight ending differently than the infinity of nights you wish you could change

“why tonight?” the soul longing for an answer is often cheated by the crushing dawn

in this nighttime world of battered ego and bruised intentions reflection can consume when the mirror is ablaze with questions we save for these moments, these command performances of doubt that fester in the daylight of our world, these puppets of madness that sway with the beat of our own fear

“why tonight?” because each night is the death of sunshine desires and the promise of another day to get it right 

The Lost Adventures of Artemis Dobro: Episode VII (A Dove in My Hand)

it was in the slow heavy days of august

i watched the tragedy unfold

a tidal wave of sorrow filled with a singular rage

a focused purpose

her majestic grace would falter as each new torrent battered without mercy

in my soul i could feel the tears she refused to cry

her wings clipped

she could not escape

her spirit slowly faded

until one day she let the hurricane of emotions swallow her

as her last whisper left rose in defiance

i wished her peace as i unlocked the shackles

The Lost Adventures of Artemis Dobro: Episode VI (The Strange Birth of Artemis Dobro)

into the den of steely eyed monsters

i enter with my hands on my head

and my head on a pike

my heart exposed to the beasts 

and the beasts exposed to the blood on my soul

all it's poison flowing wildly

in this chasm of decadence

where i have come to worship

faces in the gallery distorted in perverted ecstasy

my hands placed on sacred flesh

guided by forces i yet do not understand

the rites of debauchery continue

as worlds are opened up to me

worlds of pain and pleasure

worlds of time and memory

memory and pleasure

pain and time

on this plane these worlds collide

the faces in the gallery my recollections

 the monsters my infinite desire

the beast am i

the poison consumed on the day of my birth

it is the wine of my being

and from this truth i shall not hide

The Lost Adventures of Artemis Dobro: Episode V (Should Rebels Live to See Fifty?)

i still carry a little book with my poems

these days it's blue instead of black

and the tones are a little more grey

is it time that mellows

or is it the punishment time deals out in waves?

the endless sorties flown by the pilots of indecision?

perhaps the barrage of artillery from the gunners of doubt?

all i know is one day i woke up and the black book was too heavy

the stones of age and dysfunction grind slowly but with certainty

the harvest of this autumn is fear

and this winter will last forever

did all of your words get written?

how many lines left in the canyons of wasted days?

what good did you leave undone in the stillness of nights forgotten?

so i scribble away

line after line

blue notebook this year

maybe yellow next

and pink the year after

finally one day it may be white

-the year i give up the ghost-

-the year the voices stop-

-when i can no longer hear babies cry or women sigh-

-when my rebellion is a fuzzy memory-

and my salvation no longer sleeps next to me

A Mate Burst

subtlety glides

vibratory divides

wishing fools do meet

 

(don't you want to)

 

holy water

lonely squatter

washing undeserving feet

 

(don't you want to)

 

english teachers

southern preachers

sinking admiral watches fleet

 

(don't you want to)

 

spanking fetish

with teenage twist

all for beating meat

 

(yes, you want to)

Looking Through Squinted Eyes

some people like feet

some prefer hands

leather straps and whips

metal objects can be grand

some taboo

some left unspoken

some we just shouldn't think about

 else a therapist we'd be seeking

pocket clingy's

latex thingy's

a harness for swinging

fun and ritual just a bit institutional mostly unconventional

all for one extreme moment

and then it begins all over again

The Lost Adventures of Artemis Dobro: Episode IV (The Book of Chaos Has A Ghost Writer)

where does your pain reside?

where do your teardrops hide?

in the fleeting evaporation of a smile

conflict fires the machinery of your mind

wishing the feeling could last forever

and damning the warmth for ever rising in your head

and equal love and hate for the pain that rules your life

the fear of and the longing for

a simple permanent release

to caress the desire you see in the distance

but refuse to run toward

where do your teardrops hide?

where does your pain reside?

in days long since past your gaze at the stars

brought you the warmth of the possibilities

reaching into the infinite 

a wondrous world of dreams on dimensions unbound

this cast aside child eternal now lives forever inside

the distorted creature who stumbles

with the simple act of remembering

the location of a parked car

the four D's of every mans personal apocalypse

illuminates your path today

doubt- in every step forwards and back

defeat- in every memory that remains

disillusionment- in every promise broken by you and those who passed you by

dementia- in every word never written and every idea left on the floor

where does your pain reside?

where do your teardrops hide?

in the place we refuse to reach

in the place we refuse to illuminate

in the place forgiveness fears to tread

in the place where dreams die

inside

inside

inside

  

The Lost Adventures of Artemis Dobro: Episode III (Tin Can Tumbleweeds)

cars on the highway

rolling prisons of our own design

the freedom of the open road

now it owns our very soul

here and there

some place never

here and there

going nowhere

hold me back or let me fall

the seeds of demise already sown

the speed may kill us

but the agony of stillness swallows our essence

going nowhere

the expanse before us narrows

each time we turn our backs

on the reapers of dreams

the unchallenged future now so finite

going forever

and in all this cacophony of madness

we hear the faint whispers of humanity

 life, love, liberty and industry

distilled into a clear elixir of insanity

here and there

some place never

here and there

going nowhere

cars on the highway

the freedom of the open road

entombed in our hybrid prisons

a soulless trip to and endless end

spinning

spinning

wheels on the card go round

spinning

spinning

wheels on the car grind us down

humanity- the relentless pursuit of destruction

The Lost Adventures of Artemis Dobro: Episode II (A Little Something About Being Broke)

driving (again)

on my way to work 

it was all in my head 

this story about something 

about me expounding on the wisdom of age 

and youth gone wild 

and other useless stuff 

a little something about being broke 

but....it’s all gone now 

gone gone gone

gone gone gone

she wore her breasts as if they were made for reality TV

her clothes purchased at some boutique for whores- cleavage unbound 

she was asking me if she should tip the limo driver 

i almost gave her the “i don’t tip speech” from reservoir dogs 

but, could barely speak 

that is where this story went slamming onto the floor 

with the same destructive force as her damn jersey accent 

i swear i almost called her carmela and asked her where tony was 

but, she’s gone now

all gone now

gone gone gone

gone gone gone

blurry are the days of my youth roads walked 

and bridges crossed with so many stops along the way

all those stops and not once did i ever get directions 

but, that is how i found you and my voices 

and this job 

and carmela

and this search

it’s nice to know you will be there when i get home

whenever that may be

The Lost Adventures of Artemis Dobro: Prelude (97 Miles)

it's 97 miles to toledo

the fresh asphalt gleans an opaque glow as the rain pours down

i'm chasing demons now

while the devil rides shotgun while fate is wrapped in plastic and tied up in the trunk

chasing demons

passing the memories that jam the slow lane

it's 97 miles to toledo

i wonder.... did i forget to close the regret?

wouldn't want any rodents getting in while i was gone

did i turn the love off?

or did i let it simmer until i return?

it's 97 miles to toledo

the devil, he tells me everything is

gonna be alright in the morning

just toss that body in the lake and let your worries take it on down

chasing demons into the dark