poblano peppers

he's in the canyon walking with a dog;
she is in front looking for a deer,
but it's too hot for any sensible deer
to be that far from a source of water.
the recent futile, but entertaining chase after a group of young turkeys
is over and out of her mind already.
a few vultures are seen feasting on a very dead hen chicken
that must have strayed from the nearby farm.
the dog doesn't chance the vultures! they
cast a mean glance as she nears.
he remains attentive as he sits on a flat rock trail side.
his ass immediately becomes uncomfortable but his legs are tired
from the three hour walk.
the paper bag is crumbled and almost empty as his hand
gropes inside for whatever food remains.
a few stray clouds momentarily block the bright sun.
he keeps wearing his broad-brimmed hat.
he remembers there was supposed to be a big hullabaloo over the Senate Judiciary
meeting being held in Washington, D.C. that morning!
two people, one woman and one man, are to be cast as the central characters
to deliver testimony, most assuredly of starkly different versions
of a high school party: a he said, she said intrigue.
what would make this compelling is that the guy
was recently nominated by a former reality TV star to become a Supreme Court Justice.
his fate for a successful vote would center on his presumed fitness for that bench.
she would say he assaulted her.  was she lying?
did he thrust his preppy penis towards her body?
did he try to remove her clothes?  Rape her?
did he drink too much beer?  anything?
did he have an accomplice?
would the accomplice remember anything pertinent?
would the verbal battle be sufficient to derail his appointment?
would he still be given the high honor in spite of a woman's recollections
of his youthful misbehavior?  would she be believed?
the dog didn't want to keep hanging around the trail side flat rock,
and he's thinking nothing beyond giving the dog a drink by squirting
a stream from his Camelback water bottle; the dog gets ready with an open mouth.
the water makes the dog cough to clear her throat.
he knows it's time to pick up the pace.
there are flavorful visions of a home cooked meal tapping the glass of his brain wall.
his feet are becoming as sore as his ass,
so he stands and moves off.
he's followed by the dog.  she must be tired.
he wonders is he has any poblano peppers in the pantry.

Miss Natasha and her Golden Showers

they laughed when he spoke
because if it's not broke
he can fix it with a little wink,
full of bells and whistles and the White House kitchen sink
'cause it's open for service 24 hours;
Miss Natasha and her Golden Showers,
a celebrity apprenticeship opening near you;
his Federal Income tax returns long past due,
and at the State dinner wearing fancy tails
going off on fake news heading off the rails.
watching Sean Hannity FOX shows,
believing everything and that's how it goes!
sitting in the audience,
waiting for a glimmer of common sense
all the boastful threats
placing high stakes international bets
playing loose with house money:
it ain't boring and it ain't funny!
and that's how it goes, man,
getting up every morning for an artificial tan,
a medium rare hamburger and a Daffy Duck cartoon;
one quick Mueller story before noon
and here it comes, an outburst and a tweet
heading downtown crossing K street,
into the gutter the wind blown trash
looking for a pussy to grab, looking for cash
and the secret service guards this fancy scene,
a new black Cadillac the hustler's dream;
on the grassy knoll a random puff of smoke
out of their league protecting this piece of joke
and in the city park
passing notes to a stranger in the dark
the guard dogs beginning to bark:
the GOP Lincoln boys
getting out of Dodge with their ethical toys!
all the aisles empty, all the farmers' in a drought
shaking their heads filled with doubt
wondering about free trade
wondering if they'll get laid
wondering if they'll ever get paid
for an honest days' labor;
well, howdy friend, howdy American neighbor.
they laughed when he spoke
because if it's not broke
he can fix it with a little wink,
full of bells and whistles and the White House kitchen sink
'cause it's open for service 24 hours;
Miss Natasha and her Golden Showers,
a celebrity apprenticeship opening near you;
his Federal Income tax returns long past due,
and at the State dinner wearing fancy tails
going off on fake news heading off the rails.
the GOP Lincoln boys
getting out of Dodge with their ethical toys!
all the aisles empty, all the farmers' in a drought
shaking their heads filled with doubt
wondering about free trade
wondering if they'll ever get laid
wondering if they'll ever get paid
for an honest days' labor;
well, howdy friend, howdy American neighbor.

i'm moving away

well,  and you took me by surprise
when i looked into your sweet eyes,
filled with amazing hurtful lies;
but i'm not asking you to apologize
even if you pretended to be nice,
your heart continues to beat as cold as ice.
i asked you once but won't have to ask you twice!
no amount of money will ever pay your price;
long time gone 'cause i'm moving away.
i won't be here tomorrow because i already left yesterday;
well, and there's nothing else we'll need to say.
way down on your knees, it won't help to pray.
i'm the man you tried to bend,
but my wounds are deep and will not mend;
more to my own happiness i must attend;
this is the final page, this is the end.
and you took me by surprise
when i looked into your sweet eyes,
filled with amazing hurtful lies;
but i'm not asking you to apologize
even if you pretended to be nice,
your heart continues to beat as cold as ice
i asked you once but won't have to ask you twice!
no amount of money will ever pay your price.

