Living is as important as dying.
Do not let words leave you, for once
They do they transform to smoke.
Living is just as important as dying.
Do not let the words build up inside you,
For, once they do, they turn to a ball of  
unpolished stone.
Living is as important as dying.
Do not leave this earth without, before
Crying out the words which, if not, will
Turn to sour stone. Because,
Living is as important as dying.

Then Narcissus spoke:
We are the moon
We are the sun
We are the stars
   Twinkling above.

Fading falling daguerreotypes
litter the Montmarte of
my fuzzy imagination, after
Isis bombs a train station.
Polizei! Polizei! Polizei!
Gendarmerie! Gendarmerie! Gendarmerie!
Help! I...they need somebody, in three
Separate languages, can't the world see?
The capital is under seige.
What's next,
But the predictable.
Fear, fearmongering, fearmonsters,
Fuckit,
What's now,
Give 'em all a beer.
C'est la guerre

Crisp leaves, fall from the trees.
White clouds white crystals
Driving around, I need my ******* money.
At least Colorado is sunny.
  
Falling right back into old habits.
Sobriety like chasing wild rabits.

Did you see that badass biker with the gloves?
A million dollar highway awaits, join me, love.

Feel that cold clean mountain air,
it cleanses.
At last I am breathing no longer seething.
Look how cute Silverton is, from the mountain retreating.

Winding down the pass,
Red mountains  linger looming large above.
The Switzerland of America
White clouds white crystals

keep going keep moving keep driving keep flying stop smoking quit choking

obscenely adrift on a sea of steam
awake from my daydream stifling a scream
baking in the midnight moon
I feel as though I left you all
too soon

When I rise and rinse off sin
I fancy myself a Prince.
Although since coming up over the mountains,
my words seem minced. Pummeled in the gut,
limp limping from rut to rut.

Collapsing on the side shoulder. I
lay splayed. Maybe my head is cut,
But
this fight is far from over.
Chest held high held tight, I call myself a soldier
fighting against growing older.

I wince, filtering through blurred stories that are my fables,
fate's hand grips holding stable,
picking me up by and by and off of the shoulder.

A fire place in the summer
A most serene scene.
Burning potential, waiting patiently
For a cold soul.

When the sun retreats in his orbit,
Tilted ever slightly, only a few
Celestial
Degrees.

I lay a deceased bouquet of flowers,
A gift waiting to be burned open,
Alive again.

Potential energy
Potential energy
Potential energy

Your life is a poem
Your life is this
Write it with passion

Potential energy
Potential energy
Kinetic

The moon behind her clouds
She sits boastful and proud.
The sun shining his rays
Smiling
Knowing he will be here until the end of days.

I bow my head in pensive knowledges,
Knowing
That gods meet the same fate as man.

Potential energy
Potential
Energy
Kinetic

You sit outside on your front porch, with nothing to do but look out on
The dream
Contemplations haunt these new, dusty streets
    intersecting in your mind are regrets not easily left behind
Loving the self inflicted pain produced inside
   Get up and leave that porch
   Make a left and walk until collapse
When will the music come back
A heart attack almost welcoming
A deer in the headlights
Swerve right
Durango has a high high
height

Grips me
Grabs me
Lusts me
Locks me a POP chorus run off rails
Unspecified Undesirable Unseen
But
Understood.
U-Turn leave the
Unholy
Otherworldly siege of temptations
Judas Iscariot ascending as Icarus
Only to realize inevitably dust settles

What becomes of one with a broken compass?
Who leads who in a world of acidreaming prophecies ?
An age of false promises and dot.com **** Bellaire
Ownership
My land of the free
Your home of the Brave
New World without bees

Sweat a skip in the record
Burn what you think you should do
Listen to the ghosts inside your head
Blur… just ******* blur EVERYTHING
Become anonymous
Become famous
Drop out
Knock out Lady Luck      AHHHH ****
Because it is importantly cool not togiveafuck


Lumpy lopsided souls stand in line
Don’t drug inject fluoride Put a plug in the self deprecating whines or get back in line with a gaze of blight
Beg for pearly whites
Everything conspicuous
Everyone a conspiracy
Eat WalledoffStreet as it crumbles
Cash in
Sell out
What?

