I AM A HORSE.

You are a rat,
I am a horse.

you are a man,
I am a woman.

You are a Sea Cowboy,
I am a land Cowgirl.

You are night.

I am day.

You are mythology,
I am Poetry.

You are a pencil,

I am a pen

You are Rock N' Roll,

I am the Blues.

You are Morrison,

I am Joplin.

You are the tip of the boot,

I am the sole.

You are a head of curls,

I am straight head of hair.

You are Sage, 

I am Piñon 

You are a musician,

I am practicing.

You are a wall of weapons,

I am a dagger.

You are a loud ear piercing laugh, 

I am the cause.

You are electric,

I am acoustic.

You are giving,

I am a thief,

To all the clothes
in your closet                             

March 28, 2016 - Arco, Idaho

RED SIXTEEN.

HWY 80 HEADED WEST TO RENO

Sky scraper lights, 

escalators

baby boomers on coke

rich testoseron on gin.

Cheap cigars, 

ACID

slots

Diamonds & 7s

Shrieks of laughter

excitement 

When we win 

big

Defeat.

Roulette,

free champagne 

Lucky #

Red Sixteen

Big Win 

*Break*

All on black?

another cigar

lost it all 

the ball falls on 

RED SIXTEEN 

5 AM

NO money to show for shit

gambling lesson 

from Reno hell,

Johnny Cash

sings us to sleep
the sun rises. 

"I shot a man in Reno

Just to watch him die"

SARDINES.

Sao Miguel, Portugal

We pulled off a dirt road following our sixth sense  

To the the Gray Sea

Tessa strummed imperfect notes on her Eukalale,

fading fast

 as we ran down the labyrinth stone staircase

to meet the water face to face.

the waves shook  

the shore, 

Also shaking the five barrels of emotions 

we each hid in the holsters at our hips.

Sea salt tears,

 a can of sardines, a brick of brie  & a shoe 

 to open a corner store bottle

 of red we had thrown our coins together for.

I

we  fell into conversation,

the same way the rocks had fallen from the hepatic covered cliffs above us

to the seats beneath us

Sharing in growth with the moss 

&

crack creatures

at our feet.

Tessa's Birthday 

THE PARLOR.

Ivanhoe Manor,

Milwaukee WI

(My Home)

My flat was the Parlor of a bloodless blue Mansion

 dating back to the late 1800s.

The light would flood

waves of poetry onto my skin,

across, beneath & between

 my most delicate parts.

At Golden Hour

my shadows would whisper each verse to me, 

the way Cohen would whisper to Marianne.

I wonder if I have ever been a Muse?

To a stranger?

To a loved one?

The way

 I felt Muse 

to the Star in my Parlor

HAZE.

 Flaming River Gorge, Wyoming

(headed south west)

Bare Skin & Sage Brush

The pungent fragrance 

lures her off the highway to heal.

It is there she'll shed her skin, 

ever so similar to the Prairie Rattlesnakes 

amongst her.

The heavy haze holding her spirit prisoner

is forced out with her clear mind,

As she transforms out of fine dust n smoke,

The desert haze knows to meet the horizon.

"we will shed many skins &a we will learn many a times"

-L

SCALLOPS & COHEN.

Belfast, Maine.

In the morning, 

Tessa eats blueberry ice-cream,

it tastes like shit.

we both agree.

New England & Lyme's Disease Fears

A Tic creeps toward me on the steering wheel, 

a scream turns to a swerve on Hwy 1

ashamed of my backbone

Acadias Dashboard mugshot, 

judges my distress

with her dauntless stare.

 In the evening, 

You cook me scallops over maps of Maine

12 scallops & 8 dollars later

we bump hips, 

occasionally stepping on toes,

propane stove.

In the Night,

you lay on the ground 

acting out "loneliness" by Leonard Cohen

three logs and sheeps wool starts the perfect fire. 

I still smell the scallops 

the cabarant is gone.

the empty liter sits beneath the bench,

in the rain.

The black book of poetry is wet, 

it doesn't matter.

All that matters are Cohens words 

he's such a smart guy.

The moose skull above our cabin,

makes me ponder life and death.

DUSTY DETOURS.

New Mexico, HWY 285 

Malia and I had just began to head South from Taos, 

When the sun summoned us from the forever asphalt and it's flat yellow lines to the Garden of the Gods.

But the barb wire spoke volumes against its rays, 

forcing us forward  with nothing but a glimpse of a soft moment in time.

The road became our backdrop,

creme silk on dusty detours.

Our hearts racing in case of stains. 

In this very moment we had not a single notion of what our future would hold,

but soon we would have stories to share, 

stories to light a lost souls way. 

Through doors of shacks, motels, and teepees

roads of asphalt, dirt, and dust

we had formed a bond as strong as clay.

Malia, my light.

my home.

COTTON MAGIC.

 Ketchum, Idaho
(Frenchman's Bend)

I waited for the sun to rise a bit higher before waking her. 

matching her breathing to mine & the rustle of the wind against the pine. 

there is a song one should appreciate more,  

it is the song of morning, before the world wakes up.

The smoke from last night's fire danced, waltzing & fox trotting to the sky and past my nose, along with smell of smoked salmon.

I remember looking up for what seemed like hours, 

at the crowds of cotton passing by.
time froze in cotton magic. 

light prisms,

freeing us of mind prisons.

ROCKET DREAMS.

  Tennessee & side of the road abandoned amusement parks,

before the tourist hell hole I like to call Pigeon Forge.

You know, 

Mock titanic ships,

upside down haunted houses, 

Giant gorilla's scaling crooked towers with beaming red eyes.

I still think about this burnt red whip, 

but I doubt even the finest elbow grease of all my mechanic-man friends could get it's engine up and running. 

What I was more interested in, was the rocket ship. 

 After 9 hours or so on flat highway cut with corn, 

I would rather just dip out to the moon.

LAKE OF FIRE.

Azores, Sao Miguel, Portugal

the queens and I soaked our pale bodies for hours in hot sulfur springs at the base of three active volcanoes.

--

 The archaic village of Furnas, possesed a history of algerian pirate attacks, notorious for stealing rams before returning to the Barbary coast they came from..

Identifying as a Ram myself,

I felt oddly at peace surrounded by fire & the idea of past mutiny. 

As dusk drew near, 

we took the only road leading home along Lagoa Das Furnas 

"LAKE OF FIRE" 

The five of us attempted to scale the wall to the chapel, My own personal attempt leading to bleeding palms n' broken nails. 

The structure was built on a promise to God. A wealthy man that lived on the island oathed that if God would heal his ill wife, he would build a treasure to thank him by the name of "Nossa Senhora dos Victorias" ...meaning Lady of Victories. 

However, death without regret will soon take us.

leaving the corpse of the man & his wife asleep forever inside the gothic walls.