Sweet, Suave, Smooth

The devils inside us all
He just reveals himself the moments we aren’t thinking, feeling, or dreaming
He’ll try and tip-toe his way out, every exhale, and return on the inhale
The rattling of your ribcage in the oxygen deprived state of shock
He makes eye-contact with your sins and says I love you when you don’t
It’s hard enough to know already, leave it to him to shake salt into our wounds
He transcends from thoughts to mumbles, mumbles to whispers, whispers to small talk, and small talk to sirens
The mirage of hope in a hopeless situation, stting up barriers lined with silver and gold, smothering beauty with dirt
The size of your sincerity is like the lump in my throat, and your lies melt ice and that time you set the world on fire was really, really cute
But now it’s over. Time’s up so now it’s time to grow up. Your peers aren’t you playthings anymore, you can’t form plans in the palms of your hands and your clothes are no longer a statement
Your jagged tongue serves for a cruel H’ordervefor the first day of the rest of my life
I planted a flag on the unmarked territory claiming to be your conscience, and only stale air came out of the ground

a song i wrote called coaine eyes.

____ all that was past
it all went so fast
why must those
memorys of of marijuana dreams
turn to cocaine eyes
cocaine eyes
cocaine eyes
so staind are the views
that we could have been forever
i went away so many times
coracidin pills
coracidin thrills
turned to cocaine eyes
cocaine eyes
cocaine eyes
where will it end
funny how a nicotine fix
turned to heroin tricks
pushin dope to feul the
cocaine eyes
cocaine eyes
[whispered]
this is the end

now a poem about suicide and cheating.

-Cheat-
late at night
when i started to die
i thought of you
and how you would cry
i puked all the pills
i cut the rope
i bandaged my arm
the razor did its harm
i called you so
you would be so happy
happy that i didnt
fade away
he answered the fone
while he put his pants back on
the only thing left
for me was
this bullet
in this gun

A work in progress. I need to do some things. This is the lightest thing I've written and short too. If you have time and wouldn't mind I'd appreciate some input or critisism.

Independently Chemical Dependent
Rest your head upon my shoulder
I promise in a minute it will all be over
The fields of flowers at your feet where we used to play
Take my hand, We'll float away
Over sea of green and skys of gray
Let your chemical induced happiness engulf you today
Everthings free here there are no debts to pay
With so much love and freedom here theres nothing left to say
As long as you're content with us please feel free to stay
Let us take you to a place you've never been before.
We can always fly out a window if they close the door.

green fish blue

I dreamt of lilies growing from the waves,

sad trumpeters along the shore.

There is a woman who dyes her hair green

and plays the trumpet in a punk rock band.

Woman of my dreams. She's doing a show

in Minneapolis, a show in Wichita.

We bought matching shoes. I've never been

to Wichita, though she's there,

I can feel it on the bottom of my feet.

I could dye my hair blue.

I botched a test in physiology: a) draw

a flow diagram of the subtle mechanisms

of the inner ear, or b) the mechanisms of sight

(trace the path of refracted light striking the retina

to formation of an image in the occipital lobe).

I can hear my own heart beating. A florescent bulb

fluoresces in my periphery. I think of the trumpet player,

how she refrained from rolling her eyes

as the light I could not contain

struck her retinas,

reassembling a version of itself

and the memory of light

at the back of her brain, whomever

she thought I was,

a biochemical facsimile, an imposter.

How she refrained from rolling her eyes

as the waves flowed from my mouth

to sway the fine cells of her inner ear.

I drew a flow diagram to Wichita,

every arrow pointing to my shoes.

 Allan Nicloetti

First appeared in Poetry Northwest 1991

I wrote this poem a while back. It is what I think great friends are about. I have written it in the negative in order to point out what is positive in the idea of it.

INSTEAD
Instead of laughing off your fears
I may laugh at them until they become gigantic obstacles that you cannot cross over

Instead of holding you close when you cry
I may make you feel terribly inadequate and convince you that I am your friend when I am not

Instead of telling you that you are wrong
I may flatter you ridiculously and watch you walk into a pit just so that I may have that one over you my dear

Instead of stopping you from threatening me
I may allow myself to be threatened
To make you think that you are alright when you are not

Instead of being really interested
I may pretend to sympathise to help you spill it out so that I may trap you when you are done

But instead of putting you down my friend
I may imagine that I may be you to make it easier to know that I'd hate to be put in that position as well.

A broad carved scar into my arm
a valley of dark aged oak
it's filled with her faded lace

Weeping alone; long from proud mountains
I feel my heart beating like a claw
dribbling sickly, from the ruthless tramp

Half past the monkeys ass... A quarter to his balls!

Not a poem, but short story. Completely inspired by Celebration of the Lizard King.

