Howling At The Fucking (Super) Moon.

Americana Injustica

Caro il Lupo;

Do you know?

that you’re still alive?

Your humanity survives,

the time comes and goes,

tears spill from my eyes,

phantom penned poetry,

and unforgotten prose,

trickle from the winter skies,

like snowflakes on my nose;

a wolf-pack nurtured and led,

has slowly scattered and faded,

but when a full moon’s overhead,

we’re never too far separated;

we’re each still too humbled by,

the shine you put in every eye,

the words you spilled across our lives,

Marcus – your kindness thrives;

I know you’ve passed through this place,

your signature sizzles across the skies,

nobody can replace,

no pencil or pen can retrace,

your ink and quill still permeate,

you can still bring tears to my eyes,

Tonight’s “Super Moon”,

has me fucking howling for you,

head thrown back,

me, and the rest of your pack,

just like that, Marcus…you’re still alive.



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Buttercup's Bullshit

The full moon shines

Through the blinds

I can almost hear your howl

counting days and counting sheep

I lost track at 222

I can hear you say

as I eat my bruschetta

“Meesh don’t eat that mangiacake shit”

the smell still reminds me of that day

and I smile for the first time in awhile

loosing sleep

loosing friends

loosing trust

I really fucked it up this time

my life more of a mess

I must be loosing my mind

I’ll go back on my meds tomorrow

but tonight I just want to sleep

without hearing

the whispers in the wind

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Sweet Provocations


Stand still in pose,

as in the forest wild

our posture becomes

nature’s gift to each

encounter we upright

walk past

notice in the wood,

respond to a delicious scent

an agony of pure ecstasy

sweet, supple, serene

without linen

natural bangs give solace

to man’s inner-beast

a devilish need to procure

the quest of beauty’s repose.


Draw near and taste her nectar

while fingertips release her sweet

eyes glance for assurance

to know this moment,

to taste her essence,

to travel the world that awaits

solo in her sensuality.


*photo credit: pinterest

Cathartic Again

God, this shit keeps happening,

every day I discover some new aspect

of my shallow exterior

the scary reality that pokes holes in my interior.

In the public eye I do the sorts of things that people praise

take all the credit in the world, and later on,

when alone without the crowd or the onlookers,

(and there are the haters)

I will crawl back into my little hole of despair.

Fleeting moments why can’t they remain forever,

all the time,

every wake of day,

what challenges are there that prevent

this life to engage rather than the constant decay.

That survival shit,

well, the record player is starting to scratch the vinyl

to such a degree,

the music no longer carries any sort of aesthetic value.

I could ask you what you imagine I am thinking right now,

and you might very well be correct,

I just wish that somehow,

she might.


Americana Injustica

The gates,
built in his absence,
to keep this place secure…
they shake,
they rattle,
woe they say,
the gatekeepers,
never forewarned,
of the bridges burned;
and here rides He,
my Champion,
horses galloping,
a God of the Sun,
the skin of bronze,
the heart of strong,
the lifetimes,
and lifetimes,
I’ve listened,
so many times,
naked and sprawled,
entranced and enthralled…
by my returning,
Champion’s victory song,
destiny, it’s called,
this string tied,
from his heartbeats,
to mine.

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What I Hope, What You Believe

Is when I’m gone I might still be there,

well sort of someone where

I might belong,

or he does or even she should be

there with you as you are tonight creating your moment alone,

when together can you imagine how we might own

the night, the stars, the moon,

all the spectacular aspects that would further design

a night we could call our own.

I’m laying in bed, a naked chest, a few linens nearby,

imagining when you were here your hands, exploring every part

of who I wanted you to think I might be at that moment.

I’m laying here tonight,

wondering if you might be doing the same,

and if just for a second you closed your eyes,

could you feel me,

could you believe me to be the touch that begins

your discrete journey toward that sort of magic,

that was when you remembered how we did it,

together in the moonlight, undressed, naked to the world.

I wonder tonight as I lay here alone,

I’m curious how often you miight go back there,

in order to settle your nerves, or perhaps

when you do, that restlessness returns.

Instead, you might just trace a few lines along your own naked skin,

and the journey begins …