here's to the journey

with belle

in the bath,

i study

the lines,

the smile,

mirrored in

my image.

there i am

that infamous explorer

drunk and wild,

riding the north star

into storms

and heavens

only adventurers

know.

my first mate beckons

from a sea of bubbles

and i know it's time

to travel downstairs,

downstream -

to find our port and name it

with pen.

goodnight my

sweet love

may the wind

always be at our backs and

the sunshine warm

upon our faces

now

until forever.

shootin' hoop

i've been

engaged to a

mr.

and we played

one-on-one

in a closed court

but that hoop

hung our

knuckle ball

and my dish

ran away with

a spoon

no honey do

list here -

just a, to do

because i'm busy

shootin' free throws

to score a better me

and wonder if mrs.

will ever be a trophy

by my bed

immunity head

sittin' heavy in

a monarch's seat of fear.

like 1918,

this flu is pandemic

and my heart is contagious.

can't sleep

knowing bugs bite

no matter the smile.

grew up beyond death

in the land of never

and damn, i love you

more than dreams allow.

being a parent is hard.

and sometimes harder.

love you my belle.

"miss immunity head."

scorpio's prophecy

i hung up the phone to

a chest full of drawers:

letters, wishes,

drawings and bottles -

wine, musk,

and your peanut sauce

all labeled by year and vintage.

i know:

love is freedom,

love is pain,

love is your hand on my ass,

and my wishful thinking.

be.

and know that this too will pass.

and be again.

i sculpt lines under my eyes

to recall learnings

and to forget the losses -

only to wonder

when scorpio's moon

will be a good vintage.

zoo

belle and i went to the zoo.

as we were driving south,

i thought about that writer vegetarian

protesting the "tao of zoo."

i recall late 90's punk shows

lined with animal activists

(gory chicken pamphlets ring a bell?)

preaching passionately against

animal captivity and cruelty

and i wonder

why the gutter punks

never rallied against

the mass incarceration of kids,

you know, public school.

at least zoos try

to create habitat resembling "the wild"

and i ain't ever seen

a classroom

built in the trees.

have you?

act then talk

i can't tell 

you 

to do,

until 

i have tried 

it too

the more

weary

i be,

the more

i want

you 

to act 

fearlessly

act 

then

talk.

what i think

wearing a weeks worry 

cuffed in my blue jeans

i found refuge in the resurrection of yesterday's lover.

 

and who said lovers can't be friends?

i did.  but then time passed, and MISS matured into

WOMAN who saw beyond her wine soaked lips.

lust, if you're scribbling short stories, but introduce

soulfire named BELLE and my game withers, my dignity rises,

and i think i can, i think i can, 

until YOU and I are,

swinging in each others arms

shouting gospels until we cry wolf.

i love you.  i love the way your head sits on my shoulder

little girl, and ex-lover too.  the stress is gone,

buried beneath my winter sweaters.  still sweating from this purge.

a love letter

dear clear lake,

it was never my intention to grow attached to your cattails or whistle guthrie by your flaccid banks. but i have and i do.  i've fallen in your depths, sweet lady - seen belle delight at your holsteins, picked berries under your alders, and conversed patiently with your elders.  i love you and thank you for each kiss of dew across my cheek.  simple and true, my love.  

until tomorrow,

jh

a something

there's a something 

following me

through.

a thud,

bang, or rustle - 

i know its there

as i pick blackberries,

feed belle a bottle,

wash the breakfast bowls.

i hear it, feel it, 

over there,

below me-

like a puppy's nose 

against my ankle

not sure what or why

but i'll keep on 

and hope that it 

does too.

slaughter

walking up a country road

mirabelle and i encountered

cow slaughter.  

i couldn't protect 

her or i

from this reality,

so i spoke as if i knew

and asked her to tell me

everything.

she said,

"life is,

as death is,

and both are."

and we kept on

as if we were,

but i wasn't sure 

why.

LOVE LIFE

two men 

said -

love life

one in a song,

the other on

a sign 

"love life"

simply

written 

or said

both men

are true

but fuck if it

ain't false

sometimes.

tail feathers

wind whipped leaves

and your word 

quivers

no truth

can hide in

your feathers

and you'll wait 

'til the storm 

has passed

to take a stand

but it won't fly

in this nest

anymore.

wise pop

how are you?

i'm alright, he said

only alright?

it's not that things

aren't well, 

i just want you and belle

to be happy.

we are happy,

just hit a few bumps

in the road today,

that's all

well, if you're happy

then i'm happy,

he said

we held hands and

tears melted 

his soft cheeks

and i knew

what 

he said 

was right.