I am a fetus in the womb. The magnificent thick fog surrounding me in a glowing white blanket of lush comfort. In this moment I am the fog. I am sweet, I am thick, I am lush. My body so immersed in my fog, I don't know who I am. My thirsty tired eyes wide with surprise as I saw him. The silhouette black with mystery floated on toward me. He is a man. He is a woman. He is a poet, an artist, a machine, a god. My soar eyes breathed in the light, but ignored to reflect the shadow. The closer he floated, the darker my fog grew. Faded to black, I inhaled.

In the black, I could smell my fog. Thick and lush. This wasn't my sweet fog. I exhaled. This wasn't my comfort. Foreign smog filled my lungs persuading me to let it in, but I stood strong. The sour sting in my lungs remained from the invader. I could feel him closer. Radiating his energy onto my face like needles. What happened to my womb? Don't think too loud, he might hear. His strong hands so close to me, teasing my skin, he softly closed my eyes. My muscles tensed, and my mind called them off. He whispered softly, "Just play this game, just close your eyes, forget your name, forget the world, forget the people, and we'll erect a different steeple."

The bitter cold bit every inch of us in the desert night. Sinking into each step, breathing in his energy, he grasped my hand. "Follow me" he barely whispered. All my eyes could drink in was the silhouette and his desert moon. My body bewitched by his magic, black or white, All my skin could drink in was his touch. Over the horizon, a pale flame dwindling far away, but moments later we were there. The dwindling, crackling fire turned into an uproar of whipping flames once his hand drifted away from mine. Even next to the fire, his eyes were black like the night. Is this his womb?

Together, next to the fire we sat. The embers glowing reds and oranges, beautifully as we communicated without words. His eyes burning holes in my skin as he looked at my naked volunerable body. My face burning red with self consciousness. My body began playing with the sand feeling obligated to move. Each limb feeling heavy with the desire for more than sand. He rose to his heavy feet and knelt next to me. Looking into my eyes, his hand touched my face once again, my chin following begging for more. His eyes were so vacant on the surface, but deep if given the second look. His other hand gently tracing my shoulder, my eyes grew so heavy, my eyelids couldn't bare to hold them in any longer. He kissed my eyes and with that one sweet kiss, he was gone.

Alone in my womb, I found myself holding my eyes in my hands. I tried to let in the white blanket of lush comfort, but my heart wouldn't allow it. I tried to breathe in the sweet thick fog, but all my lungs wanted was the sour sting of his.

"i sat awake, eyes bloating exhaustion in the invisible growing pain"
i sat awake, eyes bloating exhaustion in the invisible growing pain
life inside the head is shaky
as if sifting your sight to settle on things ahead but you can't
and you can't
because your fingers begin to bleed
and you wish to keep going to the bone, but it's just not right
it's just harder to hurt than the pained ones make it seem
and you're not stoic
you're too much of a glacier, with multiple tips
multiple tips and ticks that i try to measure against my wall
but the ink is dry and you're just too tall
to be inside is egg shells on the ground
naked toes, yet when i think of egg shells
i'm not afraid
i understand the void of shells
i understand the hermit-tude persey
no more toying, no more knuckle tearing for you, Sweet
no more
just adapt and accept the feelings of minds colliding
surviving, Kid
the bones do ache but never break
as the heart expands and the mind gets spent

"BOY WITH EYES"

We poured goblets of royal hours
           housed the faces of faux graces
                mend, patch, uplift a squeezing lung

And I,
          Lost
                 followed three snakes to a red lake
                                                       a red lake a'blaze
                                                                                 with days
                                                                                        days lost
          Seconds, Nano-seconds, Reduced to atoms
         (Because Time's an air-abusing
                                       blood-pouring
                                       drug-inducing
                                                 Amnesia
                                                       living
                                                       leeching
                          Structure, Being)
And I,
           See
                  my mind's an open chest cavity
                                                                 relenting
                                                                 forgetting
                                                                 jetting
                                                                                           Traceless

I vomitted on my tacks so you could trace my fever, NO, measure my blood donation
                       a five minute...
                      NO! Just five minutes!
                              JUST FIVE MINUTES!
                                        JUST! JUST! JUST! JUST!
                      (My plea lacks lust)

I lack gray dust and feathered halos
I've been illuminated
       seen vibrance in black and white
       sipped forver off foreign tongues
       twised under freckled fingers
                     Found
                     Found?
                     Yes, absorbed

And you,
               got so much gluttony to please
                  and placed on repressed crowns, thrones
               got drive without road markers or interstate-linked veins
                  all hardened beneath
                                                  soft, itching flesh
                                                                           crawling spider eyes
                                                                          merely gulping on despise