Yourself.                                                                  (Ascend)

“Cultivate” your garden *******
Not you, Him. who? Johnny Flynn the Banjo God
I will tell you without being candid. You are Candide. And No one will give you what you need

Icy desolated deserted
Macdade Boulevards across lands of death
Induce a sigh of your own breath
Whispering
Eli Eli lama Sabachthani

In deduction
Of an ethnographic construction
I’ll stay in flux
From one State frustrating
Across the lines of another contemplating
The beautiful country Delco
Far! Far … ~away~ >forever inside

Cliché crush girl can’t deny
There is a spider in her eye
Spark the tinder and blow the flame
Boy wanderer collapsed veins
better pray in vane
while heading

South

There is a moth in his mouth
Oh
Oh
hey Ya!
my love, look!
Insect fingers
Tentacle toes
Black balloon head

We all have infinite interior strength

Cycling, chasing love in my dream,
embodied by an unidentifiable spectra,
of a woman.
Through San Franciscan streets,
I reach a hill too steep,
but not for the woman I follow,
and
I, filled with trepidation,
attempting to remain surreptitious,
inch down
hands firmly squeezing on my brakes,
only to fall, flat on my face.

I sit front row on a mid-week ******,
in surprise to catch the closing act
of
the Berkeley based Morning Benders.
The drummer jumps down from the stage
to
land on my chest. "Ben!" He proclaims.
No.
"Bobby;" I exclaim. We catch up-talking
the state of Indie music,
as my family drives away from
the venue, into the distance, to leave me
in the biting cold. I forget my jacket,
and
walk back to the hotel, or, campground?
Freezing
and alone,
mid-******.

In the rough of the Devil's camping ground,
Satan, the Prince of Darkness himself tramps around-
holding the infinite trump card-(A 40 ft circle)
in which nothing living may stay and survive.    

I get into a fist fight, with a kid
who has been in the same rehab,
at the same time as me,
over the past three years.
In and out. In and out we go.
But, together.
He is lanky
and
gets hold of my wrists,
attempted head butts,
I struggle free
escaping his vice of a grasp
and
lay him out
with one right hook,
splaying him down to lay
between two cars.
For, we are in a parking lot,
(To mention this, I forgot)
outside of some conference
being held. I assume it is
recovery related. I always liked
this kid, and thought we were friends.
What happened?
I wonder.

North to the Liberties, let's
go to the punk show
and
dance as we would to
Joy Division, even when
everything is going wrong,
it can be ironic that we are
still so happy. Standing
outside with the kids in the know.
She stands staring, from her lips
hangs a clove. I dangle on the edge
of the wall, and stare back in awe.
Everything brightens clear, as
my senses are heightened. Everyone
warned us not to fall in love,
at this bar.

A very Bill Murray Christmas, takes us
by pleasant surprise. Cuddling in a
corner, with a fire crackling away.
This scene, is no dream. The rest are,
beamed from my unconscious.

We all have infinite interior strength

my glasses resting on top of Gravity's Rainbow,
flying through the air chasing me,
through suburban station. I
am scrambling to get a ticket,
but first must get change, break a
ten dollar bill. I am with semi popular Philly
musicians and bound from train to train.

If it all seems strange to you, a bit insane,
it is.

I am fabricating truthfully the next great post
postmodern american marvel,
one
       line
              at
                  a
                    time.

If it all seems strange to you, a bit insane,
it is.

Life becomes much simpler
When one gives up hopes,
Dreams, Ambitions.
"Why write?" You may then ask.
Because, it is the only thing to Reveal the face of Truth, in a
World full of masks.

Imitation fireplace, the
Great gates of
Nowhere creak open...
For me, the doors of perception, lead me nowhere You pompous *****.

I know what I know.
I know what my friends know.

Because there's no secrets.
Because there are no secrets.

Is what is energy now, in me,
Later burn in some other new
Blood?
Will what is buried now,
Sprout after the thaw?

Euphoria Again
Two Rights

A miracle of lights,
I have no reason to not indulge
In delight,
Cept depression eats away, bit/bit
By bit.
To others, seemingly trite.
To me, a life or death fight.

