How can I reach the unreachable..
teach the unteachable who's  comprehension is unbelieveable
But the fact  is unbelief is more than lack of knowledge..
Cause the truth is even Satan knows who God is..
Is it blindness...
truth on deaf ears..
the embracing of silence..
should there be surpises ..
when behind your eyelids enter a random act of violence..
A vision of darkness ..there's no light that why the pupils dilate the use of the iris..
But when use to darkness and the lights hits one close their eyelids..
I.e. Christ the truth the way the light..
Being unsaved is like living in the womb..
Darkness equivalent to that of a tomb..
Flashes of light is like labor contractions..
The unknown conviction hinting..
Considered a distraction..
Pushed out now watch the eyes reaction..
To the light cause from darkness there's a detachment..
If given a chance a adjustment happens..
An embracement of the light..
A rebirth Christ in action.
How can i reach the unreachable..teach the unteachable ..
With a script the director unknown Its more than the shout of action..
Living life like a movie unaware that the villains not acting..
Now could u imagine..
A movie set full of madness..
All the cast dead like really dead from a stabbing..
No equalizer the villain the only one left standing..
You may say excuse me..
Life is not a movie.
Truly
But a witness not performing there duty..is bystander..
No innocence exist...
No bliss in ignorance...
.Cause we all birth into sin.
So many questions with wrong answers given like the truth don't exist....
How can I reach the unreachable
teach the unteachable
who I tell to this body of Christ they should enlist
But  when a pass is given and the shot is missed..
It negates the assist..
A reason for the lost of the game..
The thought of a lost soul has me pissed..
I'm the point guard I help the scorer sustain..
Chris Paul with rock which is the gospel..
Passing the truth like Paul the apostle ..
Too many people out for a win like Christ didn't settle the score...
Adam severed the relationship but Christ rebuilt the rapport...
I am trying to reach and teach but there's no trust any more...
Pointing u in the direction of excepting the Lord..,
Embrace the word of God that double edge sword..
Them cuts is conviction..
The sword swinging is What it means to be a witness..
Led by the spirit A Christian
Yes we are made in Gods image..
Trying to reach every soul because the wins and losses count..
Life is not a scrimmage..
How can one soul have a  blemish..
Only dirt that can touch the soul is the dirty hands of sinning..
How can I reach the unreachable teach the unteachable..Who mistakes knowledge for ignorance...
And reject truth because arrogance..

As a child, I often looked up to the stars
But my eyes were often distracted by the man-made stars
Blinded for a few moments was I by these worshipped faces
Scanning them for a pure light, such as those above
But, human nature is to always seek more
More, that they were never able or willing to give
So I stopped looking.

I turned my gaze back to the vast skies
Never looking for satisfaction nor perfection
But I wait, with complete serenity
Opening myself to whatever wonders the untouched space may offer,
The little treasures that money cannot ever buy,
And constant reminders of the things I already have
But may have forgotten.

A cool breeze that embraces me, as his arms do
Endless skies are my love for him
That no eyes nor any means can ever measure
And beyond, the eternal presence of the universe
Always watching
Always ready to keep me afloat, should gravity weigh down unforgivingly
That space, those million globes of light, my family.

Our blood is fuel to the forever burning flames
And even when out of view, they are ever present
You sneer at my stupidity, stars die you whisper
And state that I am destined to fall back into your clutches.
My dear, they do not die!
They create a path for me and others to walk on
To bask in more radiance and unconditional love
With stars that glow even brighter
Shining down on all those who look up.

how lonely sits
the city says
lamentations

guess this mouse has what you americans call post traumatic
stress disorder,
think of it more like
a path for the
eyes.

one where eyes are finally forced away
from the works of hands
by the knock knock
knocking on
heaven's door,
everybody's saying,
hodi hapa? something's
wrong if no one's answering; tonight.

my neighbor whose
name is eej (for
real) came to
the hut with
his friend.