love is freedom

"our parents taught us to be careful with glasses and with our bodies. they taught us that the passions of childhood are impossible, that we should trust men in white suits, that people cannot perform miracles, and that no one leaves on a journey without knowing where they are going. break the glass, i thought to myself, because it's a symbolic gesture. try to understand that i have broken many things within myself that were much more important than glass and i'm happy i did. resolve your own internal battle and break the glass."

last night i awoke and walked into the garden's dew. mist collected in my curls and i wept. love came to me and i accepted. the Mother, the Woman, i had met seven years ago returned to my side. above me, showering me with truth, i lay open, gutted from its entirety. i hear you, breathe you, this water and dirt enveloping me is love.

i've been paralyzed with fear - fear of rejection, acceptance, and even success. sometimes i couldn't rise out of bed, under sheets of darkness, disappointment. the sun in my sky was a bruised apple and my heart was swollen with shallow sexual compliments and drunken abatements.

god is love. did you hear me, god is love. but can i give love without the promise of return? without dogmatic repercussions and compulsive hair pulling? can i give it without a "you" to give it to? can i save it for me?

cause damn, i thought my joy, ecstasy came from you. i cried for days when you wouldn't acknowledge, accept my love, you drowned in those blue blankets and i stared out upon the sea of asphalt for your profile in the shadows. but my pyramid was building. brick by brick. and if god created us for love then everything leading us to sadness is of our own doing. own it.

i thought love meant security, a pact against all odds, a commitment. but every promise i've made a mutiny on. and if i fall love, may it be from a high place because i am ready to sit in silence, to jump in the inferno of my own madness and sip the froth.

i knew i wanted this. to break the looking glass that peers out instead of in. i see you sitting there. do you see me?

stress relief

i was driving

down the freeway

with daily stress on

my brow

and found myself

pondering

the profession

of massage

i received

my first massaging

last weekend

from a 

dark haired woman 

who held my hand 

like a lover

during orgasm

god, when

was the last time

i did that?

with left hand

on the steering wheel,

i reached 

down to my crotch

and imagined

and remembered

until i came

right there

in the driver's seat

and  

honestly, it was

just that simple

to find relief

freedom ain't free

i have one sentence to fit everything because sentence should be spelled sentance the way i pronounce it and the 8 o'clock hour has inspired all these fucking conundrums in and around my dome like how i only have one life to live, minus the soap opera plus the ex-lover who complicates business because if i build it you will come but i'm afraid of failure so this isn't a school, academy, or center i'm constructing because those titles are loaded dogma and i can't stand associating myself with MIT teacher martyrs sucking institutional penis, but i have to approach and act with acceptance otherwise i'm as crooked as the cocks-man who unravels my existence, period

if i build it they will come, if i build it you will come, now shut up and do, period

A.I.

cheez-its

of modern

science

savor

the taste

of this

artificial 

intelligence.

beach haiku

family members

with walking sticks

syncopate

beach mantras

belle rides

backside

arms stretched

her airplane wings

minus tide

plus mom and dad

with 10 sand fleas

marching up my leg

a boat 

floats offshore

captainless, 

perhaps plundered

back to the car,

3 generations,

hear their echo

in the shell.

m&m

gobbling m&m's and 

slurping twisted zin 

couch-side on a friday night.

a four star calamity?

damn.  i hope not.  

but i did experience a 

hypercolor  rush

when i thought 

we might cross paths today

and now i'm trying to 

delete your junk from

my mind map

with cheap american euphemisms 

and self gratification

alas, to no avail.

you paved an interstate 

through my netherlands

no indulgence can erode.

must be time for bed.

yes indeed.

reflections on success

driving, i came to this conclusion:

good writers are honest thinkers.

you've got to ink 

your obsessions, oddities -

underpants.

about the time 

you slipped and shit yourself

on a dusty logging road in 

northern california

or the lover who

ate you out

with chewing gum in his mouth;

and the friend 

who painted your ass yellow 

at a 40th birthday party.

i don't know.

but i used to steal 

panties by the dozen

from jc penny

and i ain't famous yet.

so i'll keep writing to 

see if i get any closer

to the truth.

still waiting at the slide

in kindergarten

i frequented the park

like a well worn 

barstool.

on the slide

was bonnie, 

with storybook curls,

staring at me.

god, i wanted to

hold her hand,

so i asked her

to be my friend.

she said 

no, not now, 

but maybe 

later.

and yesterday

i received an email

from a man

i frequented

saying the same

thing.

i'm still waiting

on both

for a better 

offer.

you

i like you 

best

after i've 

had a drink

or two.

what?

you said.

yes, 

darling

it's true.

and there's only 

one more 

bottle

with 

your name 

on it.

so,

you were 

saying...

never judge a book

book shelf

short and black

twenty books

mostly bukowski

where's keats, 

thoreau, octavio?