Porcelain rectangles lining the fine china cabinet
of an always open jaw,
be weary traveler of coming close,
deep in an ever lasting winter waiting for the thaw.

Let us cook up fajitas in a halfway house and
talk about how we wish we could draw,
pretty pictures to send home to those we love
and those we hate.

You say come to Florida and get sober,
me constantly running from I ever growing older.
Face my fears? Be bolder?
Or stay where the drugs are cheap and the weather colder.  

Walking down Atlantic Avenue
look at all the normal people with their beers

Porcelain teeth grinding away  
Porcelain teeth grinding until they crack

There are eyes in these hills,
and barrows overflowing with our young dead
who got started on pills.
My ship became caught in this whirlpool while
I was sailing for a thrill.

...There are numbers and figures which lay beyond the zero...

At this point, I chase the white rabbit
merely out of habit/

My, what big blue beautiful eyes she has.
All the better to eat me with, my dear.
And
My, what lovely lips she has.
All the better to see me with, my dear.
And
Those big swinging hips,
All the better to ****** me with, my dear.
And
Her ringing voice in my ear,
dissolves any fear.

The tide ever rolling,
rollicking into the beach
As
we are high, frolicking,
into the undertow tide,
to hide, from death inevitable.
My, what hair, let down, wrung out,
without a care, and through
this tangled hair.
My, death hath no sting nor fury,
for a man such as this,
me as it were,
her love,
oh my,
is pure purgatory.

Following the rabbit to the abbot,
white wolf unknown, disguised in full
habit.

Like leading lambs to the slaughter/
Like leading lambs to the slaughter/

A love such as this,
won in a bar barter.
Reach beneath her dress,
toss back the garter.
.
I beseech,

I do not think it will land in my hand  

And I will continue to chase the white rabbit,
purely out of habit.

How can I save you, my brother.
I am trying to save myself.
Can I save us both, my brother.

I reach down to grab you, pull you out of the hell I inhabit myself.

You will never be too far gone, my brother.
Just do not lose grip.
Don't slip through my hands, my brother.

We all want these years back,
if need be I will carry you on my back, my brother.
We all desire to be cut a little slack,
too many brothers depart from me not in tact.

My dreams are as real as fact.
We all face our abyss and look back hopefully,
in triumph,
this abyss will not hold our gaze, my brother.

How may I help you, my self.
Do you need to count days on a chain?
Will this help or be another attempt in vain,
and you'll be back on the train,
to the badlands of our city,
the streets you still yearn and groan to roam.

Twice or thrice
at 7 or 8,
me and the neighborhood gang,
discovered that head feels great.
So, we would all hang,
behind a propped up, parallel
wire frame mattress,
against a stone wall
in the alley.
And,
convince the younger,
more impressionable
eager to please,
to get down, on their
knees.
Until one day,
Joey told us all, this
was gay.
And,
then I was called a ******,
when I asked to have,
my wiener ******,
out of bad habit.

I've been a bit perplexed
by ***

ever since.

In a society that has destroyed all adventure,
the only adventure left is to destroy that society.*

Is graffiti
written on an
abandoned bedroom,
what children occupied
this space?

I ruminate then dissipate.

When society falls
burning around us
hold my hand
and watch the
mesmerizing flames
dancing about
the Comcast building.

It's all just cheap trash and ****** developments. All the real things, the authentic things, the honest things are dying off. Intellectually and culturally we just bounce around like random billiard *****, reacting to the latest random stimuli.

But who, what kind
of creature would
want to destroy
all we have striven
and driven to obtain,
was it all really
a mission in vain?

I ruminate
Then dissipate

****** and the life of death in capitalist entertainment
The unfortunate case of me

Lanes are merging
People are crashing
Stars explode
And kids in pittsburgh say they feel infinite
Poets pantomime pleasantries
Pleasant trees planted on peasant land
When you ask they laugh unexpectedly
"You think we will ever be free?"
We have but one shot one chance
We must flee across the sea

Set sail with no end destination in mind,
just board this ship with me my friends,
and we shall shipwreck onto the beaches of consciousness.