i said do you
have siblings
he said
i did

oh

said i

you are living
my worst nightmare
one thing about an african

childhood, they say fatalism, you say you
would think about death too
and who knows

what you'd
look
like

tonight by the bagel van i said bunkle
i gotta problem
what's your problem said he
well i think i'm not wearing enough colors
no said he you're missing a bright splash in the orange red family

who knows what we all look like
inside the infinite space
of our souls

wonder if
blue means purity or
green means beauty
or red means strength
or love
or love

well
we all look
pretty much
the same asleep

hatred doesn't look
different in one
eye or another

but why does
it have to
be in the
eyes of
anyone

this mouse has
been asking
since
child
hood

why
why
why.

the cruelty

but
yet
still
and
for
ever

(you always did care for me yeah
you always did share with me yeah)

you always make me laugh, still

the book of jonah makes me
think of sea legs
and just everything,
you know all
the palm trees
huts, nonvoices
of our lives

the blessings rain down
an ocean sunsetting
on an Ocean sky.

siblings

be strong the
good kind of
dangerous

is
the



fire

old makeup spilled on my floor
dirty clothes strewn on my floor

You can hardly see the carpet for all the clothes carelessly being trodden on.

Blue holiday lights are strung around the mirror.

I am watching Andy Warhol eating a hamburger
I am watching Andy Warhol eating a hamburger
on a new, thousand dollar laptop, slick-as-a-whistle, paid with a magnetic swipe.

For the past six months,
I have had less than four hundred $
combined in checking and savings,
and that number dwindles by the day.

I have no groceries,
but I've got fistfuls of orange prescription bottles,
and I was handing pills out like treats and candy.

(but they are needed, much and every day)

Where did all these bills come from?
Money is paper, but it means things.
Suddenly, it costs money to breathe.

Eating? Oh pshaw, that costs money, time, and the store's six blocks away.
We can subside on government cheese, beans, and the fiery licks of whiskey.

I pout on my throne of dirty cotton, thinking
"I get what I ask for, when I ask, and it always comes--at a price!" I sigh.

It's always over a hundred dollars more than I could spare
and brings bad luck, moreso than a couple broken mirrors would,
smashed over a the front of your mother's blackest cat.

"Quick! Let's do designer drugs with the paltry change given by our parents, given as allowance!
I wouldn't feel like I wasn't nothing, nothing at all," I say, batting my eyelashes, "Wouldn't they feel proud of our feelings of entitlement to the greater things in life and consciously responsible adult-like decisions?"

I crack open my father's checking account with that swipe of a magnetic strip,
it makes me seem responsible when he sees I just use it for pills and foodstuff.

(I prove I love him, and he loves me in this way)

Now, together, we will buy strawberries with his money, until our lips are pink.
They must be four dollars, at the very least, then we eat like the bourgeoisie (!)

I kiss the cheeks of my reflection in the bathroom
"Como ca va, darling? Comme si comme sa. . ."
I lick my lips, put on red lipstick and then blot,
tousling my hair, tipsy, as I touch up my face by
licking the tips of eyeliner up like a cat's little tail,
the ends of eyes, coated with eyeliner as black as
my tightest velvet pants and dark, dark heart.

We go together. You and me.

Lying on the floor, holding hands, in vinyl bliss
listening to the crooning of sweet Francoise Hardy,
and the addictions of the near-dead soul of Lou Reed

You should move to a big city
and I'll come call, prepaid, with
a voice that is thick and ripped,
from expensive French cigarettes
chattering of sugar-white beaches
as I cross the seas all on a plane,
burning money all along the way
all the while drunk on red wine,
twirling my fingers around, with
bags under eyes, a little anemic

(I think it adds to the glamour)

We will go out to a dimly lit place
We will go out dancing then after

I will put on dab perfume under my ears and on my wrists,
I will wear black tights for pants, but first, do a little cocaine
and you will fasten the clasp on my silver necklace tonight,
while I smoke, before helping me put on my favorite fur

And we will go see Andy, at the factory
I hear he's doing something
with that Basquiat fellow (!)

I will go follow false luxuries, come with me.
I will gamble with you in Monte Carlo or Las Vegas,

just as long as you pay my rent at $695 per month,
and keep pretending,
until I die, or overdose, or something.

