WaterBug

     Off in the distance the night's sky rumbles, booming its way through layers of wood siteing and glass windows, causing the majesty of the boom to be reduced to a low growling whisper. Outside the heavens moan and churn, becoming louder and more demanding. While inside such noise is absorbed, mingling with the tunes of a song made for those who once believed in long hair and the peace and tranquility of two erect fingers. Tunes which were composed back in the day by a young idealistic group of boys, who, when they got together, preferred to be called by the name of a bug. Beetles.  An ugly insect, but a riveting band. Outside the clouds c

I don't know what heaven looks like I'm an Oregon girl. Wild volcanoes that go crazy with the fire of molten magma sounds nice. Do natives still sacrifice to their Lava Gods? And from the way people talk streams of liquid spilling over high rock and ancient grass skirts complementing petrified coconut bras that sway to the beat of a luau like a tropical breeze in the palms must be lovely, I wouldn't know. But ask me about wide expanses of blue striped umbrellas and about diluted snow that falls from the Christmas sky like fattened snowmen, ask me about those who escape the shattering rain by doping up on the sweet

"Time is of the essence" squeaks the little dwarf who knows not of time and carries no watches on his frail wrist.

She said she'd always been a dancer, dancing in and out of reality. Not knowing which was which, "who wants to be alone?" she would always wonder.   Happiness is so complicated and love is so painful.   "Bitterness is inevitable," would be her words, "it's a reality that I dare not buy into."

Tequila shots and sandy sombreros float across the table from the rusty imagination of a beat up 1960's radio, whose seen better days and heard better music. Marcos shake up the tune, soft like the slither of a venomous rattle snake whose day couldn't get any worse, while an old tired Mexican sings of brighter days in motherland Mexico, where the sun shines with a sierra red intensity and the women are friendly.

Wheels skidding, gliding on the surface of uneven concrete. A skater showing his art to the night, "getting there is the fun part" he would always say

Saucy music Reggae sweat Hisses and sizzles in the muggy atmosphere, Uncontrollably seducing, Flirting, Alluring. Slowly sway and you will know reggae sweat

A lonely woman, jazzy lady whose fingertips were born to tickle the keys of a sleek grand piano, tickling while she quietly weeps her blues into deep sighs. Creating a rhythm that has only once graced my tired stereo speakers.

Your flesh colored delirium Imbibed Found it under the skin Of a meat and bones thing You shared Cannibalistic kisses With a puppy eyed girl She had sweet blood But her words tasted bitter You sewed her lips closed with your own Ate her desolation Took it with a glass of water And swallowed Her tender places were cotton candy Your love tasted like copper Mixed with salt tears Mixed with six thousand Callused finger tips caressing You unbuttoned her skin And invited yourself inside Carefully took apart her ribs And devoured her heart At which point She slipped inside your chest And whispered her gratitude.

Another distant scream... Another shattered dream. Lost another bet... Another cigarette. The world's only getting stupider... Mother nature's crying, but no one hears her. "God" damns you America... Open eyes see right through ya. Everybody's fake... Independence burnt at the stake. Mass produced welfare... Never ending warfare. It's American to hate... Forecasting your own fate. Money is where the power's at... An open minded minority disagrees with that. Your God would be ashamed... This world is satan tamed. My life's lottery is one ###### up game... Under your masks, you all look the same. Discriminating, sup

you write me down and destroy the sun while each blade of grass wilts beneath your harsh footstep that you have been trained into by your life inside the distorted machine mind numbed by the ceaseless conformity that us like an ill-tailored suit draggin our souls through the unblinking third eye