feelin grounded –
in a well grounded
peaceful environment,
is an absolute compulsion distinction.
it’s that feel of being on a crowded airplane
with that all cramped up arrangement
depictin life’s existence,
while crossin the french alps
in a heavy rain,
and enduring massive air pockets of disturbance.
pryin open the lotus,
in a visual to grow
brighter n brighter,
requires massive muscles.
here the eye-lids flutter,
while the most of delicate changes
enhance thought forms,
in a workin me over n over
with utter enthusiasm
in my subconscious mind
without me know in it.
as it may,
it snuggles words up against my ears
to counteract rocky disturbances.
suddenly, the last thing
i want to do –
the very thing
I need to do:
get it down on paper,
so the positive moment
can holler
at the top of its lungs.


when babies cry,
i have to leave the residence.
it’s from being higly sensitive to the sound,
and from havin flashbacks.
when my youngest son was born,
i was workin seven days a week,
twelve hour days.
on top of that,
had a part time job
workin fours hours a night.
the one i was with
didn’t want to work,
or even take initiative
to have formula ready.
back in the 80’s,
ya had to boil water
and then add the formula.
didn’t get much sleep
during this stretch run
of workin so many hours.
still, i had to get up
and take care of the child.
he had colic in the worst way,
and it’s no wonder
life back then was a nightmare.
i had too much responsibility,
and sometimes i just have to hold back
the watery eye treatment.


It’s when a man
reaches deep within,
and reads himself,
and in conjunction
while doing that,
he’s readin into –
how she wakes up
in the mornin beside ya,
because he spent the time
holdin the pen,
as if she was leaving
soft strokes
in all her curves
on the paper,
as it left a pure outline
into the plot carried out
from her soul
on how to be magical
the moment
you took the time
to read her into your writing !!


if i may,
take pulls from the 1955 classic movie,
“seven year itch,”
starring marilyn monroe n billy wilder.
to visualize monroe’s dress
blowing up a subway grating,
is all to metaphoric
for all that is annoying
in a work life sitting on a forklift.
it’s a contagious skin irritant
in the scratching of scabs
of mis-aligned social behavior.
marilyn has always been
an aura like queen in my heart.
this french arrogant spirit
running in my genes,
is appropriately imagined
for those that know a little history.
this die-hard urge to move on,
that’s just not limited to marital infidelity,
leave bold words
from all that difficulty
in needing a life for utmost relief.
maybe it’s time it reaches paris
while standing high up on the eiffel tower.
all these years as an adult –
it’s been incredibly unfaithful
in the creative exacerbated eye.
wouldn’t it be something
if this was ran in US newspapers?


absolutely right now,
here at this place –
symbolism is an integration
of the big three –
self, soul, and dreams.
it’s a wild-eyed spiritual developer
when it comes to triangles.
it’s a 3D apparatus
in greater spectrums of awareness,
commanding power in blades like razors,
of which is so natural in energy,
it’s like a bunch of windmills
standing tall where the winds make them hum.
it’s a little psychic,
incredibly bountiful in emotional affairs,
as if hanging in the appalachians
in the catskills of the empire state,
where the highest peak
is needed for engagements in viewable perspectives
in a slide mountain
take it to resorts in popular vacation sightseeing.
all this build up of wonder
is the pyramids eye
dangling in the triangles
straight out of the third eye
that’s invisible in my forehead.