I want to be a fiscal conservative one day

Oh wouldn't it be a better world if I  were a  Fiscal Fish!
A  fiscal conservative who is conserved in every policy!
A fish that advocates the avoidance of deficit spending
A  clam out of shell and eternally free
oh  how I  long  to  actually  be 
A fiscal conservative like Mitt Romney!

Oh would it be a more  open wider sea
if the  governments was swimming with moderate
limited budgets like small clusters of spending
in and out  of the trade  that  is almost certainly going to be free
if  we can deregulate our indulgent burdening economy!
Oh how I long to actually be 
a fiscal conservative in a freshly salted taxonomy!

There and there little fishes swimming around the reefs
that surround us all that we call this great country
So even if we  are swimming with the sharks 
its not like they are going to eat  us before the narcs
there are still  bigger fish than little ole conservative  me
Oh how I long to actually be
a fat cat conservative with lots and lots of money!

Style

Style : An impression                                                                                                  10-28-1999

Fascination with clothing and body

The way clothing flows as the bodies move

Turn and turn on the runway.

Obsession with forms of women

Reshaping, rearranging, renaming

Creating new visions out of old ones

Rarity, perfection to mark the times.

Obscurity, a conception in design of pattern

Turning, always turning on the catwalk

Making faces with colors shocking

In and out of fashion clashing in front of

Cameras flashing, oh so absolutely dashing

Heels stride along clicking clacking.

boys this needs work

Memoirs of a Romantic

Alone in a café in Vienna, I sit pondering the perplexity of my wasted youth

Lost to love, I was- I am a rather romantic man now dead to my desires.

I longed for this foolish and ponderous game that has ruled and ruined my life

Was it all worth it?

The crushed flowers, the hot feel of their slaps on my face, the slamming doors, the wrecked cars, the shattered windows, the melted chocolates, the spilled perfume

Was it all worth risking the danger, the excitement of running down the empty streets

Of Paris dodging the gunfire but still ending with bullet holes in my breaking heart

Was it all worthy of such passion that I would give that heart away again or wear it upon the proverbial sleeve of desire for the company of women

They are kind and cruel and passionate and cold, they are a perplexity of contradictions

Contractions, retractions, utter change at the drop of my hat they decide my eternal fate

I am done with love and lust, I am done with effort and accomplishment

Forever I will find myself alone at table in ideal locations

Like this solitary table in a café in Vienna.

For Crissy

In these dreams we will meet

in the ecstacy of fading sleep

in separate beds and separate sheets

together in the darkness deep.

Across the nights of our lives 

across the summers of heat so sharp

that now in my winter its hard to remember what it was 

to be so excited so alive.

Perhaps our sexes did not allow for this union

perhaps our fates were not entwined 

the hours are passed the moments are defined

now I only see you in my past now I can only picture you in my mind.

In my dreams you still come to my bed

in my sleep you are no longer dead

in our tears we walk side by side 

although I am still behind while you are ahead.

Together yet apart

too late for anything to start

I miss you like I miss my art

you are my muse and I miss being in your heart.

There was a woman- like fine porcelain, with deep blue eyes...

Isabelle D'Anjou

Her face is fair like that of fine white porcelain. Her skin is so pale that it  reflects the light that is reflecting off the moon on clear nights. Her brown tawny hair once was long enough to rest on her shoulders and reach down her back until she cut it short last spring. Now her hair is rough in design cropping close to her ears and neck, but still soft with the feel of golden feathers. Her eyes are clear, which reminds me of a Kestrel I once saw, trapped by its thong thrashing for freedom. Eyes that are quick and sharp that look everywhere at once until they settle on her chosen prey, then their still and focused. She watches you with her whole body focused for the moment of truth. She hold her mouth thin against her face as if trying to hide a smile and the cool color of her lips.

She runs through my memory, always in soft down shirts made of subdued white and yellow cottons, tied at the waist with a belt of leather, her leggings are black as if a background to what she is wearing. Her boots when I see them are light brown and gray like the fur of a rabbit’s hide. She is a long way from the gilded ballrooms and multilayered dresses of silk and petticoats. She is laughing as she runs after some game of her own devising.

