Smoky
Ah Smoky!
You got it all!!!
poems & pussy
& a 170 IQ
& POOR JOE
runs his emotions
on your treadmill days
wasted sperm drops
love/love/he moans
in anguish string dance
to his mothers empty womb
...what now baby?
there are those of us
who watch & understand
& have been there ahead
of your expensive parade
but, ah Smoky
you perform siren song
on cryptic karmic threads
& your lyric is too mysterious
for common feet
I saw him just yesterday
bow-down to your unspoken petition
to kiss those wide labia hips
but its ok ... its whip love
it's your time
shout out your poem
burn up the moon
therein breathes your quest
therein dances your life.
Ray Patrick
April, 2000 edition