Was it the Lover or the Beloved...

Was it the lover or the beloved,
who was pimped by
the simple logic of his hand up the lady puppets skirt.
As his fingers parted her lips she spoke:

"The heat passing these moments
burns and turns the furnace
where passion was fashioned,
in steam, by the friction between
two afflicted souls"

With that he took his hand from her skirt and ran it the length of her legs.
"I'ld like to stoke that factory fire with dynamite kegs."

She pretended this offends her,
so he might've lent her
moments romantic leisure.
These he couldn't render.
So her Tuesdays love letter
was marked return to sender.

A Fat Fly

Have you ever seen squaller?

In a back-yard somewhere in California,
I watched a fly
on its back
on the ground.
Lurching in circles,
unable to take flight
or stand upright.
Insect decadence.

Such an unpleasant sentiment
I stabbed the vermit
with my cigarette.

Insomnia

I can't sleep,
less my youth and beauty recede while I sleep.
I may live the longest in the eons of unintelligible existence,
consciousness without beginning or end,
hazy reality,
and I'm amazed I don't nod out with a half cacked pipe in my hand.

But at least while I'm awake I am safe from my nightmares; monsters. The Manticore with
the head of a jetplane,
the body of a backhoe,
the legs of a train and
the heart of an atom bomb.

His green Uranium breath burns off all my hair.
I wake up groping my head.

Cast Ominous Shadows

After the long day, as the sun sets over the far bayside industrial park, skyscrapers
Cast ominous shadows
Upon the near houses, as night arrives, ending scrutiny.

Night alight on a tumult. Let the towers cower as the streets are reclaimed by those who now
Cast ominous shadows
That measure thirty-feet long in the low, dim, twilight lamp.

And every countryman,
From all the matchbox houses,
From every tenement,
Apartment,
And compartment,
They all came tonight.

And the street was complete with charred bureaucrats and
The blood of swine.

And the sunlight, on red morning, glistening crimson freedom. As those standing, self-liberated
Cast ominous shadows
Gazing at eachother; remembering what this new day had cost.

Girlies

She's batting her eyes,
To my surprise,
And as I feel the tension rise
I surmise:
The gamble is worth the prize.

I didn't plan this tonight.
I might,
Because I know how to do it right.
And those thighs,
The gamble is worth my pride.

Do I have something to feign
For this game?
Though my tongue is feeling lame,
The same,
The gamble is worth my pain.

With her glare still fixed on me
Anxiously
Like I was the object of myown jealousy.
So weep,
The gamble is my disease.

Lost

Lost in the land
Of sky and sand;
Lazy and hungry and
Just now ready to see.

Lost in reality
With an hours sleep
And I'm neck deep
Trying to deny.

Lost in reprise
And never thought twice
But at least it's been nice
just to be lost.