When It Snows

When your circle of friends stops on the spot

When a bottle of Scotch is watered down to a shot

When  hopscotch is a hot cross bun for one

When your crossed cus a hothead left you stunned

When a shot with a sex-bot is slim to none

When a win goes out the window while winter blows

Shiver and complain, but let a small flame grow

Make a torch, map a course, leave the porch

Take a horse if you got the cheddar

Set your bets on better weather

Readjust with the ventures

Surrender to a center that can enter inner sectors

Surrounding spaces

Grinding cages

Grounding cases about places that reside in the sky

Glide to the point where you think you can fly

Where it rains it’ll snow if a drought don’t happen

Tend to the brush fires on a field of passion

Where there’s pain there’s growth in the drive to persist

Sure of that as the fact that aliens exist



May all stars smashing to the ground to erupt a crashing sound

Be bound to what they earned as they learn

What is learned was always known by a clown

Around the moment compounds got down

With a singular sound signifying a prying existence

Amplifying a dying presence implanted to implement a flying present

Hiding the essence of tidings presented

By contrarians contracted to contradict current conflicts

Sick serpents spit bullshit eaten by worms

Digested and dispensed in shape of germs

That squirm on contact, but soon learn that a Cadillac

Can’t bring back a day when saddlebacks were the fast track

My Mom (Happy Birthday)

The soul of a solar system

Can cook a mean chicken

Can chop the head off a dispute disrupting a kitchen

A giant pack of bubble wrap in case of a collision

The dentist when molars in polar positions cause pain

A chemist with stain removal methods for fabrics on all plains

Lion tamer, litter trainer, little tyke entertainer

Can tell a future modern classic from a poor post imitator

Bed tucker mother sucker giver when a river of tears flow

From low blows by elbows when big bro’s being an assh…

When big bro’s not feeling so bashful

Doesn’t like casserole, but can whip up one quick

Work shoes, sewing kits, shopping carts, oven mitts

A spot on the #1 Mom charts would be stopped by none of it

Never hit me with a  yard stick

Can see through a card trick

When the cookie jar’s been picked clean by tiny felons

You grew up to grow three peachy prime ripe melons

You deserve the limelight

Everyday I should highlight

How much you’ve done for all of us

But it would take to sum it up

Ten lifetimes of primetime interviews

On Oprah’s couch to relay the real news

Lastly, no lie, exaggeration, or gimmick

If it’s a “who done it” that’s British

When possible to do, my mom will solve it in minutes

P.S. I swear I never hit my little brother with a low blow.  I could be a bit of a brat before the age of twelve, but I would never ever do that.  I know how painful it can be.  Be careful if you’re going to swing around a tether ball pole like Tarzan.

Candy Heart

I built my inner child a rocket so it could blast off to a pocket

Where it can frolic in fields with packets of hot chocolate

Kick it where the crickets only serenade and serve as barricades

So the habits of bunny rabbits can’t be heard from far away

Take a sip of the stuff cupid dips his arrows in

And grow a stupid grin

Get goofy, gooey, and dreamy

All romantic and steamy

Even if you’re by yourself!

Even if it is creepy!

Especially if it’s creepy!

Hope my love for fine art can help me find a counterpart

A sweetheart with street smarts who completes what she starts

Cus she seeks what sparks, and observes what’s frozen

Chooses to speak open while chewing on a toothpick in front of a fire

She’ll never leave me alone, even when not beside her

My inner child is a good-natured fool

A master of flight school

But for years the fear of stairs made the kid feel impaired

Don’t let the scare of scars from dares that arm hairs to stand on end

Dull down the flare

Give in to the core of a shapeless form

Make the love for yourself a part of the norm




I share a backpack with a pack-rat

With a backpack full of pack-rats with backpacks

We like to laugh along with laugh tracks that laugh at us

When we laugh at laugh tracks that expect us to laugh back

When a fat cat has a flat on the highway

On overdrive on a diving board over a driveway

With an overhead view of lake chalked on top for display

The denial of beliefs when the vials show otherwise

Nonstop decay until the zingers synergize

It all derives from a truth crucially denied

Soon to be revived

From the depths of death where the live never die


Fortunate for a fortune formed from a fantasy

Of fist-bumps and fireballs fashioned by the free

A bright burning battery floating on flattery

Fly frictionless fusion of frenzy and faculty

Full blaze, full blown, full frontal, full bottle

Forever focused on a final frontier full throttle

Boldfaced, brow furrowed, fabrics fitted, belt fastened

Bending borders everywhere before everything flattens

Ballad of a broken bridge fixed to forge bonds

If fan-fiction funfair with foreign foes and forest bears

Frankly, is a bit of a bomb

Figure out fickle figures to better fend off frostbite

Best bet on bigger fish, forget a barbaric bullfight

Fast lanes for freezer burned butterflies on bikes

Fill the brain with balloons and watch ‘em take flight

Make a final boss fall back

Flick a finger at false facts

Reform a blood sucking flea into beautiful fruit bat

Until the broke have belly fat

No bullies barfing on the fishing boat, man, f*** that


Seeking balance on a seesaw below a sea of saws

Wanting to see what ancient monks saw with a dropped jaw

Kaleidoscopic optic scope mixed with an agnostic pope

Sober psychotropic tropic vine swings reaching for hope

Teeter-totter blotter acid coffer traffic offers

Magic carpet rides over tides of sleep slobber from doctors

Coughing up coffee cups in the face of drowsy mugs

In a plot to pop bubble gum when troublesome lugs

Lugging cumbersome luggage make the flight chug

In hopes to turn constrained complaints into a fight club

A techno gypsy band in a trippy sixties hippy van

Tours a mental landscape to help the crowd understand

Photosynthesized flower child raised on moonbeams

Incentivizing intensified rides through a tomb’s dream

Soon seen is a wily coyote chewing peyote

To chill the road runner dragon by sitting still on a wagon