always mindful
   not to love things

living so that they
   all could burn
and it would be nothing
   but an inconvenience

three objects
   have escaped my plan
maneuvered
   through my designs

1. old white macbook
   my beautiful
       smart
         well-designed
  whirring piece of brilliant technology
you are already gone. next.

2. wedding rings
  irrelevant
sold those motherfuckas in an instant

3. asian machine love
  i am having a hard time
having to let you go
  my beautiful, black mitsubishi.

i chose you.

i researched for weeks
  analyzing data
comparing machines
  prices
trying to be reasonable

and out of all the machines,
i.chose.you.

you are the perfect shape
  of all vehicle shapes, mitsubishi
i have a slight obsession with
   design
     lines
   c o l o r
      efficiency
speed
    and b  o  o  m  i  n  g SOUND

you are the perfect balance of safety
  including 4WD
and fuel efficiency
  (but you already knew that, didn't you?)

your headlights are so bright
  and your high beams
so magnificent
  it's almost embarrassing

mitsubishi, you little snake...
  you have a manual mode
so i can choose to be a race car driver
  whenever i want

mitsubishi outlander sport, i love you so

let's talk about your face
  you have a pig-face like me
your nose is abrupt
  it's blunt and it's different
and i love it

you know i hate the cold and the snow
  i love the sun and the moon
so you show them to me all the time
  moonroof, mitsubishi - brilliant
(with mood lighting for night? you dog!)

you wipe away the rain
  without me having to ask
you cast light into the dark
  all on your own
gps
  usb
subwoofer
  fockford fosgate
bluetooth

mitsubishi, you shake the earth
  alerting my family
that i am almost there
  blasting music
through my dna
  so that i am made
of vibrations and air
  invisible to the naked eye
or playing my science fiction audiobooks
  at a reasonable
and responsible volume

mitsubishi,
you respond to me with such grace
showing me impossibilities
with a rearview camera
saying, "hello!" in the morning
and, "see ya!" when i leave
(and i believe you mean it)

you heat my ass in the frigid winter
  an alert me with an icon
when i am losing traction
  or there may be ice
i could not ask for more, my machine love.

the deer was not your fault.
or mine, or the deer's.
  we were all doing what we do,
and to be quite honest,
  the deer got the shit end of the stick, mitsubishi.
i'm sorry about your dent and your crack
  i wanted to fix it, but i love you even more now

you are my one machine love
  with power
combustion
  and pistons
you are electric
  intelligent
and you boom
  sleek
comfortable
  well designed

i don't want to see you burn.
it would be more than an inconvenience.

two out of three things are gone.

but i chose you. i want you still.

my home is gone - fine.
my things are gone - fine.
that bastard is gone - fine.
my job is gone, mitsubishi.
  i am being stripped bare.

i am being humbled, mitsubishi.

i have to let you go.

but i'm not ready,
my asian machine love.

I want to find the pieces of you,
That noone else can see.
Those exquisite parts where your soul, your destiny,
Runs free.

The parts of you that want
This kind of love forever..
Our eyes would meet
And the earth would move,
As we came together..

We would dance,
You and I..
Turning slowly,
Hands to hips.
Creating melodies with our love,
With crescendos rising towards,
The meeting of our lips.

But, for now.

I can trace the soft lines of your skin,
Luminous ivory in this darkness.
I can taste the curves of your soft pink lips,
Revelling in the fire of our passionate kiss.

I can watch those same lips as they press together and then part,
As I trace the wondrous maps of veins over your sweet breasts,
Back to your heart.

And that, my dear, is where I shall make my home.

disillusionment.
deconstruction.
liberation.
the breaking of bones.

a knife
   stabbed me in the back,
and i cried, "fuck you."

a boot
   kicked me behind the knees,
then pushed my face
   into the dirt,

and i thrashed
   until i could thrash no more.

i became sullen.
hopeless.
bitter.

so i climbed into a spaceship
and shot
through the earth's atmosphere.

w   e   i   g   h   t   l   e   s   s

liberated

i felt beautiful.

i could see the whole,
  and it made sense.
i felt the relativity
  of unfocused thoughts

the importance of calm
  of simple togetherness
    and pleasure
      the pressure of time
        the shortening of days

and then i fell,
plunging to the earth
to break my bones.

movement made slow
  just when the sun shone
standing uncomfortable
  in fear, in pain.

loneliness,
but wanting no one
(please just leave me alone)

i'll live in my fictions

i'll grit my teeth through the pain
  and keep moving

i won't allow tears
  until at least one foot is out the door

i'll play songs on repeat,
  and subsist on cocoa krispies if i want to

i'll draw cells

and i'll write and i'll write

liberated and disillusioned
liberated and lonely
liberated and in pain
liberated and in fear
liberated and frustrated
liberated in chocolate
  liberated in red wine.