your house

earning interest

books like

booze flow

liberally from 

my library

but hank

stays put

i need

my plonk

to be

in stock.

poor man's yoga

face down

stretched lean -

carpet the 

fragrance of

purple,

the orient, 

that house my parents rented,

this languid snake

has no bones

satori.

photo shoot

cap to skull,

crab to shell,

he acquired

entry 

alleyside.

camera to hand,

cut to paste,

he captured 

faces 

beflummoxed.

cat to muse,

cage to bird,

he drew me

in tongue -

no eraser.

child to child,

we have

a long way

to go.

click.

fred's homework

fred rye V

handed me

his homework

one year

and 75 days

late.

yellowed paper, 

in faded pencil - 

ancient 

manuscripts

from a 

high schooler's

tomb.

i said,

"what do you

want for this?"

and he replied,

"recognition."

we swapped smiles

and i set the stack

of post-dated

past behind

us.

"looks like you're

set to graduate

fred."

and he 

reminded me, 

"it's never too

late to have

a happy childhood."

i stood here once

when a gust of wind hit

me like the fist of an

infamous grade school

bully, 

kurt girky.

i never knew

sand could

penetrate

skin

or

infiltrate

ears.

go here

if you can.

roll call

cemetery 

attendance

"davis - 

here.

douglas - 

yes.

marshall, 

mr. and mrs. -

say i."

no one's

tardy

but it's

late

afternoon

and

we're

strolling

suburban

burial grounds

looking for 

our neighbor

but i

can't remember

his name.

heads or tails?

i know

some good people

who call themselves

buddhists 

but how the hell

can anyone

BE

a buddhist?

ANATTA dammit.

and you can't

BECOME enlightened

for fuck's sake.

bottom line:

suffering originates in

the human desire

to BE something other

than nothing. 

seriously.

if i smoked,

i'd light up

and throw a penny 

in the air.

heads or tails?

god, i'm an asshole

tonight.

i need a kiss and

a mirror.

may i be your valentine?

adjacent to

slumber,

two candles flicker

across ceramic tile.

on the bathroom floor 

my after hours studio -

crafting valentines and

pouring ruby slippers

into glass.

door slightly ajar with

ears astute for tiny dancers,

i write love letters

to you, auntie, and

grandma.

a dimpled hand shuffles

in the bedroom.

i rise to sail the sea

of darkness to you,

my lips like magnets

find your forehead.

silence. i return to port

to set my pen's anchor.

cupid's quill drenched in

your reservoir of knowledge

and beauty.

because of you

i have something 

to say.

love is freedom,

my darling.

tell me more...

a lingering seriousness

brooding mirror face,

grimace -

beneath my eyes.

it's serious.

why?

a friend displaced.

who?

that leo with long hair.

so?

i still believe in happy endings.

hmm...

seagulls

in a swollen pasture.

i can't count how many

but there are plenty.

i wonder when this 

feeling will lift.  leave.

when the leo

summons the birds

to shore?

perhaps.

still waiting.

for what?

i'd like

do you ever say, "i'd like to..."

and then espouse reasons why

your likes are impossible,

illogical, and ill-conceived?

sure. i do too. but i am quitting,

today.

i'm putting this salem slim light

out and lighting a candle of

remembrance

for the dream of paris under an umbrella,

for the want of a technicolored lover who reciprocates,

for the dinner party that lasts for 7 days and nights.

i'm ready to burn a steady oil

to set my word in plaster and

tend to it as a springtime garden.

i'll live and love

sustainably,

listen with intention and reverence,

and bathe belle with sloppy mom

kisses until we both expire from

tears of laughter.

now comes the hard part.

hold my hand and let's fly,

together we will.

air aversion

i am plagued by

a reoccurring dream.

i am in an airplane

a boeing 747.

i perch anxious in my seat

a woman sat next to me.

i feel the plane take off

a revving engine.

i look out the window

a cityscape gray.

i wait to gain altitude

a voice declares emergency.

i see the tops of tall buildings

a little too clearly.

i panic.

i scream.

i cover my face.

i awaken upset.

a glass of water, please?

anniversary

it's been nearly a year since i posted my first poem-like-attempt on here.

what did i hope to accomplish?  to share my writing with someone, perhaps a "one" who i'd never met and connect.  or piss off.  or fall in love with.  

i write because i am.  i write because i talk in circles.  because women break my heart and men tickle me to death.  i put words together like a seamstress with a bent needle.  i write like a scorpio.  belligerent and lusty.  words find me after a good fight, a documentary about migration, and well into a bottle of wine.  i can write sober and i will.

there is truth and ignorance in my words.  like a bicycle wheel, i have spoke-n.  ha.  that is the most brilliant line i have said today.  sorry.  that is pretentious.  

welcome.

coyote and crow.

coyote and crow met for a drink.

crow lit a camel, "night or day?"

