these aerial roots
into all that’s diverse
from all that listening
into chart stomping and romping
is all that’s cool in comprehending,
and gives it tribal meaning
to all that’s super in the double-deckers,
when the powers of opportunities
go wherever the need arises
to simply perch comfortably atop huge boulders
in the fully functional
out of the layers
in the four seasons
along the shores of lake erie.


it’s a totally hot –
to get splashier
in the ovals
to flirt like a fool
in the keyboard
for real flyin fingers
like a seductive serenader.
it’s been an aged
in the longer i go,
to get like smoother
comin out of the turns,
to make it all super-charged
in all that’s worthwhile.
all this skin contact
in my ultimate maneuvers,
is a feel free –
gotta be just the way i gotta be
in the provocative,
to make my bodypaint
ultra in the acceleratin n gettin it on
from inside my racin hood.


he looks drained –
all that work on the job
is taking a considerable toll
on his lifestyle –
the stud that he is.
his eyes –
they don’t have that
sex appeal give away look
every time a woman walks by.
that smile –
it just isn’t what it used to be,
and his strut –
it lacks that swagger.
his dialogue lately…
has taken on a tone of great concern
without the ramblings
of his sexual conquests.
it’s tough on him,
when it comes to woody wilt syndrome!!


it’s a reachin for the sky,
cause words need a little dancin.
it’s all about learnin
to find a way to get outta the dark
and play it right
in all the bases.
cause it’s time
for a little show n tellin
to find a little bit of alright
in a sensual slow dash up the channel,
cause i’m not interested
in a little bit on the side.
but her northern country comfort
is lightenin for the candle,
cause a sailor’s cup of tea
can make it worthwhile
to feel like
her only porn star poet.


ya walked into crowded classroom
n sat in middle of front row,
as your hair danced curls
softly in hallways
upon your shoulders.
ya spoke with cotton candy softness
thru your lips like apple skins.
ya turned papes of book
with delicate love taps,
as ya stared at expressive words
thru hidden fields of romantic poets.
ya were led to believe,
nothin could harm your soul
if ya bathed your heart with love.
ya closed the book,
n forgot their meanings
when ya accepted first line moves.
in back row ya didn’t see
quiet eyes smothered in same book.
now ya are far away,
n these words carry just carry a heart
explodin out from a back seat poet.


i’m sittin on a bench
at perry square
in the center of erie pa.
across from me,
three young african americans
in their twenties
hold hands in prayer.
i have no complaints.

a white man in his late forties
to early fifties,
holds a bottle of hard liquor
in a paper sack
and takes a swig,
then passes it around.
i’m blendin in with the scene.
i have no complaints.


sometimes it’s nice
just to drive poetry
in a slow motion
so that visuals
don’t come crashin
in front of ya.
it’s good to use signals
to show your exact path,
n let the world know
to slow down
for somethin important.
if ya must,
throw on the seatbelt
in case profanity
needs to be harnessed.
look in mirror
to see if somethin
might of been left behind
for squealin images
to move up front.
shift gears for higher elevations
when the hills are hard to climb.
use headlights to guide yourself
in the darkness
when there is so much darkness
that the action in front
doesn’t let ya pass the artillery line.
drop into neutral
to rest for a spell.
nevertheless, leave yourself in park
to sit n think if your poem
is really complete.


takin a tea-spoon of sugar
from partially filled bowl
and slowly sprinkle granules on cereal,
leaves the eyes watchin motion as they fall.
with a gallon of milk
about half empty
that sits in the fridge
with not much else in it,
seems to be plenty to get through the day.
i pour the milk
in the bowl n stir up the wheaties,
as the spoon clangs here and there
throughout the bowl …
the only sounds carryin on this place.
but i turn on the tv,
n take bite after bite
to watch the news.
the bowl becomes empty,
as thoughts run into the husk of mornin
with a sunrise to find the very meanin of life.
if only she was beside me with her bowl
slowly sprinkin sugar in hers
to make the day feel like a sugar bowl
at this lonely table,
n wishin life
was more than a bowl of wheaties
to get me through the day.


went to the bar,
n to the left,
patrons surrounded the pool table
n suckin down their brews.
a young lady with blonde hair,
seductive in spirit
in her pose
with huggin denim jeans
about ready to stroke the cue ball
upon the freshly laid rack
(ya she had a rack too…haha).
immediately to the right,
the dj was playin
a tune by alice cooper, “i’m eighteen.”
dance floor was full,
n ladies hips gyratin,
causin a stir amongst some of the men
in the flashin lights.
i headed straight to the bar,
and ordered a brew
while continuin my observations in the moment.
the ladies came in pairs, groups, or main squeezes.
drained my beer,
n ordered another,
n noticed a lady
sittin alone at the far end of the bar.
shot glasses in front of her,
and stairin straight ahead.
i comsumed my brew,
n then flashed some bills
for the attention of the bartender.
just as i got my brew,
cheap trick’s, “the flame” was playin,
n as it always does
completely infiltrated my spirit,
n eventually caused a slight blur in my eyes.
i immediately left after that,
n realized it wasn’t for me,
n went home n buried my nose in a book
to feel comfortable again
with a companion that takes me places.