Leave pity behind
don't ask for the help
for if you do
there'll be a yelp
and a brand new, gleaming
branded welt

But I did ask
for something new
then came the belt
numbers one and two
Now I've got what I asked for:
my welts and bruises
A slave must ask
A free man chooses

No child may bare
the weight of decision,
but teir keeper may strike
if the child is useless
So devil may care
May care for the children
If the parent does not
he'll boil them in cauldron.

In youth there was a dream
to find the key
but age has worn it down
so abandon the plea.

Important roles to play, we all do have,
but fools **** the day, you don't know the half.
In entirety we've lost, our will to live,
but fools sap your kindness, till you've not to give.

You can't change the channel or buy a book,
when you're face to face with this kind of crook.
You still have your sight, but can't seem to look,
at the mess they've made, the arrogance took.

Hiding in the skins of gods, these fools wait,
To prey upon innocence, odds are great.
There's no amount of stupid that will sate.
These sober morons, and their world-wide plate.

13th October, 2016
To all this will concern:

I sit alone.
I just sit.

When I breathe, I try not to stir the air
and make sails out of cobwebs.
When I breathe, I urge my chest
not to furrow my shirt.
When I breathe, I almost die
so that I'm barely breathing.
For who should want my breath
to be more than a whimper?

If I breathe,
butterflies can take the day off,
for my breaths will churn hurricanes.
They'll cause wars in the far reaches of the universe.
They'll make God sneeze.
"Oh, I'm sorry... bad breath."

If I breathe,
I'll be presumed alive.
I'll have to work.
I'll work for big tobacco,
or BP
or the mafia: whichever one.
My ecological footprint will be the bodies
of your loved ones.
I'll do this because, if I work at the grocery store,
who knows when I'll sell food to the local
serial killer.
I'll be aiding and abetting the 9 to 5 of Freddy down Elm street!
Who wants that?

No, no. Yes, I'm right, it's better this way.
And if you push me.
If you so much as touch me.
Millions, perhaps billions, of infinitesimally small parasites will swarm your body. You'll sneeze.
"I'm sorry. I haven't showered for thirty days because: the oceans, you know?"

Action has consequence and, after so many years of trying not to be a burden and, somehow, still being a bigger burden, I'm convinced its time to go.

I've decided to be a sack of compost... Grade A compost.
I'll mail myself to a respectable farm (non-GMO mind you).
I'll pray to all the gods and living, semi-living & unconscious entities beforehand to straighten things out that I'm signing up with Jesus: nothing personal, I just don't think the rest of you have good benefits (you have to be cordial. After all, I'm going to be something important one day. Grade A compost isn't cheap.)

The last step was to write this letter. Digital, of course. Don't want to waste paper mailing this to everyone. Yes, I'm not stupid. I paid all the different energy companies in the world the exact dollar amount per second it would cost someone to read this each time the page is accessed until... well, the end of this website. Have to be practical.

This is a strange suicide letter, I know, but bare with me.

My method of choice.

Well, I don't want to leave a mess, so I'll just wait until I'm dead.

How did you think this was going to end?

Solutions are like dishes.
They have ingredients
and once one is found
you can make it again.
Yet, my lonesome irksome
won't pass with time
and since there's no reason
I guess I'll just rhyme.

I've been to the ocean
its embrace like the grave.
When you're caught in its arms
you're too lost to save.

In somber dreams blue
I do think of you
and drift on a draft
of winds that I knew
Without you I'm there
in oceans not fair
my weeping's a flare
an SOS' glare...

Isolated I am
a man in a maze
No matter where I turn
I am forlorn
solutions are infinite
but momentary
and worn.

Poison
Poison, dripping on the tongue
soaking in the flesh
crawling through the veins
possessing the body
reaping the soul
waiting inside...
waiting to be caught red-handed.

Hate,
a poison I know too well,
gripping my heart
sacking my defenses
and throwing them into the river.

Hate ignites my passion
turns lover to monster
turns monster to lover
and all the while
I drink in the crude oil.
This raw token of evil.
Its malice is like
the claws of a lion
hidden
waiting
like poison
suddenly they thrash!
Peace is cut to pieces.

I once had an appetite for lovers.
Now, I only appetize the monsters.

The hour was late, and
soon to be later.
The minutes devoured the seconds.
Leisure was my antidote to a long day's madness.
Then I found her, or she found me.
She cast a spell on me in the witching hour.
Her gaze was possessive of me.
Premonition was her touch.

I know not how she crossed the room.
What mattered is she was in my lap. Summoned.
Yet, was it I who lingered, nose at heel?
You can't question the magic.
We are the agents of fate;
we are deciding and directed.

