I will not submit to these terms so therefore I can not accept them. You come into my life and completely lift me up just to bring me back down because you feel I'm not ready. Baby when my heart stopped hurting for another and started beating for you I was more than ready.  My shattered soul became whole. The clots of blood surrounding my heart began to thin out and pump fresh new cells that were once jailed.
The scars were fading and my mind became stable.  
And for all of this I was in love with you.


Then disaster struck. But I will persist in my adventure of becoming yours again.
Watch and see.

A silence. A torture. A silenced, tortured silence.
A conflict of person. A Personal conflict.
A damaged vision. A faltered journey.
A failed hope. A crushed desire.
A banished yearning. A rejected quest.
A stumbling voyage into unknown depth.

Ravaged faith. Murdered courage. Slaughtered dreams.
Fanatical destruction of peace. Violent obliteration of the hopeful.
Of that which hopes.
Of that which is hoped.
Of that for which is hoped.
All that is hoped is all that is lost.

A piercing cry of terrified misery
seams of elation, torn apart, stitch by stitch.
All that is done: undone
All that is saved: damned
All that is freed: jailed

A life but not in full.
A bird without song
A river without water
A tree without leaves
A speech with no words
An audience with no hands
An exile of the necessary. An exile of calm.

Fear

Caged hands
Fumble,
Eye teeth, nick
Nipples,
Toes, tumblers,
Unlocking
Combinations of two,
Nose to ear,
Fingers printing
Smear,
Tongues, tasting
Freedom,
Jailed
In clothing's
Night.

Listen, listen to my entreaty, keeper of men
bear witness to me, just this once.
What was it that jailed me?
How hurriedly would I make amends.
You make no gesture, you trace over a phrase the aim; deadly.

Look, look at me, jailer of captives
a ravaged vision the mastery of devouring prey.
What was it that made me hunted?
How easily would I offer all.
You stare into my void, your hands clench and I predict my own destruction.

Have a taste, taste me bossman
poured into a crimson cup;
the aftertaste heats your loins and makes it way to my womb.
What was it that made me intoxicating?
How quietly would I become your sobriety.
Caught! You pierce deeply, I seep upon flesh the fresh blood on a shank.

Outside: Look In. Inside: Its time you look out.

I heard, yes heard my voice
splinter under scrutiny, bad cop.
My sentences slipping through cracks of concrete.
I reached forward holding to the bars and kept swaying time.
Ignoring your heightening tone
with scrunched childs eyes.

I saw, I saw myself attempting
to steal your tenderness,
instead folding into a crease of your uniform.
Guard take measure your keys jangle at me.
My many parts are illusions in dark cells,
I wrap around you to keep watch on the walls.

I savored, yes savored an officer
a banquet in grey.
The morning hastens to chase alcoves of shadow,
I must be locked away.
The manacles are tightened again, but without them I would stay.

The flesh of which the body holds its form
Objective mass, so grateful, held in debt
And I the glutton, swelled from thinner norm
Destroying each whose faith was lain unkept

‘Tis known to me that life a body met
But I do hold the life therein with scorn
Although the marriage seemed adroitly set
My mind from home is rent, forever torn

Would I could once remove the skin of thorn
Betrayed and jailed, as I indeed deserve
As flesh enfeebled me to acts forlorn
For my misdeeds no tears should lie reserved

That hide were forged of thought would be my will
Within the vaulted mind is beauty still

Morning arrives..
..through the night I survived on data streams.
The dreaming in unconscious thought.
And along that super highway I have bought another day.

Somewhere in the thick of it..becoming sick of it..
..I tried to close it down and failed.
Not jailed or free..my thinking's taking over me
I shall be standing by to see
What comes next.

pick the ending- 1 or 2 and any comments


standing at the bus stop chilled to the bone
just now realizing he was all alone
everything in his life had been destroyed
when he lost his little boy.

a father who is single trying to make it in this life
no family members and no wife.
his sons life had been taken by a drunk driver that day
when he sped through a red light
as he tried to get out of its way.

too many memories does he face-that he has to leave this place.
so many memories flood his mind
as he thinks what could he have done if he had the time.

the driver has convicted of drunk driving but not jailed
the judicial system to him had failed.
his son was dead and his life was shattered
nothing in this life ' now mattered'.

