Gimme A Minute Till I Look Pretty

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Gimme a minute till I look pretty
I don’t want to go out there without my cologne
I can’t deal with the sketchy people
You know, they’ve hidden away all the pay phones
I don’t trust the Gov’t hiding behind rain coats
The shadows are weary with their demodulation
Open your windows to the rain – expect justice
I shall bare my raw breast in hopes of emotional rehabilitation

No Matter How Old I Become

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No matter how old I become
I’m still searching; I’m still seeking
Obtaining considerable sums
With any passion, go ahead & start peeking

I’m not one to judge an attitude
I can be sinful so I won’t go there
I’m no Christian Grey, but I’m no prude
If you come unannounced, you’ll find me rather bare

Tracing These Feelings Back

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Tracing these feelings back
Wondering where you began to care
Why did you lose your resolve
& fall in love in the summer’s glare


A palm grove as a backdrop
Kissing quietly behind the reeds
Feeling more than you had expected
Unsure of the coming needs


Layers of sand now everywhere
Breeze feeling cool upon your bare hips
Hopeful surprises found refreshing
Nothing less than passion upon your lips

Finding The Sunshine

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Finding the sunshine
Feeling the glorious heat
Remembering the time
Our lonely lips did meet


Saving me from despair
A slow march to the sea
Loosening of our tongues
Another chance to be free


Getting our bodies outside
A good stretch in open air
I love your everything, but
You’re best when you’re bare

Surrounding Myself With Ancient Friends

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Surrounding myself with ancient friends
Wisdom & experiences laid upon my shelf
Bare for all to quietly consume
Providing a chance for a better version of self

Absorbing past lives without pause
Silhouettes of women from long ago
Angst from existential rights in time
Visions of dreams I wish to forgo

These books are mere placeholders
For the contents of my heart upon hardwood
Gentle reminders of our former intellect
& the hope we might return to being good

Plastering The Interweb With Fragmented Thought

Plastering the interweb with fragmented thought Cultivating an insane kind of fame Convincing an illiterate society That you’re more than just a silly name Penning out frivolously piddly odes Basking in the lack of their attention span Trying so hard to be cool, plus Your slams make me not want to give a damn The barely legible equivalent of an Insta-model Don’t you know, writers write & speakers squeak A farce played out in bits & bytes Preying on the vapid, the stupid & the weak You’ve grown your hipster beard You fancy yourself as suave & dapper But I know your dirty little secret That you’re no PaRappa the Rapper

Disturbed Themes & Distant Thrombosis

Disturbed themes & distant thrombosis
A hitch in your giddy-up when it’s time for tea
Transcendental visitations
From dreams may come answers to our makeshift reality

Pouring over the brackish tomes with devotion
Gentlemen & ladies of letters; luminaries of thought
But truth doesn’t cure our limited capacities
Bare harbingers of the illiterations we’ve wrought

We’ve taken ill in our posh-marked libraries
Leaving fingerprints on memories we loved the most
We maunder through our raging debates
Knowing full well they’re all books about ghosts

Darkness creeps in on our musty resolve
Syntax prescribed with an utmost surgical query
Descending by the light of our candelabra
If we survive, we’ll be counted amidst the weary

The Illustrious Words Of Hunter (the elder)

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The illustrious words of Hunter (the elder)
We ante’d more than our parents’ share
Broken cups of mottled modeling clay
Abstinence leaving you lonely & bare

Chanting Yeats without a voice
A rye smile at the lively night’s end
Cocktail girls when only a wife will do
Looking to the heavens to make amends

Time is failing on a tractional level
Bleak mornings to come calling back
Needing to move without giving notice
Resurrection only possible with coffee this black

Daylight Creaking Up Over The Atlantic

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Daylight creaking up over the Atlantic
First light’s rays struggling over the sea
My bones seem to have a bit of rust
Better lubricate with some more coffee

Dancing upon the shores of the St. John’s
We don’t need carpets; red or otherwise
We only need our bare skin to touch
Ending with me whispering between your thighs

There’s Something To Be Said For Going Outside

There’s something to be said for going outside
Wallowing in the dirt, smearing it on your skin
Returning your soul to the Earth, to be truly free
There’s only one life; you’ve got to get it in
Remove society’s reign over your instincts
Dance unhindered; strip & frolic completely bare
Be at peace with the natural world’s glory
Stand proudly and let your nips feel the Spring air