She wants someone to love her
Because she wears combat boots (fondly named her "Kick Ass" boots)
With her dresses to award ceremonies

Because she beams her amazing smile at everybody
But saves her funny faces for those that she loves

Because she stays at school on her days off
Simply to run into people she hasn't seen in a while

Because she spends time alone, driving away
Not going anywhere in particular, just going away

Because she is never sure whether she deserves what she has
But she tries hard to appreciate it

Because she apologizes for too many things
And means every single one of those apologies

Because she writes well and writes often
But she is sometimes afraid of her work

Because she loves honest moments and honest people more than life itself
And she loves you for being honest, too

I have this feeling of insolubility
that cannot be quenched,
hunger without satisfaction,
fatigue that eternity’s dark warmth could not soften.
I continue to search for something to bring me peace
and nothing is clearing the sand from my eyes.
I sleep hours longer than I ever used to, but suffer all the same.
I don’t know where to go, or who to see. What am I looking for?
Something past the gray gloom shrouding my mind’s eye.
However poetic I sound, this is how I feel these past weeks.
I continue on. Driving through the fog, uncertain what’s ahead,
uncertain still of who I am now, and what the significance of the past means to me.
Suicide is beneath me, as is screaming bouts of rage.
These emotions cannot be quite expressed
through such primal actions,
and thoughts of the self deprecating nature.
Like my car covered in the morning dew, I drive on.
I don’t see where I’m going, but rather feel it,
a memory of the days’ past.
My body lingers on.
In the routine it’s under, trudging along without purpose.
I wipe the windshield but the fog returns
never acknowledging my efforts.
The sun too is against me,
refracting its rays through the water further ruining my perception.
Desensitized to my monotony, I continue on.
z.m.

Government should be an entity
continuously arising from and sustained by
the choice of the People
as opposed to
continuously sustained by artificial means;
that is to say,
Government should be
a post-hoc institution
fluctuating  constantly
with the Times;

Such is Evolution;
such does Life continue
such is neo-anti-sin.

Standing on the precipice
the people dance and sing
tip and toe along the razor's edge
not knowing what the day will bring

Finding comfort in the company we keep,
how brief the fleeting guarantees
from silver spoons like babes we feed
It'll take the doomsday bell to wake you from your sleep

And all we hold in our hearts as dear
we must secure by our own means
In no other man's hands rests your care
so when the hammer falls, prepare! prepare!

Your withered fingers feebly grasp
what's left of grandeur long since past
why do you cling to the status quo?
abandon your canon! forget what you know!

With humble heart and honest hands
carry the torch that holds the flame,
illuminates the darkened path
and points the way to start again

What countless numbers choose the road,
clamor for their place in line,
deaf to warning tones sustained
stretching across time,
it's the doomsday bell that's ringing
so when the hammer starts swinging where will you be?

Trotting along,
Narrow dusty trails,
Under a black sky,
It's not like the city,
The stars don't illuminate the cold, empty dessert,
Here they just forsake you.
Lantern hitched to saddle,
All it means is you can't see more than three feet ahead of yourself,
Just deep, pitch black, inescapable darkness.
Praying for safe passage,
Armed for knowing better,
It's not fear of the dark, of course,
It's the fear of not knowing what lingers in it,
Coyotes, wolves, maybe a mountain lion,
None of 'em compare to bandits,
It's reminiscent of Twain,
Nothing like a coward using the dark to his advantage.
Red on the horizon,
Anxiety begins to sink as peach seeps into the sky,
Survived the night,
Hope to survive another,
Under a black sky

How do I say
What can't be said
Or feel
What can't be felt?
To which you say:
"Well, how DO you feel?"

I don't know that this is real.
The fact that I have, or had,
All I could have wanted,
and yet,
I feel
Like I had nothing.

Nothing ever happened,
I never had anybody.
I asked nobody to lunch,
And gave my heart
To nobody.
Yeah that sounds about right-
No one or no body.

I had no one at my apartment,
Under the sheets
Was not a body,
Not a soul,
Not a woman,
Not nobody
Shared a pillow and a blanket.

So...
"How do I feel?"
I ask my self
And everybody,
Because if nothing happened,
With any body,
It only means that in this story
I was nobody.