<Dr. Evil>
violence breaks our accord,
fists striking empty chests
foolish memories,
like tears never wept.
no matter,
don't need "THAT WOMAN."
Got a new deal,
soft playdough
for a heart of stone

<Golden Boy>
Poetry makes it all alright …everything else crumbling around my matrix mind, like that crude crust on apple pie. “That” woman warrior prowls, I am prey. Exposed on the desolate desert I call my soul, I look up through myself to see her circular soar. Premonition peeks, there is no way out of this one-way world. Wait! Another dimension erupting inside, fluid flow running through my visceral veins. No longer a ventriloquist just feigning fun, her memory muses my mechanic mind. The placid pain her picture once played now ignites inspiration, thrusting my prose from id into ego and then out of inside. Out on the open road poetry puts me! So grab your bags boys and meet me somewhere between here and there because nowhere might mean muting the musician’s microphone.

<Dr. Evil>
Mindless chatter mixes the otherwise quite air into a thick, loud
concoction. It is hot; could be 110 degrees, but how to accurately measure
(dis)respect? Bends of sweat traverse my check. I use my tongue to
blockade their charge. No longer a ventriloquist feigning amusement or
respect, I vomit the truth: "F*&^^ off, you lazy, whiny ass."

- - - - - - - - - > {Regulators, Mount Up!}