On My Knees

                  "On My Knees"

On my knees I drink burgundy teas.

For one who sees you are blind.

I'd like you to lose what you find.

That's not rhymed.

The lines were crossed in an episode.

Changstein is Jewish.

Not oldish but newish.

Who can tell with all the sewage?

You are funny no matter who you are.

I can see your humor from a distant star.

Right across from the Mar's Bar.

Love You-Jonathan Billet

04/05/15        

N.Y.C. & S.F. - Park Bench

"N.Y.C. & S.F. - Park Bench."

Lying on a park bench, dreaming drunkenly, on bottles of Bicardi 151.

In a stupor, whispering senseless, secret nothings, confidentially, to herself.

Bright, white hair and yellow, rotting, decaying tooth.

She is awake and staring at the sky incoherently.

Clutching on plastic bags and the bench's handrails to sit up.

Expressionless, she gets up and walks on one of the twisted, curving, paths.

This will get her nowhere quickly.

Taking her time.

Our worlds spin and race at their frantic pace.

So only those with money have a real life's space.

The chief has smashed the fenced window to escape.

By Jon Billet 04/05/15

Sibling Rivalry

       "Sibling Rivalry"

Dear Randy, Deb, and Sue,

In responding to you:

I write in a car.

Sleep in my mind.

Dream in a bed on Macy's floor.

There is no wall.

Only the department store's hall.

Mick, the know it all, we all know, took a great fall.

So did his Uncle Gus Hall.

They started rolling the ball.

In early August's late Fall.

The order was small.

Not tall like all you all.

Gangsters and pranksters rule with an iron finger.

Goldfinger

Make it a new release.

So I can open it up with blue cheese keys.

And don't forget to drink tons of the peppermint's teas.

A new door always has an old floor in Macy's department store.

I wish I could dream more.

But there would be nothing to store.

By Jonathan Billet

8:43- April 3, 2015      

Lung Breather

"Lung Breather"

I dreamt I was smoking my first cigarette.

It was after I had smoked for twenty years and quit for ten.

I drew the thick, nauseating, harsh, tasty smoke into my fresh, pink, lungs.

Blowing it out in a thin white-grey puff of smoke.

When they brought me to the emergency room.

Throat on fire and lungs bleeding.

Sticking some metal object down my throat, as I choked.

I vomited blood all over the thin white warm sheets and woolen blanket.

I lost consciousness and could see myself and the doctors below.

I awoke in my own sweat soaked bed.

Waking up alive and well was quite a thrill.

The only cigarette I smoked, they don't sell in stores.

As I realize, I never had cancer.

I am cancer free.

Que será será.

Your dry sweetly perfumed body next to mine.

Nibbling at and tugging at my ear with your teeth.

Asking me in a low sexy voice if I wanted to make love.

I caressed your milky breasts and began sucking on and kissing them.

Then, I could see and hear a musical vibration while we made love.

By Jonathan Billet-04/04/2015

May's Daze

"May's Daze"

Fall is back and spring's ahead.

May brings tank tops and bellbottoms.

Organ grinders find their souls.

The women wash by the waterholes.

Police units are on local patrols.

Tuesday is a funday.

Wednesday will never be a monday.

Thursday is the sauced day.

Friday is a lost day.

Saturday is really Tuesday, without the toupee.

Sunday was Monday.

Today is yesterday, too.

The days of the week are few.

There are many yesterdays.

Yesterdays are far away.

The months of a year can hear.

The bar is not far, it's very near.

I could be drunk on beer.

Out of misplaced fear.

Shed your tear.

For a hot summer's year.

In my room I will hide away.

Writing my poetry at the bottom of paper cups.

By Jonathan Billet- April 3, 2015

My Ass

"My Ass!i!i!i..."

My ass gives me a gas.

No pain in the ass.

A free pass.

A dream's sass.

Is it past?

Moving too slow to be fast.

Easter will come by.

Then say goodbye.

If you wish to get high.

Don't cry.

There is no shame in pain.

Living is insane to the sane.

Not to tame.

Love You Only!

By Jonathan Billet - 03/21/2015

Battery Acid's Paint

"Battery Acid's Paint"

The cows out in Colorado graze on granola and grass.

Green cars passed gas.

The batteries have gone dead and acid is leaking from their insides.

Time for a tune up.

On my bluesband hohner electric harmonica.

Got a book of blues while I was drinking booze.

Life comes and goes without any shoes.

Its got no muse.

Faded newspaper's late tunes news.

Good cheer to this passing year.

Your happy tear.

Without all fear.

Year of tear.

Tear cried a year.

Drown in beer.

I could see rolling clouds in the hills.

Got my five dollar bills and cheap thrills.

By Jonathan Billet

-March 30,2015