What is real Wilderness like?

Sorry I didn't say much at the diner over the rocks
The wait was awkward and it was much too early
I was thinking bout nothing and trying to focus--
I've been reading volumes of hocus-pocus, lately,
reversin' the high tide that's comin' up to hit me.

Now that Gods are people and we're all equals--
I talk to petunias and squirrels and turtles and beetles.
I love each of those little moments
like when I read baller novels
for which the author wrote infinite sequels.

Some say that people have no equals.
That oaks are weeds and field mice scat on tables
But, what people can stay still for 40 years?
I've have seen people that can pound like 40 beers.
That's impressive, their stomachs must be massive.

What is real Wilderness like?

You were the one who felt that old age carries the curse of wisdom:
An un-relayed loss like the trees screaming in the forest and no one to hear them.
Anyway, Happy Belated Birthday, Grand Cousin.

You settled with the past in a very special way.
Your eyes are opaque and gray as coldest ice.
Your wrinkles are seared and your beard grows nice
I was sold when you spoke low and gently like a sleeping giant,
Your fingers are weathered like Alaskan oil pipes.
Tell me: What is real Wilderness like?

Can you stand under the sky and breathe easy?
Is it joyous and gay or vicious and unyielding?
Have you seen waves crash over the gray, mostly glass buildings?
For some reason, they make the most morbid sounds
but that's just the inertial shifting of oily plates, underground.

Butt Harbor

The seaweed goes in and wraps around long chains
the butt sucks them out and poops in hammerheads.
The sharks eat the fish and the fish eat the sharks.
Jellies become GI Joes
I rest with them under my knees

Tickle Touch

Guitar strings sigh best between nasty plaster fingers.
Martian swingers sway without sandals on.
We stand on red sand while rain patters human toes.
Gods only know that they control meaningless molecules

I did try to survive with just one heart,
just one fart and her heart became ones and zeros.
She's a reader, raiding pages of golden guilt.
I read a book or two, but never knew
how the bindings could glue, together.
Heather, the ghost of a specious spoon whispers, "Is love forever?"

I should squall, "it's for never." However,
my sound is asleep for her, waiting with bated breath,
to death or deafness, the best investments.
I'm waiting for
a few more funerals.

Love is at best a test to get the better yet.
Better yet, it's the best bullet proof vest I'll ever wear.
give a hand for my man, DJ [Ben Fritz].

Cupid Water

My ovular wheel rattles
The gear creaks as its pattern speaks
To me, milk is water and water is putrid
Cows got it comin, chewin all day is stupid.

A backhanded sack branded "Taxes" slings slack from my handlebar's branches
Knots of my mane mangle back in the windletweed breezes
Sneezes break silence on the blue wall illuminated
Next to my screen the world outdoors is anything
but the dreams that remind me are written down.
Please don't read them out loud.

The spaghetti I made with cous cous and dark red sauce,
five finger discount, but Who will miss it?
I thought my throat got stuck and couldn't shut up,
when i went to their store, but i was silent.
Sirens were silent as i biked back in silence
O i biked in silence, thanked milk in silence.
Who will miss it? Who will miss it?

My ovular wheel rattles
the drive chain creaks as its pattern speaks
Is there no animal that feeds its children water?
Water's got it comin, flowin all day is cupid.