down to my fingertips

i don't need no doctor,
no harlot with her lips.
i'm shaking from withdraw,
down to my fingertips.
in the summer at night,
you're giving me a shot.
i'm looking for extra;
you gave me all you got.
in the winter at noon,
i'm sipping from your spoon.
if i don't feel alright,
i'll take another bite.
i don't need no doctor,
no artificial high.
i'm shaking from withdraw,
i never wonder why.
i don't need no doctor,
no harlot with her lips.
i'm shaking from withdraw,
down to my fingertips.

out of the shadow

out of the shadow
looking for a popular place to go
maybe Miami or i'll try for Tupelo,
watching out for her new high beams;
and if it's what it seems,
i'll be making another hard turn
trying to relearn
what it takes to make
love burn;
when everything is going fine:
what is hers and what is mine?
i'm trapped inside the cosmic design
where everything is said to be fine.
in her handbag
i found an old sales tag
but my name was missing
and i couldn't brag;
i grabbed a drink,
couldn't find a resting place to really think;
cold nights are moving in;
stayed with my bottle of London gin
for awhile
felt a stupid smile,
all day long
every answer i thought i had was wrong.
out of the shadow
looking for a popular place to go
maybe Miami or i'll try for Tupelo,
watching out for her new high beams;
and if it's what it seems,
i'll be making another hard turn
trying to relearn
what it takes to make
love burn;
when everything is going fine:
what is hers and what is mine?
i'm trapped inside the cosmic design
where everything is said to be fine.

special Cossack charm

gonna get stuck
down on my luck
looking for my Moscow baby
wondering if maybe
she's taking another walk
when all i wanna do is talk
deep into the countryside
where she's trying to hide
but i can see
she's in front of me
throwing her perfume kiss!
nothing suspicious; nothing amiss;
she has that special Cossack charm:
i've already set my alarm.
i'll make amends
if she becomes my new best friend.
nothing suspicious; nothing amiss:
throwing her perfume kiss!
if it's heading for me,
i'll offer myself for free
when the light turns red.
is she tossing me in bed?
well, there's a sign posted on the bathroom wall:
it's her number to call.
feeling good feeling alright.
she'll be with me all night:
caviar and candlelight,
vodka and heat,
whispering on a random street,
she's holding me by the arm.
she has that special Cossack charm.

how many fingers, please?

60796
open your eyes!
you knew this would happen
one night
over thirty years ago
when you saw the bright green grass
change into brittle brown.
so stop your crying!
tell me,
how many fingers, please?
when i hold up four,
you should see five!

cleaning our christian souls

oh,
it's only a simple song
that came along
well before
the once upon a time
i fought in an ancient Asian war
wearing a proud hat and a big brown bag
over my head
that might not have been the proper size
but i was already too young to realize
what the news frequently said
that, yes, i was already quite dead
and the man
sitting in his big white house
joked that i was just another little white mouse
serving at his discretion serving my time
looking for my street seller
selling a dime
like a poor broke little Jackie Horner
hustling on a busy American corner
his long beard asking me "What's up?"
and i taking an unsteady drink from the communal cup
rushing for home
which was no longer there
just like my childhood Sampson hair
falling from the small town barbershop chair
where
for twenty five cents
we smoked our cheap cigarettes inside army tents
cleaning our christian souls
of all the loose women and immoral black holes;
I'm Waiting for the Man and memories of childhood:
Bobby Darin and Sandra Dee
being swept out to a raging sea
on a raft of bamboo spikes and the salty 8 track
never to be found again and never coming back
like Frank Lloyd Wright and his famous prairie cans;
the truth in the American desert is the unrelentingly dry sands
and the perpetual thirst:
i still don't know the answer to the question,
"Who's on first?"
but might eventually want to know
which television game show
i need to see
before being spanked on the Catholic Bishop's horny knee
as you sit and smile and laugh and shower
i count my days in cotton bales each passing hour!
and there's a decision to be made about Columbus and his sailing crew:
did they do what they were supposed to do?
on the islands sinking
what were they thinking
wearing Spanish leather boots while walking on the steamy shore?
those native huts of Hispaniola never needed a door
but the vaults at Fort Knox are built of bones and blood,
and the southern shacks of sharpened sticks and mud;
the tall men in their plantation suits carry all the keys
so,
remember your manners and always say please.

i shared a trail

i shared a trail
with the lady and her dog
walking until we dropped
on a hidden forest log
where she laid her head
beneath the parting of the trees
i found her sleeping
across my naked knees,
and the day was hot;
it happened so damn fast
sweating under the clouds
but i knew it wouldn't last;
she said a slow word
everything i hoped to hear:
should we go up or down?
but it quickly became clear
and the dog smiled
when the lady threw his bone;
he ran to paradise
where he found himself alone
and i was there
with the lady and her dog
walking until we dropped
on a hidden forest log.