Typing, Hacking, Thinking – Smokin’ Hot

Typing, hacking, thinking – Smokin’ hotTyping your best to empty all thought Pouring your soul into force upon the keysYour woman walks past with a dress above the knees Now you can’t think or type or stammer straightThe hell with with deadlines – this one’s gonna be late You pray to the spirits of procastrination

Hot.

Hot. That’s all I can think about you But I’ll restrain myself Such notions simply won’t do Lovely, gorgeous or beautiful I choose to roll off my tongue You deserve to be treated better Your praises shall be sung

Meandering Down An Etched Path

Meandering down an etched pathWith vines & foliage on all sidesThe overgrowth keeps secrets locked& provides the perfect place to hide I know where I always wish to beA forgotten realm; a place no one thinks to lookReality, hatred & cruelty forever expungedI’m safe here – alone in nature – me & a book

Trying Out Stories In The Morning

  Trying out stories in the morningTyping away on this ol’ machineThinking of something differentA genius the world’s never seenBut I can’t think of anything greatI guess I’ll get more coffee insteadI hear a whistle from my ladyI guess my love needs me back in bed

You Think You Need

  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 Think You Have The Wrong Notion Of Me

I think you have the wrong notion of me I could be wrong, but it’s what I believe I’m neither the saint nor the villain In which your notions are trying to achieve I’m not nearly as arrogant as I portray That’s merely the manifestation of a fictional role I know confidence is sexy &

The Winter Is Too Warm

The winter is too warm But it’s too cold for tanlines The beach not quite deserted But I think that’s just fine I could use some freedom But you’d just call that semantics Splitting hairs when I’d rather Be engaging you in some bedroom antics You’d blush and slap my cheek But that’s mere foreplay

Rubbing Their Fingers Over The Stereo Knob

Rubbing their fingers over the stereo knobThe frequencies distorted on the airwavesKings of the new world & thus apocalypticSearching for something more pragmatic to crave These technocrats with no concept of realityTasking – without offering an alternate fateDemanding citizens for homages to be digitalWith no power to control – or else we attenuate Words of

Frayed Cuff On Antique Khaki

Frayed cuff on antique khakiKnowing thy state of dressI wasn’t as dapper as she was used toHoping she wouldn’t think any less He wasn’t any better than a prigHer dance card drawing sideways looksQuietly, she enjoyed my wicked tongue& the way we shared our crooked books Shaking the dust off our neglected spinesCertain steps lead

Empty Wine Bottles Clink; Devoid Of All Inspiration

Empty wine bottles clink; devoid of all inspiration But that’s not the way you remembered they bled Choosing the perfect wording for posterity A trembling shadow of what the poets once said We once set out to create a fresh universe But that’s not the way I can any longer think Falling in love with

thinking nostalgic thoughts

thinking nostalgic thoughtson an empty stomachrediscovering grunge tunesstuck at home in a pandemicremembering the pain of high schoolcouldn’t fit in anywherereliving dark momentswhere it could’ve endedremembering lost loves& how warm they made you feelbut you know it wasn’t realleaving you cold & aloneabandoned until life truly began.

I Want To Know The Secrets

I want to know the secretsThe ones you have buried deep withinI want you to whisper your loveKiss me so long they’ll think it’s a sin Running away from sunsets & goodbyesFeeling the lead of stained windowpanesThese houses don’t hold strained memoriesWashed away in the softening of Winter’s rain I’m freely exposed in these dimmer

I Trace Your Lips

I trace your lips with my fingerSuch pouty perfection in this faceI want to devour you right hereBut in public is not the proper placeSo I whisper one word: “tonight”& let you think upon that all dayYou’ll stew & simmer & imagineHow all this love will be conveyed

Battered Old Blank Pages

Battered old blank pagesWaiting to be smeared by inkDisheveled by passing timeOften fraught with more than we thinkCrisp white canvas no longerAbsorbing life as a passerbySo pause before you typeA silent witness to these lies

If You Met Me In Person

If you met me in personYou’d think I was an uninteresting guyThat I had no personalityBut the truth is I can be painfully shyBut if you let my words speakI can flourish & blossom before your eyesThere might be something worthyIf only you can wait for the surprise