Soul of black folk Trevon Martin and Emmett till..
A image of the worlds ills
There's a different between mans n Gods will..
The physician has  stethoscope now breathe Yes the worlds ill
A deviant of society words that the deaf can feel..
The difference in a person defines whats real..
My ancestry.
Oh yeah cotton fields
In a dressing room being asked how my jeans of cotton feel..
I don't know cause my genes are imprinted
Reaction to fashion..
How corrupt are these thoughts of blackness that have us branded..
Called to be continents of Christ but island mindsets have us stranded..
Like how u white and you talk black..or how you black and you talk white..
There's no discrimination to ignorance Just like Gods sight..
Yet a clear division he judges the heart its darks and its lights.
He sprinkled his people the salt on earth.
Eat dirt the earth lacks flavor
Transformed to salt 
We should not conform to dirt..
Express food I wonder if God taste buds hurt..
Chefs cooking lukewarm dishes..
Serving Jesus as he spits the food out.
Now he raging through the kitchen....
Looking for the ingredients like this is not the recipe..
Where is the complex simplicity ..
No surprise that there's sickness due to obesity...
A melting pot stirred my God  blends together...
He makes us all the same feather..
Once realized we can fly together..
Wings strong enough to fly through any weather..
Fly higher than Satan's paws that filthy jungle cat...
Yet some still want to perch on his back..
A bird singing but can't see the bars on the Cage..
Try to escape and hit the bars  which causes flight to disengage..
Racism damages the wings..
Hate damages the wings..
Why does a cage bird sing....
Well I don't think Its a song its a scream..
Because if you pay attention the pitch changes once freed..
That same sound harmonizes with the breeze..
A wonderful song heard through the trees
As trees we should be deeply rooted in Christ..
In Faith not flesh that's why the forest is a mess..
Like a tree planted next to a oil spill or nuclear reactor..
And some radiation has disturbed the soil..
Fruit spring up already spoiled..
And I think of the seedlings..
Without proper cultivation grow up to be weaklings..
Jesus is the gardener prepared to work a miraculous healing..
But he only heals if your willing
Church never stops whether in or outside of the building..

It snaked down the drain
forgetting its sordid past
filled with nothing but pain...
escaping the stains, at last.

The children played
and laughed in the park
on that day it strayed
far from where it stayed, in the dark.

It crept slowly across the dew-ridden grass
its belly keeping it in touch
with the earth, with hope; but, alas
like an overfilled demitasse, it was too much.

The sun seared its back
as it slipped quietly away.
Evading the luminescent attack
from this yellowed elegiac- how fey.

It cries itself to sleep
ever so silently, so sullenly.
The earth is its eternal keep.
The sky, when it weeps, does so slovenly.

The angels, above, had asked God
what was this creature's hamartia.
And for a moment went away any facade
as He asked them, Why must ye prod? in His arcane patois.

Fate does what it must
with creatures such as this.
I admit it seems to be an unjust
tale that is thrust upon with a kiss.

It continues through the muck
pushing onward and forward
never once questioning its luck
even when in the mire, stuck- a life disordered.

So all is left upon the wings
of that cosmic bird, up high;
who shall one day sing
the funeral dirge that brings a welcomed goodbye.

Its funny when people brag about how much money they make..
When the truth is the dollars worth is Jus as fragile as cake..
And when your flesh kisses death whats the amount you can take...
with you ..
The petals flourishes then they whither away..
Not a cent..
So tell me if this  make sense..
Pharaoh's died and put gold in their tombs and it been there every since..
So What does wealth  mean..the lust for more equals greed..
Whats your 30 pieces of silver will you betray the king..
Money over everything..
Are you aware what that really means..
Its like saying money by any means..
World full of Judas
surrounded by the truth but  tainted by unbelief...
Cash in hand but unaware of a misfortune..
Money is not everything a victim of the distortion ...
Of success.. called the American dream..
The pursuit happiness...
Plus the confusion of what it means to be bless..
Remember Job still called on God when it appeared he had nothing left..
Pain from boils on the flesh..
Prayed to God not treasures in a chest..
You look in see Greed's pollution..
When people need solutions..
1.4 trillion spend on a war like we need more shooting..
Screaming we fighting for freedom thats an illusion..
A False freedom your a slave to that freedom..
We are to fight for the Kingdom....
Yes the Kingdom of God...
You know thou will be done..
Thou kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven..
Instead of being a part of this  spiritual recession..
Bluntness hear no discretion....
I am Gods art how could I not be his living expression..
If all u talk is money than ur a mouthpiece for Satan check your reflection...
The love of money is like an infection...
So this is a lyrical tax invasion..
Putting a stop to this money glorification..
I hope u kno that private banks  controls the countries inflation..
They could stop homelessness..
They print money based on their personal legislation..
Big business..
I thought this country was founded by Christians...
Hard to tell that the Constitution was inspired by scripture..
How u own the whole block of cheese n cant share a piece with a nibbler..
Praising a figure..
Yes im pointing fingers...
one hand round the Bible..
Pray that I wont ever need triggers 
Modern day golden calf..
Like Moses speaking to save u from Gods wrath..
You have 2 ask Jesus into ur heart then follow his path..
Cash screws everything around me.
Seems that the money comes with causalities
Seen Lump sums  destroys families..
Capitalism to me is a calamity
American nightmare displayed as a nice dream..
I am very aware the coming of Christ is not a pipe dream..
Awake while you sleep life is not what it seems...
You ready to eat poison ice cream..
Well here's a scoop of the truth..
Mr. senator gets paid  more than  troops..
Yet other men is his protection.
Right now my cousin in Afghanistan armed with a weapon..
Other there is a warzone...
But Mr. Senator your home.
In God we trust but won't step outside your home alone..
I depend on Christ..
Depend on man where's Kevin! Left Alone twice..
I am on fire so they take my matches..
More fear more security they increase my taxes
Should I trust banks money stuffed in the mattress.
Only God matters and your faith in him will matter more when the economy collapses
Let's define the word worth...
Well to everyone its different to some its a designer purse.
To others its its a NFL logo on turf..
To me if your worth is not in God then it is curse..
Let's drop the "th" and add ship to the end..
Where your worth lies is in  what your worshiping. .
Of course people are not content..
When they worship their ends and men...