                              And, Babe,
                          you sure got eyes
                                        got wide fingers 
                                                      (I could light all five and smoke you)
                          It'd be a high, a temple-caving high
                                     A sigh (released)
                                     A girl  (released)
                                     A boy (unleashed)
Boy
        That boys got eyes
                                     the realist core
                                     the quintessence
                                     the repressed so well expressed

                                  Living
                                Breathing
                                  Seeing

I used to snort lines of blood
to know the fuel of man. Never
amounted to much. Smile. Ah...
Hear me sigh? Those pearly
whites are the reason for
just 2 seasons, if I'm
right then I'm wrong for
sipping soda-pop love for
the "beyond 1st time."
       Winter for warmth
that never toys. An abortion
of mothers. Small fingers
for Hesus. I forget too
much reason.
       Got leopard stars racing.
       Got a head full of head.
And can't help the unkempt.
    Anymore.

- Ashley Elizabeth Clinton

I never really understood why were living in a distant dream
how we can die and never see someone cut into an open seam
blood rushing in my veins beside despairity
not the kind that would give into your chairity
no way I can be a tool in his command
part where telling lies comes second hand
no I'm not his man
broken tracks on an open line
not a safty rope for him to climb
broken tracks on an open line
just a slow steady decline
broken tracks on an open line
another flaw in your design
despair pouring into the bathroom sink
leaving me one last moment to think
real sad that I'm leaving you
sad to say found something new
broken microphone on an empty stand
couldn't say anything not written on my hand
sorry that I couldn't of told you
said goodbye or written a note to construe
no I'm not the man
broken track on an empty line
not a safty rope for him to climb
broken tracks on a empty line
just a slow steady decline
broken tracks on an open line
another flaw in your design
new bastard that left you to leave
sick of all the pain he couldn't alieve
sadness passing through a broken heart
we weren't two people he could keep apart
old feelings never left your way
never too much to his dismay
he's running to the other door
to see you laying on the floor
now I am her man
broken tracks on an open line
a safty rope for her to climb
broken tracks on an open line
no decline now that she's mine
broken tracks on an open lne
recovering flaw in her design

OH MY ANOTHER WAKE UP

ANOTHER LOST LONELY DAY

ANOTHER LOOK IN THE COLD MIRROR

BOREDOM DOOMS ME AND MY FRIGHTS DRAW ME BACK TO SLEEP.

Gratification Starter Kit

Imagine the parallel universe we discover from the smoke we breathe take us to a new inlet of a better world and imaginary friends. A bit of inconceivable imagination fulfilling inclinations and your opposition to immaculation.
Illustrate to me your thoughts of a utopia where the president is an imaginary friend to the responsible, in a world where responsibility doesn't exist.

Endless blockades through the barricades of perception, ingest your imagination. My name is Ed and I am a blind ventriloquist with a severe case of testicular alzheimers.
Drink, be merry, nobody's driving. Elliminate the quantity of brain cells, replace them with disillsusionment.
I can read the signs in your eyes, one is green and the other is the undescribable color of the inferno we create when I slide through your fortification, when i'm not using my imagination.

I know were just beginning, but I already experience the upmost gratification of a better reality.

at the beginning of the night

i wish i was free

so i could take flight

and belong to nothing

A leprochaun appeared and he told me where to go; "Above the trees, below the streams, and I will bring your most feared dreams."

I frowned upon his tiny hat, that burrowed his eyes below the brim.

I was unsure about this trip, unsure of my confidence and about his "friendliness".

"Where must we go?" I inquired the tiny man.

"Words don't express for it is far beyond this land."

"The sea!" I exclaimed, excited that it might be

"I can't tell you where, but I promise you'll be free."

I picked up my friend and I carried him down

Through the boulders, woods, streams and towns.

Quick and steady I hurried on past

the unsightly bugs, and skeletons' grass.

"Don't be scared, don't lose your footing, this place might be hell, but I am it's satan."

Finally tired, he asked me to stop

where he climbed up a tree and he tore off the top.

"What is that?" I asked, too polite to be rude

"It's the place that conceals all the lies and the truths."

On we went down the fiery trunk,

blinded and falling right down to it's stump.

We landed, quite softly, on a blanket of freedom

clouded with ambition, I could hardly see them.

A thousand thoughts rushed out of my head,

leaving nothing but myself and my bed.

What should I make of this orb of hope?

seize it, and capture it with just one rope?

"Peace is what you claim to want so very bad

but your people are all too hostile and mad.

If you open your mind, you can achieve great things,

you can learn how to fly, and make the mute sing.

Please appriciate this situation you're in now

and don't ask who, what, why or how."

My thoughts, interrupted by this tiny man

but understanding all the great things he just said.

"Thank you, my king, you've given me light."