#1-  two years had passed and he would now get revenge
the life this driver knew would soon end.
he staggered out of the bar and headed to his car
when the sledge hammer hit him across his knee
then another blow on the other knee, as he started to scream.
two more blows on each leg, and on the ground he would stay.
stuck in a wheel chair for the rest of his life
he's now paid the ultimate price.

                    or #2
he prayed every day for justice for his son
this man was still drinking and driving
and nothing being done.

the question always entering his mind
is this judicial system so doggone blind?
why wasn't this man taken off of the streets
are they waiting for more bodies in a crumpled heap.

yet! he always believed ' what goes around comes around'
and his justice will be found.

The truth of the matter is that justice unfair.
Least when addressing important matters.
A man that fails to pay child support is mainly locked up.
If, he has failed to adhere to the many warning.

The balance of justice doesn't always fit the crime.
It seems to some men that many judges are blind.
What about the mothers that doesn't pay?
To the jailed father, they doesn't face to many threats to be place away.

Similar to domestic violence.
In many cases they both goes to jail.
It's a cooling point for common sense to kick in.

Now, in some cases many women knows the man they date.
And if he's worth having a child with in the forth coming days.
Some children are born because of the money paid.
Yes, the pay for play still exist in society to day.

And, when the hustlers, the players are locked up.
Pay attention to the people it really hurts.
Adding more days.
Adding more time.
Doesn't always accomplish your goals.
The money you seek isn't getting paid the correct way.
So essentially, the child's the one that pays.

Well, I stated the balance of justice doesn't pay.
If the women that faiuls to pay child support.
Doesn't serve many days.

There are men that has custody too.
Many doesn't push the issue the way a woman does.
They would accept it.
If she was pushed to take care of hers.

Except, a man tries to stand behind the male pride.
That he's willing and able to take care of his child.
Same with a few ladies that you see.
She will never request a dollar to prove many things.

That her strength comes from within.
That her friends, mother, father and other family's member will step in.
That's the emotional and maternal side that a mother has.
Except, it's kinda sad yo see a child not know their dad.

Jailed with all the other squawking birds
confined, it never flew and barely grew
& never knew the mimicry of words

sanguine, foul molting cockatoo in the corner
lowered, bloodied, the lowliest in a pecking order
his owner's a loner, a collector of tinged newsprint
entombed in brick & mortar - nomad minus footprint

and his birds, perched across wooden dowels
proceeded to empty their millet'd bowels
onto sheets of unfinished poetry
correctivewhiteoutmisery

so, he, being miserly, wouldn't shell out the reader's fee
to the greedy posthumous publishing company, yet
another relic in a mortuary of literacy

he was just another faceless, bearded bard
and with the old coffee grounds
he would discard
piling mounds of compost, broken bound
his compositions decomposing in the attic
warbling hiss, winding tape spool. ghosts
searching for signals amongst the static

he awaited revision of his works
ill, amidst the scattered ruins
red ink, gold leaf & carets^


he, impetuous, slumped further into his doldrums
though, all public grievances were withdrawn
crass, he prattled on to his dolorous birds
still oblivious to his defunct words

He lied dormant, comatose
in the 3rd degree infirmary

there was once a pretty lass
who could exhume the pristine
glass contents of his tinsel'd tomb
His malady, he once named Gamine
lived in a stretched-white canvas room
she eyed his burnt pile of vile-dirge verse
as mayflys & junebugs, & smoggy dirigibles
fluttered gently out of her empty purse

she grew on him like a cancer
for she was God's embellishment
pallid and perfect, and he cursed
her love as it ebbed and flowed
her aureole glowed, safely stowed
in an airship's overhead compartment

she was flying home for
there was no other answer