Passages through time

history has no rhyme

reason

measure

Forced plunging along cause-ways of the mind

frightened white of what unwinds

human nature is quite the bind

who is certified to find

sanity

depravity

?

Earths nature

She will be unwound

pounds of bounding Buffalo once roamed but were found

the future will be experienced under a Dome

tiny asterisk

You and your sisters fill the multitude

the brightest stars are of the first magnitude

I am fatal if swallowed
But, can keep you off the never-never-ending
Cycle,
Wallowing in the past, things I/You should have done.
I am not just harmful handfuls honey.
I am fatal if swallowed
Let us not wallow-
in self hate-deprecation-depressions.
Do not? My children continue to search for a cure.
I am it, Harmful if swallowed?
No...
Fatal if swallowed
There are more things under our sun than what is ingrained in your philosophy, my dear, so. Let it be. Let it BE.
Have a taste, a small one to start.
I promise,
I am fatal when swallowed
As you digest me, there will be cause for celebration:
neither happy nor sad, you will simply be rescued, resolved to slip from
Society.
No longer searching and waiting.

Baby,
*I am fatal if swallowed

When silver plunges into flesh,
it is crossing the Rubicon to await the last breath.
For, the mantra They say holds true,
across this river waiting for you:
jails, institutions, death.

The Lady's of the flowers, they still speak to me.
Walking through fields filled,Tulips and Poppies and Lillys,
urging me to be free.
Their voices ensconcing, a melody most soothing.
Turmoil will never rip the light inside of us.

War cannot destroy beauty.

My brothers and sisters in this fight, unite!
Let us trample over this devastating blight,
becoming Saviors, each of us enveloped in light.
Let us gather the dust of death in our trembling palms,
blow it furiously into the wind, sowing hope,
against all odds, our fields will bloom and blossom
every color of the rainbow.
Let our gardens grow in honor of our fallen and faint, in memorial of our patron saints.

Fight gravity with everything inside and we will fly.

War cannot destroy beauty.

It’s funny how beautiful people look

While you’re walking out the door

Shuttering

Shaking

Lower your eyes to the floor

How do you feel when someone you love

Doesn’t come around anymore

How can any of us
be separate?
Inextricably linked
to the intangible,
all around us.

One is one
One is all

I run away to California and,
hate it even more than...what was
I looking for?...can only be found,
by peering inwards.
And
Roaming the halls of the psych-wards.
Go down, dig deeper,
and
then get the **** up
out of that pit.
In the face of your demons you can simply spit.
Grab a Cross
Grab a Buddha
Grab an Allah, Allah, Allah,
Shallah.

One is one
One is all

How can anything by individual?
Inextricably linked
to the intangible,
all around us.

We are one
We are all

But, we are angsty
we are antsy.
We have lost our way,
somewhere
someway
along the way.

We are the disgruntled employees of the cosmos,
but
to quit is derelict despair,
we must reform our position,
and
keep in sight any opposition.
But, who are they? if not us?

When one is all
When we are one
All is well

phaze

storm clouds rain down
hounds on heels confound
dark shrouds compound
my Lenore my bore my Love my manure
four score and seven floors up
look for an open door
and the advent of time, clocks, watches, and sunrises
drives to pull daisies

Push Pull Push Pull

forces a man crazy
whatever drive me ms. daisy
im way
way
laz
y

off a cliff we will drive me and you baby
ill be hazy you’ll be crazy

Shall I Project A World,
Scatter full the sky with constellations
and create my own private universe?

The dead are never gone,
but still ever persist,
in the bread we eat
and
the wine we drink.

Long ago our names were written.
Long ago our names were etched.
Do you, think for one moment
this was all an accident,
and any of this is real?

Or do you feel
////that all this is a reflection in the water pond
a cast stone disturbing all reality as it ripples outward////

can we stop and get cigarettes?
pull over I think I'm going to be sick
quick open the door,
what's all this trash on your floor?
recognize me
see me
I don't know you
but I need your approval,
in neon lights
and
her **** is wet with fear.
as death whispers in my ear,
"I can whisk you away
from all of this, if you just as say."
I grin
I chuckle
but no, I think I'll stay.
and
my **** is hard with fear.

Long lost lovers unite for one last night of delight,
ain't rekindled romance such a lovely sight.

