Standing wobbly-legged
Spread stance, with a mock salute
Whispering; describing her desires
Soon, I hope she won’t be so mute
Passion of an fantastical nature
Possibly seeming like it’s unreal
Motioning me to come forth
Promises of a love I can feel
Building to a palpable potency
A tangible form of bemused intrigue
Charmed to dizzying arousal
Winding to a whirlwind fatigue
With which note to thoroughly enchant
Steps so sure that time cannot lapse
A smirk; mouthing words to erupt
But knowing I’ll finally leave her unclasped
Evading their ongoing tragedies Forty summers spent down in the dirt Withstanding the weight of apocalypse Emerging; though slightly less overt
Blast furnace of the afternoon sun Dali walking barefoot on Tampa’s shores Pale riders within unabsorbed light Embracing purity through perception’s doors
The paint of our secret love notes But can only be read through the keyhole Shying away from all public renditions Her passionate words left imprinted on my soul
Within doctrines of the former realms Secular atonements when you cannot reap Our distorted narratives no longer at the helm Parched souls shudder when you cannot sleep
Notebooks wrapped in twine, lubricating my dreams Thinly veiled entitlements, rushing to meet the golden hour Misplaced refugees; tugging on our heart seams Stomp on rose colored lenses/before the vine turns sour
Standing tall amidst populism, still reading banned books Rejecting capitalism before you win a shopping spree Your enemy’s dilemma might be worth a look While upholding the realization of love’s prophesy
Embracing goblets of celebratory wine & errant notes Time to return to glory; fire dance upon wooden boats
The gentle fog of last night’s revelry
Walking the streets before the sun
Overcorrecting the crooked events
Getting myself right before the day’s begun
Dreamscapes fading in these early hours
Scars to tell tales of an alternate narrative
Truth impedes the recital of our union
Clinging to our bodies not always so imperative
Setting the scene amidst several libations
Resulting in sloppy notes from the underground
These aren’t mundane epitaphs from stone
Rather just trinkets for creation to remain unbound
Rereading Orwell and taking notes Not going to be ruled nor romanced By an adolescent philosophy Anyone’s faulty & retched political stance
We need to think for ourselves again Too many left for dead it seems Generation of choreographed absurdity & gathering the news by sharing memes
But I have faith we can regain our promise By exposing kindness & compassion instead It is possible to lead by inspiration Instead of ruling by threats & dread
*** and another thing; a note to those in power we need to rename political parties CSPAN is the lamest way to spend an hour
Finding ourselves locked in a torrent Quietly dreaming of a harder way Searching for the proper inspiration Perhaps I’ll have something intelligent to say
I’m just a local loser with unlimited potential Most will note my life has been an utter waste Mocked & forgotten since you dismiss my face In retrospect- you pine for my notion once you got a taste
Junky little notes Throwaway lines on the postmodern stage Cultural fragmentation in empty streets Truth whittled away on an evaporating page
The disillusionment of an appropriated life While the world’s on fire; downright ablaze The American Dream sold off to the lowest bidder Feeling dissociative in these recent raucous days
Our dishonest & unaccountable government Are trying to sell you their uninspired vision Trying to sway your vote by gripping your throat But their cockamamy pleas will be met with only derision
Suburban arcades & record stores Love notes left jammed in the teletype Ancient technologies lost to whims of time Sacrilege of consuming before it’s ripe
Littered by dreams of public-school poets Falling to the feminine side of healing Whose obedience to authority lingers But only the lonely are rhymin’ & stealin’
Our literary antihero catching the cliff notes A repressed childhood is still better by half Trying to make up for that deleted time But you can’t get far by writing on decaf
Standing with arms braced to the wind Needing antiquity to know how we perform Rolling empty dice against our loaded fates Summer on the coast ensures the storm
Looking for a tepid note
Passion hinted in the scrawl
Something lost that night
When we last lovingly balled
One eye never shuts now
Always searching for you
No dreams to rile or navigate
I’m wandering without a clue
You think you need
Everything polished and packaged
Nary a wisp nor a stray note to linger
Jealousy breeds contempt
Searching for digital praise
But perfection is a myth
A trick played upon us by lesser Devils
I wish I could paint Placing my mind on display I wish I could draw Expressing myself in another way Instead, I’ll hammer these words Sifting them through Every one; my soul An extra note written to you
The eccentricities of life result in a varied solution Notes & experience written into the far margin Surrealist details woven into mundane worlds A quiet cocktail of banned books & Bombay gin
My desk lies cluttered with discarded notes Scattered among my life’s rejected missives Scorched earth beneath my words Burnt before anyone can become dismissive
Quiet rumpus of the of tea leaves In the comfort of a former beauty queen Sly notes pondered upon the page Suddenly relapsed into a shroud of velveteen
Captain Q 