Dark and Hot is the night.....passion burns in
my mind, I see your words...Love undefined...to
write a poem is to bare one's heart and soul-no
matter how carefully you try to hide yourself.
Poets are Everywhere walking lonely roads
lost Jonah's in strange fish,working
thankless jobs for vaporless souls.
I feel like its 1969 all over again
A symphony stirs as I write-some want me to
write " Nice " poems but I'll just be " Me "
...knowing that my voice unheard by many
is like silence
and that silence scares people the
Everything created gets mis-interpreted
people twisted stories about Billy the Kid-will
even Poets escape when they write how they
feel? It's Dark and Hot and I'm taking a
train to parts unknown
whispering Passion on an old Spanish Guitar
slipping into the windmills of your mind.
I'm just a complete unknown, looking for a
Love Slave to call my own....holding her
tight against a wall,
French Kisses all night long....
Dark and Hot......Dark