Her smile is white with the slightest hint of yellow stains of drinking too much tea. Her lips now revealed are dark slashes on her face like brush strokes of paint driven red from blood brought forth from her excitement. The mists of breath pour out from her nose and mouth as she pauses to collect herself. Her nose, which she never cared for is straight and long enough to give the impression of a line from eyes to lips. She catches me staring at her and turns on heel to dash away. Then she stops and her head drops as twilight pushes back the dimness of our dreams and shadows appearing to redefine her details.

            Now her womanhood has returned and her breasts confirm it by casting shadows on her cotton shirt. She places her hands on her hips and looks back at me. I paint a lame smile on my face and shrug, saying-

“Tomorrow night is another day away.”

Her smile returns but not as joyful as it once was, the ends of her mouth do not climb the cliffs of her porcelain cheeks. The dimple in her chin remains hidden. Her eyes look up at me then are downcast at my feet and again I am reminded of the Kestrel as it surrenders to its hood.

“Tomorrow night then?”

            I nod. She walks away moving through the wet grass, graceful like the glide of a swan on a rippling lake.

The Truth about Men and Dogs

Men and Dogs

“Men are Dogs!” she said with a sneer. “Men are Dogs” she said again and I agreed.

“But you’re a man?” she replied. Thank you I said, I have really tried.

“So you are saying that you are a dog.” disbelief masking her face.

No. rather we- that is men are like dogs. We like to sleep all day, we like to hunt, we like to beg, we like to play, and we want the attention.

“Oh come on!” she said with a smile.

No really, most of us are just in denial. We love to have our backs scratched, and we love to be petted, why we go to great lengths for a good petting.

“Petting?” she said her brow furrows.

Like this I said and patted her hand, then ran my fingers up her arm to her neck.

“Down boy.” She declared, her eyes narrowing to slits.

We bark at the moon chase cars and women. We love to get crazy, hoping and howling, always trying to be the loudest dog on the block.

“I think you are exaggerating somewhat.” She frowned

No Men are in most ways like dogs. We like to eat- mostly beef and we even will perform for some kind of treat. We like to run in the pack or become lone wolves.

“Now I can see that.” She said with a grin. “Men have this unspoken bond that is- instinctual- when faced with a problem or a girl friend.”

Ouch I said, Men may seem that they don’t care or become unpleasant when facing adversity, we just see that there are strength in numbers and thus problems can be thus avoided as are girlfriends…

“Is that all men and dogs are?” her sneer came creeping into her smile.

Seeing ther peril I changed my attack and said, We love to be loved and hugged, we loved to be fed and housed But at the same time we want to be kept, we want freedom and desire to run loose but still have a warm bed to return to.

“Oho, you have been exposed, men and dogs sleep around, are unruly and untrustworthy- and-“ She would have continued, but I help up my hand.

Would you let me finish?

“Okay.”  Triumph beginning on her face.

“We are loyal and protective. We want someone to watch over- we will stick around as long as you will let us and..

“And?” She said, eyebrow arching.

We make the best friends.

“Like you?” she sighed, smiling again.

Like me and good old Blue.

some more dogs and men stuff:

The Movie

yes there is even a book

buy it at Barnes & Noble

LOVE SONG

Like a surge of emotion I felt tears in my eyes every time I see

her and the ache in her heart. Truths that cannot be told only secrets

whispered to my heart. In my denial of emotion that cries out of with the drumbeat fall thundering in my chest as I breathe her.

Like sorrow at the distance between my sight and her touch, a

gulf of  thoughtless ideas of what love should be-might be-is.

Truths untold never mentioned and emotion talks hold and screams out in the whine of a steel guitar as if it were the pain I feel in my stomach as she walks away.

Like the tears falling from the sky my heart weeps at the thought

that she no longer wants me that the song has left us

cry to my pain, call to my arms the aching of longing for that which I only thought

I had and not from the actual loss that I am feeling

Don't walk away nor should you run from what was or could have been

our lives could be as one breath, one moment, one song.