I recognize my saints.
They grow betwixt the cracks in the concrete,
whispering me awake from among the refuse.

I see my gods.
Worshiping from a sleeping bag wedged behind a dumpster,
they seep through the mortar between the bricks.

I cast out my demons.
They crawl in the seam between my ears,
exposing my fears knelt down at a church pew.

(I wait patiently for that one day when some holy water will wash this world away).

I hear my priest beckon.
Trip down to the river,
come and play come and play.

I feel my idols.
Plastered on the walls,
watching me laugh with unmurmured eyes.  

I hear my heroes.
Singing from broken speakers,
hear them getting sick hear them being healed.

I recognize my saints.
They grow strong and resilient from cracked concrete,
whispering me awake from among the sleep.

tiny dots on an endless timeline

tiny periods on the end of every thought

tiny shells on an endless beach

tiny ***** in the pants of poultry polititions

tiny whispers of love, hope, death, and desperation
{tiny track marks
tiny recoveries}
In this magnificently grand, large, endless, regenerating. Infinite. Universe.
Tiny specks of stars on an endless timeline

Hey!
Man.
Admire the demeanor in which she glances towards you.
Are you going to go in for the win?
Or just keep grinning with a mouth full.
Smiles smelling of slightly soured chagrin

Swim
Swimming
SWIM
swimming
swim

Away from the failure that is the past
Future flies at full mast

Sink
Sinking
SINK
sinking
sink

WHY keep thinking while the tide rises
amidst the neck
around the deck
Will the swell swallow the pride
will you ride on to a watery grave, Let's GO

    bravely see the hollow humblest life
leading to an unmarked burial at sea
Demons force a fold. Be real.
Allow the Angels to show you how to feel

Asia-Europe-America
All feels the same
Catch-22 the sad part of this game is you can change your name
But
Good luck out-running your brain

Things you need are that hard
To find.
There, over there, outside your window, not the breeze. It is a disease, who waits outside that window. Inside growing groaning please please come and  play innocently come please play. Forget about everyone and anyone you love.

Lubricious ànd concupiscient

There are things that are not that easy
To find.
Say; Love, Friendship, Absence of pain, A feeling of hope-unfueled by any dope. A monster which waits outside your window while you groan and moan for these things, inside blow your window.
Not that easy to find.

Lubricious ànd concupiscient

There are things that are easy
To find.
A blade of grass, a crumbling building, war, hate, and mallace. Yet look harder and may also, easily,
Find beauty.

This is imagery that is in no way imaginary

This is for Chester, crack crack city *****

I am the last of the house of Usher

Locked the body of my lover in the dungeon

I sit above her

As all crumbles about me I will stand tall

Will not fall

Take out your doll and pierce it with pins

With all I have seen I am immune to those sins

Let us all go out and binge

No sense living on the fringe

Get high, after all we all are waiting to die

We struggled simply to float towards the sky

See the souls

Drifting down the Valles Marineris

Past sparkling graves and horrific hieroglyphics

The planes of Sedonia

That face

Looking down at our suspended spinning blue crystal

Shouts a link through time between the eye of RA

Staring back out into that Martian space

Man’s roots are in the stars

Do you know
where the wild things grow ?
In the unlit recesses of a tormented imagination,
a small girl holds a switchblade.
The bees have grown tired of their honeycomb.
The ants are abandoning their hill.
A shark swims slowly in,
blood drips out of the vein
How does it feel when your parents die ?
Similar to loosing the matching sock I have heard.

The Popes beady eyes burning in the mouth of a Leviathan
as
The blood pours from saints and sinners alike.
The stigmata chooses indiscriminately
like an addiction
to the false ecstasy
of religious experience.
Oh Saint Francis!
Where do the wild things grow ?
Oh Saint Anthony!
Help me find my mind?
Oh can anyone tell me?
What is this human race…
?

Barbary
Go out to the bar
Pop Punk and Emo night
dress in all black
band tea, skinny jeans, converse high tops.
Something Ironic
Want to see friends
haven't seen in ages
jump around
sing Saves the Day
"At my funeral I will sing the requiem."
Watch people drink
they seem to be having fun
feeling ******, can't drink
was just at an AA meeting earlier
**** this, do hard drugs, drop out, hurt the ones you love.