I Didn’t Mean To Get Too Personal

I didn’t mean to get too personalI merely noticed your exposed slipMy thoughts took me to uncharted watersThinking of us – alone- a subtle skinny dipAn abandoned wedding gown crumpledThe satin too white against your laceI didn’t know what I was supposed to feelThough I could see the muted joy in your faceYou kicked off

With The Inmates Running The Asylum

With the inmates running the asylum The cavernous tunnels are cold & dank It can be difficult to remember the faces The ones who put you here, the ones to thank But we’re not twiddling our thumbs at night We’re sharpening our words for vengeful retort You think we’re numbed & harmless fools Our bunker:

Sitting At The Windowsill

Sitting at the windowsillFingers stained by my inkFace red & tranquilly humbledCold & tumbled; too frozen to thinkThe nights are dropping tempsI’ll need to do everything to keep warmThough I’m unwrapping each layerEagerly embracing your gracious formLife is a fine chance to love youTrading kisses as I adjust your weary crownTelling stories of our younger

Just A Guy With A Pen

I’m not an artist, just a guy with a penUpon a lonely night, I started to writeI jotted down some rhymes for meTeen angst channeled into the lightI’ve never looked back to thinkI just keep writing over the decadesI don’t edit my feelings nor judge youPurely an attempt for the soul not to fade

Knowing The Sun Will Shine Again

Knowing the sun will shine again I sit here basking in the midnight air A quiet sip from my enduring courage Thinking naughty thoughts of my lady fair Knowing I can’t sleep when I can write I fall back into my imaginative stupor Only to be shook by the dawn’s yawn Daylight kicks me swift,

I’ve Been Thinking About You

I’ve been thinking about you Draped in straps & buckles that push Silks, lace & any cloth at all Stretching thin across your tush The day has been long & tiring & your love is exactly what I need Let my eyes devour every curve No promise to be gentle in my greed

Looking Past Clear Stars

Looking past clear starsEach universe has a split seamStretch your fingers wideLeave behind your American DreamBe easy & think yourself freeOur minds hold us back in chainsSilently slip through the holeNever following you with their pains

Collecting Fresh-Faced Girls With Monogrammed Asses

Collecting fresh faced girls with monogrammed assesSpending the morning listening to the BluesAn old soul within that youthful mindframeToe tapping, blackout shades & misleading tattoosI begin to think I’m the one luredBut all we have between us is coffee stained mug ringsEmbrace the possibilities of the momentJoin in the beauty of desperate sorrow of BB

I’m Not Your Reluctant Hero

  I’m not your reluctant heroI’m nothing along those linesDon’t think so highly of a foolWith your lips crumbling into your winePlease don’t raise me up to be muchI’m not what you see with your eyesA figment of an imagination’s dreamI’m lost within these warm Florida skies

It Was A One-Eyed Kind Of Morn

It was a one-eyed kind of morn With evening’s festivities going awry I scrawled out all I could remember Once a gentleman, turned drunken guy Slight images of a lovely form Olfactory sparks upon my brain Sketching the party’s guest list But no new faces could remain Racking my skull for a proper memory Writing

Floating Amongst The Blue

Floating amongst the blueMy bones drying in the heatI’m still thinking about youRelaxation, such a novel treatLife cherished in these daysNot the change you wanted to seeTime ignored in many waysI am sorry, for I am still only me

Fluttering Hearts On A Broken Trail

Fluttering hearts on a broken trailDo you know your own soulToo many nightsToo many sad songsYour mind sent off balanceThinking cursed thoughtsCan you cleanse yourselfAny way to be free

She’s Watching Me

She’s watching me Trying to act shy & coy She wants me to think I’ll be her very first boy She’s loving me Sold on a negative trip Acting so confident Notice her exposed slip She’s needing me What a beautiful mess Pick up her dreams & her fallen dress

C.S. Lewis

“True humility is not thinking less of yourself; it is thinking of yourself less.” ― C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

Coco Chanel

“The most courageous act is still to think for yourself. Aloud.” ― Coco Chanel

Rita May-Brown

“I think the reward for conformity is that everyone likes you except yourself.” ― Rita Mae Brown