Letters

i have written you many,

at night,

dim light,

light of the moon,

not hurried, not sullen,

contemplative,

i swoon.

i write them in pencil,

in case i mistake.

i write them in sweet,

i write them in gray.

a silhouette of all that i feel

i yield,

and let it become real...

i move it thru my hand....

a scratch on the pad,

a memory, a vision,

a thought that i had

and then like an itch

in one foul stroke

i crumble it up,

all that i wrote

i wanted to tell you

about the wind,

and the way it caresses

so many things....

and it reminds me of a way late, late at night

before the dew cracks

and thoughts of night,

to run my hands down the small of your back....

alas....

my hand stops on the page...

and crumbles it up,

to send it away...

each scribbled word,

each uttered ideal.

each shattered world,

each humble appeal.

and lights it on fire,

like a pine-bough in the night,

all faces revealed,

in the flaring of light.

un-uttered, un-heard.

i lost every word,

with the light of a match...

everything i said, burned...

each fumbled sentence revealing a sweetness;

i could not let you catch.

cause i never could send

a thing that i wrote.

so i set them on fire.

each individual note.

Impact

Love hurts.

creating imbalance slowly

the wind shifts

and separation catches my jacket

pulling me back like a heavy gust

i scream, and nothing

comes out

drowned by the wind

i can only see your back

as you disappear into the storm.

on a shallow bank of a river

i sit, poking my stick at the tendrils of grass underneath the moving water

i have been sad for weeks now

thinking about the cut of your shoulders

as you walked away

what did you mean, wearing that worn, brown jacket?

now, the sadness has turned to a dull ache

something deep underneath the ground

buried, but occasionally like a geyser

spitting out things

that are surprising

in their explosiveness

the horizon steals my breath

i watch the lightning

screaming at the clouds

turbulent air clears my head

as i press my back against the warm boulder

the air is growing cooler now

as the pressure drops and the storm rolls in

many small toads are in the grasses

and i must be careful not to step on their delicate bodies

in this moment i think of you and wonder what you are seeing

the longing stays even into this thunderous moment...

a long highway presses the car seat into my back

like fog the night rolls on across this nevada highway

there are no lights

no music

the tires speed across bumps and pockmarks

my right arm on the wheel as i lean against the car door going 80

in my own spaceship of metal, plastic and glass

thinking about nothing, everything

the meaning of stars,

alone,

with all that space pressing down on them...

do they long for impact?

or do they know somehow that it is inevitable that they will run into another star someday exploding across time, and lives, fucking up universes in passionate delight as they merge effortlessly with their destinies....

and at the end of this thought i miss you.

like the sun misses the inevitable.

Sputter, Go getter

Your shadow like a gutter,

I tripped and stuttered,

and there we were, fallen in somethin'

obscured by each other.

I heard you sputter, but it was poison for another lover,

So we fell, and maybe love hovered,

but it wasn't love, lover.

It was something more deranged and grey,

a little thicker, and sicker

like corn syrup on cold pancakes,

awakes the pain, like a stain in every single ex-change.

Blame the blame, like cotton in the rain

like cold in pain, a bomb on the plane,

enough to make the whole fuckin' world go insane.

Pouring sand thru hands that had other plans, man.

Face fading, time evading, something caving in, and

We were naive to even begin, and

to thinks its a thing when it ain't no thing, man.

Embraced disgrace, misplaced the way you play the game,

but it's all really the same game played, stalemate,

Sometimes two people can never see each other's real face...

Forever, never knowing better,

I know you woulda let her

you've always been a go getter...

F-16 fighter pilot, Chicken Hawk talks about Wet Republic, Maxim, and Hitting Your Target! Bam!

Tonight, I sat down with F-16 fighter pilot, Brett Rawald aka ChickenHawk, to discuss his epic adventures in Vegas with Maxim Models and How to Hit a Target with a well aimed Missile...

Here is the Video :

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OAcuRtzBygg

Rarrrrr!!!!

Like Bliss

I lay in bed

drifting to sleep,

dream of your hands

caressing me.

You lay behind,

my soft curves,

a gentle kiss,

like bliss, slips into this....




The night grows long, slow and deep

some how we do not manage sleep,

window's open, fresh sea air.....

breathing life without a care,

I whisper something in your ear,

you reach out and draw me near....

the whole caress begins again,

from passion to dreams, to succulent screams

forget the now, the how,

live the when this feeling begins...

instead of chasing futures round the bend,

you find desire within two hands,

a man of men, knows the place,

where ecstasy and beauty embrace,

and decides just where to bury his face...

oh pass the glass, lover dear

fill it with wine, or if out, with beer!

i'll share with you, and we will drink it clear,

until i'm done blushing,

and whisper...

"oh lover boy, come over here...."

Now it's my turn to raise the tides,

the current swirls and passion's high,

a lovely whirlpool gives swift rise,

to my lover's delight
and it's his turn to call out to the night...

an echo across the sea, sweet moonlight

something is feeling more than right...

rise and swell,

ring your bell,

tell your tale,

of two young lovers on the sea at night.

enjoying every lovers delight,

free to drift in ecstasy,

oh rising waves, carry me....

The Sea is Calling the New Day!!

The morning wakes me from painful visions,

Of a time, and a way that still haunts my mind,

when my dreams relax and let the things in the corners crawl out.

He was like a spider, and still the web pulls on me every now and again.

But on my horizon is a different ship,

Zen lightness meets intricate curiosity,

and I tell the script writer to send me something epic this time

Someone who melts the sunlight in his hand and offers a diamond,

Delightful!

Who plays with rainbows just to see what they are made of...

Who cuts you off at the pass to share a great story and sweet wine

Someone who seizes time, by will of mind, shares the dance and dances the sea,

and swiftly sails away with me...

and laughs all the while I set myself free!!!

The Muse's Passing

The muse,

runs and stumbles,

as I overtake her,

I find that she has sunken into the ground,

death has stolen her light,

and empty fallen eye sockets

stare back.

I remember how she danced in me;

carrying my feet,

the full spirited thrusts of passionate movement,

all living within,

a fire burned.

daring the world to think that it could steal that light away...

daring everything with the vibrancy of soul shining...

and now I sigh,

and check my pocketbook,

wondering if today has been a good day.

so she lies there, a limp, dead, rag-doll,

resting on cold, dry ground.

waiting for me to exhale my passion,

into her dry-ing and broken shell

but, I have nothing.

I lack even the desire to be carried by such waves

moved to such heights,

and plunged to such deep, cold valleys.

I have been exhausted.

I have been exploited.

I have been embraced, carried so high

and dropped so swiftly

that I became that empty rag-doll-of-death-eye-sockets-staring.

tired, letting the earth carry me,

eat me, I do not care;

for the spirit has gone out of me for so long...

that the only art

that comes to me

speaks of the muse's passing.

of her absence

of the resounding emptiness left after she held residence here for so damn long.

the silence echoes off of the inside of my head,

a spider web,

that every thought presses against in the dark,

like a thread in the night on a naked leg, I cringe

remembering what this mind used to be like,

when passion was a warm cushion for each inspired thought,

that bounced around,

and leaped into flight,

soft young wings meeting the cool blue night.

now it is just broken cobwebs and silence.