I pour myself into you
Who, as an empty basin,
Allowed me to fill you up to the brim,
But kept me from ever overflowing.
I pour myself into you*
Who, as an elegant, yet twisted and cracking vase,
Forced me into the confines of your ****** contours,
Eventually I come dripping out the top, and through the cracks.
I pour myself into you
Who, as three separate bowls,
hold me safely, but compartmentalized from myself,
I long to be whole again.
I poured myself out
Onto, the withered crippled decayed concrete,
Only to wash away at the slightest rain,
away with the refuse
Down Dead Man’s alley.
I poured myself out
Into, my own trembling hands,
Breathlessly hoping to hold my sanity together in outstretched arms to heaven,
Palms cupped trying to cradle myself together,
But, with every bump and misstep I lose a drop of myself to the open air,
Ending, with brittle dry hands holding no moisture.
I poured myself out
And, down my own arrogant throat,
pleasantly drunk on myself, “Cheers! to ******* me,”
Until, I ***** and am up and down the drain.
I pour myself into
My, Father’s fertile soil,
and sit back patiently for harvest.
I cultivate my land, this is my Garden,
mumblings of Voltaire and  l'optimisme,
I watch my flowers bud.

I poured myself out and into you,
but I am still here,
yet here I still stand.

Clean and serene or institutionally lobotomized
society reacts to the raging dope fiend, summarized
by med lines and meetings and half-hearted greetings.
They say he was convulsing and blue,
yet still if they only had a clue,
how it feels to be him when he is
clean
serene.
Experiments in convalescence
yet I am more restless
than an entire generation.
If the 20's were so roaring
and the 50's were so beat,
I can only be as restless, selfish
as this age entitles me to be.
Born into this, because of this,
old man I hear you echo from an angry bottled fist.
Raging with a deep death wish ever chasing his bliss,
he doesn't have much time left, just give him a kiss.
You yell "you are not Burroughs no comparison with Cobain,"
yet if I go off chasing them through the mist
who can you really blame?
Let the epithet boldly blaze
   Forever Young
   Born. ******. Died.
Wouldn't that be such a shame.

Painfully awoken, the
startling sorrowful tremor.
Young heart
Skipping
A
Beat.
Drain the ***** of its blood,
rinse
repeat.
Lather up covering yourself, head to
feet.
From you I fear retreat

Will you not? For me entreat,
stay awhile and please get comfortable for,
life is an ever
repeating
long song.
Our hearts deep wells,
and our souls are all up for sale

Don't give in no matter how
appetizing
the dark bids dark dark bids dark
bids
get

If one must be a slave to fate
let the gods hear cries of
destructive dissonant resistance.
No retreat
Revolt!
Leave demons behind an iron door
Deadbolt!
Leave destructions distractions
detractions
Confined!
Tied down on the ***** floor,
release and without defeat, nor, drowning
Tumult!

A conceptual drawing emphasizes what we know

   about a coffee mug

A perceptual drawing records information directly

   from our observations

How many significant figures control cultural discourse

   not many

How many significant events in a lifetime

   wish any

My life has been one of trailing zeroes

This is a shout to all them dead heroes

All my followers, have turned to ash.
I thought I was leading to a promised place.
Moses
Yet turning back, a sad wife.
Lot
With eyes brash seeing the city was falling.
The city was tumbling,
And
        Nothing is as cold as an ice cube made of cash.
I flew off through a white foamlesss formless sea to
Always
Always
Land.
Becoming Peter Pain

This paint brush has become
an extension of my hand.
It has sunk it's color pumping living
veins into me.
Now, my hand aches
dripping crimson, everytime I put it down.

This pen has become an extension of my hand.
A sixth finger extends dripping ebony
ever scratching ivory surface,
vexing to keep the hourglass full,
of sand.

I am no longer
My body.
     I am my tools of creation.