"always day." said coyote.

"really? never would a guessed."

"ole' lonely finds me at dusk, crow."  

coyote took a drink.

midnight thirteen.

he's howling outside my window.

god damn hound of the baskervilles.  

his nose raw red with muddied mane,

sullen beast wails to no kindred echo

like a man left suddenly widowed.

i hit the flood light to send him packing.

"closing time boys."  the bartender

wiped down the bar.

crow threw down a quarter and 

coyote licked his lip, left the bar

and crossed the street

into darkness.

leather coat

the banquet was full of prime rib.  women laced in corsets.  men sweating tuxedos.  he sat heavy at the bar, arms longer than expected - hair that held gel.  she sipped from pink madness and approached with a napkin spiked to her heel.

"may i?" she perched, pulling the skirt taunt under her ass like a christmas ribbon to a child's finger.  "i'm juliette."  she smiled, selling real estate between molars.  dipping her hand deep into purse, she pulled out a receipt scribbled in ball point madness.  

"care to hear a story?" she read.  he stood, dawning a black leather jacket.  it smelled like a beating.  the servers shouted last call for american slop and she put the paper to bed.

foot speak love

beneath you

my naked foot

reminds me

it's time.

your beauty 

eclipses the moon gaze

and i awake embraced -

full of shameless hope.

midnight jazz 

we wander through

pages unscripted.

write with me.

learned

pool stick

sticking me again

lesson learned

twice.

co-worker brian

his head

a penny

on a desk

disproportionate.

effeminate

hands clutch

my stapler -

give it back.

licking toads

like envelopes

talking 

on my telephone,

to his mother.

sitting cross-legged in the bathroom

eating spaghetti

i am alone (but you are not alone)

there are 2 scabs on my toes from shoes expired in 2000

and a glass of wine on a nearby ledge, 2/3 full. 

optimism.

it's time to bury this leaf in mud's melting pot.

run from the reaper to convince myself there is

still flesh in the body of your sentences

but karma surrounds

me with jumping spiders, those reincarnates of resentment.

amber showers fossilize love's learnings,

skeletons of desire, disaster, indulgent boners.

dna of a woman woven together,

tattered patterns make my

slumbers' blanket.

sleep to remember.

sleep to forget.

and goodnight.

stranger poems

recently, i posted a profile on the stranger's lovelab site. don't judge. there is something fascinating about people's descriptions of self and i created a poem from an array of personal ad headlines. my rules were 2: never put lines from the same person back to back and no filler words to help transitions.  

let me begin.

This part makes me laugh and feel icky at the same time. I just transformed 4 lbs of meat into balls. To make it simple, lets just think about it in terms of work and play. I enjoy the night life, having finally overcome a lifelong bout with a near-debilitating stuttering problem. I enjoy my little world of improv theater, filmmaking, friends, karaoke, writing funny songs for people, sleeping in on Saturdays, creating things, eating food, hanging with babies, surprises, live music in small venues, pubs, beer, martinis, movies and odd bits of pop culture trivia. All in all, it will be a delish addition to the Swedish christmas feast we're having. And I scrub up well.

I’m a well-hung sexually talented stud looking for a married woman who wants to make her husband jealous in order to procure expensive gifts from him. Tricky little mousey....you stole my cheese. I am what i am, a tragically disfigured man from a paper-mill explosion, i'm just now getting back into the swing. The meat is now known as Swedish meatballs. I believe in a world where everyone is treated with respect, and it is far better to help others than to be greedy. ( i.e. john lennon's 'imagine') and I have a terrible problem with staring at people - I wish I could draw everyone I come in to contact with.

Kinky Little Kitten. Here's what I do and what I like:
I'm pretty adaptable, and enjoy a wide range of things. A person's life can be divided into a number of different categories. Love, Meditation, Yoga, Cuddling, Nature, Camping, Hiking, Reading, Movies, Visionary Art, Learning, Audio lectures, Speeches, Plants, Mushrooms, Fulfilling my required duties in our democracy, World Peace, Communication, Vegetarianism, Environmentalism, Buddhism. I'm a male art model with a grant from the Endowment For the Arts, and a member of the community in good standing, seeks skinny love magician, muse, and life-force generator for the purposes of dreaming together.

While I tend towards jeans and boots, I'm not afraid to put on a suit.
I had a tarot reading some years ago that the girl of my dreams would be introduced to me through a stranger...and that my parents wouldn't like her. Now I'm looking for nothing and no one that cares about nothing and no one but doesn't want to be alone.

merry christmas.