Jim Morrison

If Jim Morrison was a vampire

and he tired of singing 

the words would transfuse

to his victims 

kissing you unconscious

meeting in the end of the night

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Restless Leg Syndrome

words slouching on the couch 

emancipated from youth

sexy arthritic hands put to waste

restless leg syndrome begging for a walk

opening the blinds 

is that bird shit on the window

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Mac out

the last spot two toads mimicking the fly crazy little fish with whiskers and dots coughing is the venomous snake cuddling likable mice wearing new hats the old timers wearing silk robes rocking out to iTunes on their Macs

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Toast

the last regret was chewed up for breakfast

mostly a random thought brought up like toast

comfy in the tight uncomfortable booth

inconsistency of the waitresses day

put forth on the table with a glass of funky water

while the bus boys wipe the slate clean

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Cold circles in the rain

the space crept with rhythmic moaning 

awake in the dusk dreaming of life storming

the cold skin that feels the cement on bare feet

before there was no meadow

barefoot and half naked

spinning in the rain

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The Mines

solid and void of delinquent desires

monitoring the faucets for slight discoloration

broken down wind pounding at the door

catching fragrance deep in the mines

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Tenacity

painted on claws with the tenacity of a tiger

spiritual bonds tied with brittle leaves

constellations pointed to the over sexed beasts

winters prevail over sensitive bears

washing away the splinter in the toe that bleeds

claiming the innocence of the spring

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Rebirth

the sad truth of death is the lingering scent 

memorized every moment taken for granted

basking in the sun and replenishing in the rain

the body languished for the remembrance of touch

tears cried from birth recycled to the grave

replenished from a seed and an egg 

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The Ant

the ant deviates from it's colony

running leaving the crumb behind 

to find a wrapper with left over chewy taffy

the line up ahead with a small gap

unable to leave behind the sweet sense of freedom

the unseen ant of one smashed by a big shoe

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The Gypsy Rojo, Descending

holding up the weight of heavy eye lids

in a flicker the blackest souls from heaven descend

chanting in ancient tongue for the protector

falling backwards on the bus floor

the yellow eyes tearing the metal roof back

grounded to the salt swept floors the next soul emerges

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