When victory is conceded
Love lost
Soul sold, simply, salaciously
Some battles cannot be won
Giving up is a gift
   don't try
Embracing the hollowness
Of a condition most human
Smile at the ants as they toil
Blessed are the sluggards sleeping in their row homes
   don't try
Smile at the ants as they toil.
Life is not hard, in fact-too easy
I scream for more of a challenge,
   living precariously
crashing my car for a laugh,
   living dangerously
overdosing in my bath,
Can you show me a successful life on a graph?
   Laugh at the ants as they toil

Burn out quick. Then rise again.
Swimming in this trash-pool. You
Sit on the side
Intrigued
Yet fein disgust.
If what you love is not enough
To keep gas in the engines and
Wheels turning.
Then.
Burn out quick. And rise again

For you my valentine
I can think of no rhyme.
For you, like St. valentine
are history.
As I soon will be, his story.
Let's agree-not to he forced
caught in meaningless circumscribed tradition.
There be no meter measure rhyme nor mission,
which can calm human insatiable desire.
If love be a chess board my fawn.
I do not know what the **** is going on,
here have all my pawns.
Check
My
Mate
Check
Please
Waitress

Capture my king as my queen escapades away, running, fleeing, free.
What possibly more? What other than frail fragile, loosely connected filaments of sin do you see me in? If You deem, what more? My God? My soul weeps for thee as Solomon did 2000 years before a random set of circumstance produced, birthed, this Young soul. Searching gnashing in his forgotten temple.
Attempting to circumscribe with
his own repeating circle of
history
mystery
mystory
my Valentine
my divine
my fine wine.
My God
send a divine flood
to wipe the swine
from my mind.
Bath me in the blood of your
crucified son, for am I not Yours?
What sick Christian symbolism
must I entail to rid myself
from the weeping wall at which I flail.
Why must my words always fail?
Rain down the plagues, hail! There is hale and kale and all.
My blood sweat and tears shall prevail, un-availed, lest pharaoh comes in hot aiming to derail. But with Moses as my guide I will not fail.
I will leave my pursuers in the Red Sea...
Flail,
Flail,
Flail.

Get free/
Be brave/
Surround yourself in light/
Pour love on everything/
The day will come when you're no longer fake
And the day comes when you no longer feel
Then the day comes when you'll no longer fear.

falls through the open window

the wind funnels through

a wing cripples

pinch him between my fingers

let him blow back along the interstate

was he meant to die on my lap?

or did this car interior interrupt natural causes

my head is a cage

my mind is locked away

when will my soul blow through a window

to a welcoming lap.

Pray for us now and at the hour of our birth
pray for us now
rebirth

Dig up my bones for
I roll in the grave,
Use them wisely, build a morbid mausoleum,
An elegy to the macabre.

A world that's a waste land pray for hope to be saved,
From swaddled in a cradle to
running reckless disastrously spinning his fable,
Echoed down for years to come
A story constantly revised yet forever left undone.

Eliot your nightmare smiles through this
Faded century,
Hollow men we are
Dead men lost in rat's alley
Where we lost our bones to
A false God named Tech springing from a silicon valley.

Getting through time without a grey hair
I understand love lost its way in the watery space
   somewhere between Vega and Altair
Shantih.                                                        ­               Hours Hours Hours
Pray                                                             ­                    Hours Hours
  for                                                      ­                                   Hours
   me
    now
     and
      at
       my
       death

dust creeping falling ever slowly
all matter seeking an elemental match,
red phosphorus add ephedrine
all you need to cook a fresh batch,
keep it up kids and you'll vanish
in a crystalline flash.

an act of attrition
propagated with little to
no conviction

arriving astutely, on the
Lower East Side.
walking  blindly, through
streets of poorly written fiction.
the brevity of time crunched, by
gravity triggers a gasping
mumble, missing any
recognizable diction.

hail down a cab,
surprise. it's me,
come to close the space between,
causing static and friction.
it's the last night on Earth, dear,
so toss out all impressions
first

dance in the dying of the light

we may not well will not get another night

dance, drop, then die, in the passing of the faded jaded light

He looks at himself in the mirror
who is this foreigner?
Just who the hell does he think he is...
He can never pinpoint.
So, "what's the point?" He poses his reflection;
"All you need is a point to begin a line, project a line,
inscribe a line, be a line, ride your line until you die."

He is not satisfied with the response his glass reflection passes.