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

most...

   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

                             and Hot.....