.

No please I enjoy your bullshit
Keep goin don't worry no ones doubting shit
Your act is perfect
Attentions diverted
To where ever you want it
You must have a magic wand man
Or maybe there's a hiddin cam
This must be a joke damn
Earth spinning around you
Looks like you like it too
Man I got nothing on you
Lie all you want baby boo
Just not when am around you
Sincerely F''' you !

The giant’s ruminations could once demand
Salvation, the order of the universe in hand.
Now, all his awe and glory’s come to naught
And man cries madly, distraught.
In black and white, His word and song is made,
And in this darkened night will never fade.
Who are you to say we must submit?
Who are we to give our spirit and quit?
Great Lords, and Pope, alike, have written what men think,
So who am I to tell you when to sup a drink?
Millions upon millions, the critics tell our fate through wit,
But hasn’t it all been said, hasn’t it been writ?
I tell you no certainty, give you only proof,
You must read those great volumes to which so many are aloof.
I sing praises like as David, a song that Solomon would want,
Of everlasting truth, without a philosophic taunt.
Salvation is not my message, repentance not my ploy;
I wish to give you knowledge, to teach your mind it’s not a toy!
There is no great illusion of the means of life on Earth,
There is no puzzling mystery in death and life and birth!
Whether God is at your side, or rejected wholly through,
The only one to chose your fate is overwhelmingly, singly, you!
Gloriously glorified, stained no more with sin,
To live a life of Glory, is glory given Him!
Whether purpose given, or purpose thrown aside,
Whether admit he’s risen, or deny he did abide;
Travel the less-trampled track—the path less trodden down,
For the destination matter less when that road is filled with crowns.

she was like
        a wilting flower
drained of all things
that kept the others upright

he was like
        a rushing brook
who saw her crumpled and tired,
crowded by overgrown weeds,
and wanted nothing more
than to clear the earth around her
and see her bloom again

so he took all he had
        and poured it into her
and when finally the pinkness
had returned to her cheeks
        she looked back at him
        and saw that

he was now like
        a withering shrub
frail and planted in dry clay

and despite the deep conviction
she had in her heart to restore him
        like he had restored her
all of her best efforts
left her with with exposed roots
and dirt beneath her fingernails

he wouldn’t let her stay
        to continue to try
        to quench his thirst
so she left him with a watering can
and promised he’d soon find relief

"God made Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve."

But what if God did? What if I showed you
the lost book in that cramped hand some call Moses',
right to left (you read Hebrew, right?), the Book of Steve?
Stefan, if you're Orthodox. Esteban
if you also worship the Virgin of Guadalupe,
but never mind those dark madonnas. The Book of Steve:
it's much like the rest of the Pentateuch, you'll recognize
the style, except that it was before Genesis 1
when Steve became a living soul. A lively, friendly soul:
when those animals came questing, Steve was thrilled.
He scratched their ears as he named them, puled
their ticks, asked them what they thought they should be called.
So he was scratching and chatting, naming away,
when up came Adam (Yahweh had been practicing men).
"Hey, dude." "Hey, Adam. You think this looks
like a crocodile?" "I dunno. More like a fox?"
They had a few beers (Yahweh's work of the day),
named five kinds of ants: Steve got carpenter,
leaf-cutter, sugar; Adam took fire and soldier.
Probably they made love, probably a lot (the world
Was young then), but the Book of Steve is demure;
Moses, or someone, drew the curtain of discretion.
When the curtain comes up, the snake
Still has brief feet, but Adam is changing the names
To better ones, and Steve’s not there. It seems
There were complaints. Stave talked to much, always on
About feelings, food, the slant of the light; sometimes
he wanted to be on top; he took the remkote, and didn’t
give it back when Adam glare. And his chest wasn’t nearly
enough like a pillow. It ws all too much.
The end of the book is torn out; there are marks of fire.
No one knows who defiled the Book of Ssteve,
But in some stories it is said that Eden has other quadrants
And that Steve is in one of them.
Stevek and the snakes with feet, and other people
Who missed the next book: the roc preening its iridescent plumes,
The unicorn lipping apples, the manticore haveint a dustabth.
They say that somewhere among the leaves of western Eden
was found a helpmeet for Steve, who was not fruitful,
who did not multiply, who had no dominion over the earth.