The Ribcage Prison

Time stood still
and
life was Hollywood,
the sun was
shining-
bright like spotlights

and she was smiling;
the whole world was wide
and
her kisses
tasted
like mints from Giacomo's.

But her
waving,
sweetly fragrant
strawberry locks, that's
what did it;
locked his heart good-

behind
ribs that doubled
as a cell,
and once locked up
he needed no
prisoner guard there,

surrounded
as he was
by those Spring green
eyes that
stole his soul, and
stopped his rambling on.

A Dream

I don't want to wake
and realize that this was a dream;

your tongue tracing vanilla trails

along the small of my back,
while you softly kiss my

Stoics heart-

a soul that yearns for the
passionate, consuming metaphor;

your burning caress that lingers.

Or to forget
this place,

our dimly lighted neon escape,

with forgotten Chinese
containers playing audience

to breathy whispers and vigorous lust.

Or this moment
of Victorian poetry;

lying here with my throbbing dollymop's

moist quim glistening
like a morning dew,

by which my greedy thrust subdued-

This dream I can't give
up.

Sweet Melody

The classic guitar
strummed a classic tune;

Melody was with me
in that smoke-filled

Tavern room.

I go there
to forget,

the night that
Miss Wright walked, stepped-

Out with Jim, Jack
and Melody,

the memory isn't
so bad, doesn't hurt

to shuffle these feet.

A new beat, for
the moment,

While classic guitars
strum classic tunes,

and a medley of melodies fill
this tavern room.

The King

While driving along 404,
I glanced and chanced to see

glossy black paint.

1965 Chevy Nova SS-
300 hp, V8 engine-

a real American looker-

Parked there majestically,
chest puffed out with an arrogant

stance; a diamond among coal.

Even the sun payed homage,
reflecting, dazzling, commanding me to look-

Here sat memory, good times and
admiration.

I think I'll go back tomorrow
to sit and hold court

with the King.

Valerie

I walked home this evening,
thinking about a Goddess-

Met in a coffee shop
on Fifth and Main.

Blue eyes, black hair-
dyed, slightly frosted-

"Valerie," she said, that's her name.

She had lily-white complected skin, with
a few fragile testaments; a delicate flower that

doesn't talk much,
just sits there, drinking coffee and
smoking a few cigarettes.

She didn't have to talk anyway,
I was already infected;

Luscious lips made sure of that.

A Goddess, I'd say-
I found religion and

now I'm like a priest, waiting for her blessing.