PoeticallyIncorrect

In the year 3000 my birthday will be on a Friday

Winnemucca.

The detour changed out way That day we drove into Winnemucca

You were the first to notice the elk In the front yard of the hotel/bar

I rode happily on it's back, into a snapshot It had primer and a bondo scar But the antlers were real

The detour let us stretch It gave my foot a rest Accelerator,    huminator

Then we were off, on our quest

Leaving Winnemucca behind.

when I failed

to follow

won it’s war with my pen.

I’m trying to write something

    ANYTHING at least once a day

hopefully more

            I will write as fast as I can

no re-write just the raw ingredients

       of my soul.

won it's war with my pen.

I'm trying to write something

    ANYTHING at least once a day

hopefully more

            I will write as fast as I can

no re-write just the raw ingredients

the smell of your smoke makes me think of the bricks water stained and gray they were always cold and dead haunting my nights

the WWII bed with its chipped paint it's character was defiance filthy mattress on worn out springs in the room of horror the thick smell of decay

where I lay

I've died a thousand times for you.

I fear the unknown Advance toward gnashing teeth

A grinding of who I am My pieces marched over and forgotten

You sweetly open old wounds Smile         and it's great to see you

Excuse me for feeling alone And afraid

Oh how I dread thinking of you And how I smile when I do

My logic is my therapy

If I could just tell you Come out of this shell Break free and breath For the first time

But I cannot grasp my actions Feelings that change me from RED to blue

I've no control of wandering thoughts or thinking of you

And then I heard your name In the south spring wind

Exiled to this prairie ocean Watching the grain sway

Your breath on my neck       Driving my solitude to madness

I want   to paint you in watercolors.

Until nothing is left but you

      dripping with paint

Peal bug eating a watermelon Slips down to the ground Swimming in melon juice Doing the back stroke, until he drowns.

Humbly laughing at the sound Don't really care as the sound goes round Smile and say "I see your point," Even though I don't.

Reach into my pocket Pull out a handful of earth Find a new quarter-dollar Man what's, that worth? 

I've never been to Delaware And I don't really care if it was the first Because they don't have mountains I'm really into the earth.

No boats or planes to take off or sail I'd rather sort mail to somebody who doesn't live here anymore He is probably now in jail.

I've washed my hands, but the fish is still there Fish don't have feelings so they don't care That's why it doesn't bother me to kill them And watch.

They seem so damn shiny Like aqua-blue gloss

I bet it's so great to swim without light When you go down deep there is nothing but night Feel the warm caress, the pressure, the press Close your eyes now there is no more stress And drowning in darkness is as good as it gets.

Pudding is a girl I met in Black Water Bayou, Mississippi. Pudding kept a book of the dead in and around Black Water. It was this    that I met her while fueling up my van on a cross-country drive, that she allowed me to look into her book of death. Years later I wrote about that contact in my life, my early days. My days in the van.

Puddings Book Of Records.

Pudding: This old book Pudding: I wish never to open you, to take a look Pudding: And now because of you, I have to

Pudding: Oh to see the dates   of when they met Pudding: To read of Love  or   a first Kiss Pudding: And watch the branches    watch them grow Pudding: With lovers sailing into the unknown

Pudding: Yes, because of you,  we look at the past Pudding: And oh! How the time has gone by so fast Pudding: And every line I have written with great care Pudding: Of the Weddings, and Births, Life and Death you know.

Pudding: I see a tear wash down your check Pudding: Careful now or this old ink will streak Pudding: We caint have that    in case someone is to have a look Pudding: And they may someday see Your name Pudding: In my book Pudding: Of good-bye's

The morning finally came I earned my Gold Ring I've finally counted off the dream Celebrating on my own Thinking of Friends I have known.

As I switch to starboard tack Time to reflect My mind traveler's back To all that I've done and seen Like sailing once around Caledonia With the Queen.

And now     on this special day Below the 40's Left Ear to the Land I push the Gold Ring through As the Cape glides by.

Life is not over yet.

bearing down on me I cant see like the air I breath

Crashing hard and strong a wave large and long only a                  minute

and it washes over me

and the feeling is                   gone.

Here there is rage Unspoken Quiet and building Fighting to stay in Fighting to get out

Here there is rage Constant And it never lets up Clouding my judgment Clouding my thoughts

Here there is rage Unstable Explosive and Flammable Impossible to extinguish Impossible to burn out

Here there is RAGE !

Falling

Slow Old Dying

Drowning Crying

Falling Nowhere

Nothing

Spying Stealing Lying

Giving Up

Putting Off

Disappointment

Not Knowing

Falling

no one knows my thoughts no one knows my mind no one knows the darkness or secrets that I hide there is no direction like fish blazing silently through the sea then confusion takes over and that's all I need it gets the cycle rolling and never am I free from the darkness