"You're welcome" he said, "your welcome and good night."

A leprochaun appeared and he told me where to go; "Above the trees, below the streams, and I will bring your most feared dreams."

I frowned upon his tiny hat, that burrowed his eyes below the brim.

I was unsure about this trip, unsure of my confidence and about his "friendliness".

"Where must we go?" I inquired the tiny man.

"Words don't express for it is far beyond this land."

"The sea!" I exclaimed, excited that it might be

"I can't tell you where, but I promise you'll be free."

I picked up my friend and I carried him down

Through the boulders, woods, streams and towns.

Quick and steady I hurried on past

the unsightly bugs, and skeletons' grass.

"Don't be scared, don't lose your footing, this place might be hell, but I am it's satan."

Finally tired, he asked me to stop

where he climbed up a tree and he tore off the top.

"What is that?" I asked, too polite to be rude

"It's the place that conceals all the lies and the truths."

On we went down the fiery trunk,

blinded and falling right down to it's stump.

We landed, quite softly, on a blanket of freedom

clouded with ambition, I could hardly see them.

A thousand thoughts rushed out of my head,

leaving nothing but myself and my bed.

What should I make of this orb of hope?

seize it, and capture it with just one rope?

"Peace is what you claim to want so very bad

but your people are all too hostile and mad.

If you open your mind, you can achieve great things,

you can learn how to fly, and make the mute sing.

Please appriciate this situation you're in now

and don't ask who, what, why or how."

My thoughts, interrupted by this tiny man

but understanding all the great things he just said.

"Thank you, my king, you've given me light."

"You're welcome" he said, "your welcome and good night."

The Hippie Movement
The many youth who wore their hair long
Came and joined the Great Tribal Nation
The First Gathering of Mother Earth's Rainbow Children
Dancing their way out of the traditions of the Middle-Class society
Wearing flowers to express peace, gentleness and love
Showing the world there is no need to slave our lives away for money
During these desolate times
Flower Children expressing the unbearable pressures of the Vietnam War
Our Governement handing out lottery-death tickets
Not realizing the deadly consequences that goes along with it
America's media showing no fear to expose the truth
Behind this Blood-Bath Galore
The Hippies wore their nakedness as their political banners
Wearing their smiles as picket signs
Playing music with tranquil ambient-style lullabies
Singing to the children of the world
With their Rock-n-Roll rhymes
Accepting the weeds that grow upon their decaying streets
Embracing our Mother Earth's heartbeat beneath their feet
Young ladies breast-feeding their babies
Their daughters handing out daisies
While our sons were singing together on their knees
Waving the American flag and crying out to the world
"We want Love and Peace"
The real truth behind the reason why our flower children smoked weed
College professors feeding their students LSD
Taking heed to the words of Timothy leary
"Tune in, turn on and drop out of your University"
Realizing there is no need for a college degree
That we can recieve more knowledge that is hidden within a Tree
That our Mother Earth herself is a Library
Embracing the Native American Ways and Wisdom
Feeling our spirits light up from within
America's government creating war to stop Communism aggression
Our hippie children haunted by the chaos exalted from a religious superstition
Only through silence we can began to listen
And grasp onto the Teachings of Nature that lie in the Human Intuition
Our government continues to ignore the plight of the poor
Disappointment grows with every Act, Law or War
Leaving the future Flower Children
Of a great "Unwavering Generation"
"Knocking on Heaven's Door"

My Ballad To Madonna

When I think of you I itch,


Because you've been a little bitch.


Someday maybe this will stop,


Hopefully before I drop.


When on Sunset we first met,

Your rat bitch personality I didn't get.


Together by limosine we did ride,


Until you made me want to hide.


To this day I'm still alive,


But you're the only one of us to thrive.


Now I await my end in death,


And at my funeral you'd curse me under your breath.

I feel now more lost than I have ever been. Seeking in the darkness of my past a light to show me the fate of my future. All of my pain is alive and I never sleep. I am haunted always by your words and even more your face which I have tried with substance to forget and abandon. If only you were here now for me to see your eyes, I would know all I have become for only you know me. Tragedy is never far and invades every weakness I fail to hide. I fear I can not escape this dread, as if it were my shadow. All I want to do is sleep...:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

 I write to you my oldest and dearest friend. Lost are the many drinks of sweet liquor we shared, lost are the nights we searched the streets for eternity, lost are the moments we shared the troubles of our mind. We live and survive these moments only once and they will never resurrect again. Not even your voice do I remember, like a sun disappearing into the sea. I call to you, you who are not even a memory of my past. Perhaps we will share our sins again beneath a moonlight of sadness.

                                                Thomas A. Grower.

two times a man...

it

You are the best, Jim, You are missed by many! Here's my small contribution.