I could never be a marksman.
I wanted her to kiss me: I talked about our parents.
I wanted to dance with her: I romanced the weather.
I wanted a way to reach her: I reach for her thighs.
Oh, how we all wish the target would welcome the bullet,
and to my surprise, she welcomes.
My defences evaporate into the smoke-filled air.
I take her hand. The edge of her lip curves.
That's all she wrote.

Sometimes, complexity is a burden, and simplicity is freedom.

A lifetime of unrequited passion was distilled in that night for us both.
We danced in controlled chaos: not knowing our bodies, yet fully aware.
Time ticked backwards and forgot to tock.
I lost my tie, she lost her sock.
Giggles, the sign of a fermented joy.
The joy of not knowing joy, true joy, and then having it.

It was love... wasn't it?
Yes, it was. It was not mature, sure, but it was. We knew it.
We sheltered ourselves from the world.
Time ticked forward and tocked with abandon.
I remember moments holding her, sharing in her warmth as she shared in mine. A communion for two.

I remember rings exchanged.
I remember the first fruit of her labor. Our labor.
A hand so small it felt like a stick shift.
Time ticked forward and, then

Silence.
I don't know when we stopped talking,
but she was gone.

My tears, some semblance of oceans forgotten, dotted the clothes of my baby rocking in my trembling arms.
It seemed pain was my daily meal.
I faced questions I never considered possible:
Will she ever come back?
Will I ever love again?
What if I can't love again?
What if I feel this pain forever?
...
What if she's dead?

Our life replayed like waves lapping the shore in my distant mind:
How the upbeat jazz descended to slow rock tunes.
"Oh babeh, your lipstick kiss is foreva, it's the red rose ova my grave!"
Our cyclical steps matching, lighting fires in our hearts.
Our arms coiled around one another, as if we were falling from some hallowed place... falling in love is scary.

We try to smile and remember the madness when we're sober.

We forget the things that are important sometimes... all the time.
We forget so much that we become these chewed up, gnarled bits of humanity, searching for our souls when they are right inside us. Incomplete, sure, but there all along.
We have that hollow wanting.
That grinding hunger, that hot thirst.
I don't know the cure for certain, but, the memories seem to know.

Let's stop searching for happiness. That's like searching for flight. What we need is the wings. It's not youth, it's not money. It's opportunity. It's innocence: the belief that things are simple, because they are.

Innocence led me to Rosie that night.
Compromise in the face of difficulty stole me away.

It was years later that I remembered the pain.
Laura got off the school bus angry.
"Boys."
When I got to the bottom of it, she was in the wrong.
She dumped him... for nothing. Because she could.

Waves of despair bubbled up from beneath my present: the calling of the past.
I almost strayed from my resolutions.

I was left with the thought, "She's just like her mother,"
but I left that thought forlorn,
because the truth is, I raised Laura,
and so,
maybe I'm the demon calling the angels sick.

Maybe we're all demons.
It makes sense. We all feel we've fallen from grace.
The devil you know smiles from the mirror,
it wears your face and crowns you king or crud...

Starve it to death, hang it on your sterling bow and
sail for the waking dawn.

The scholars do stumble,
the sinners do mumble,
the God-folk humbled,
all in sight of God.

He walks with language,
he talks with umbrage,
for those who can't gauge,
the cure of his truth.

I tell you here,
faith is easy.
It is a decision to leave
man behind
in the dust from which
he came.
To walk forward
with God
into the light from which
he came.

Faith is easy;
as easy as sight does see;
as easy as touch does feel;
as easy as thought does think;
as easy as smell does smell;
as easy as taste does tell;
as easy as breath does breathe;
faith is as one does believe.

When one acts by faith,
You are as Christ does live.

Picasso had it right, you know...
there is no such thing as perfect.
Yet, there is gratitude in the flaw;
there is hope in the falsehood.

She appeared to me
as the manifestation of a fantasy.
I thought that
the perfection within her
blossomed her appearance as symmetry.

The madness
of my obsession cemented
upon her scent.
The string instrument
vibrations of my heart so nuanced,
so rare, yet, so familiar a dream as to be recollections
of heaven.
If she, living, tastes like love,
do delicious pastries
taste like death

The more I knew of her,
the less I knew
pain,
until...

From our love,
so robust in its ripeness,
time gormlessly gorged upon us,
and we decayed,
like seeds in the apple
trapped and never to be free.

It was then that I saw her flaws
and it seemed they were "real"
The distortions grew numerous
and each beauty lost appeal,
peeling away to slowly reveal
the scars that Frankenstein
couldst never, ever heal,
for his monster's myriad scars
are the pillars of its humanity...

Picasso measured the conflicted angles,
and saw perfection would rob them of life.
It is the awkward jostling of misshapen things
that gives them movement, as they ever so try to
shift into place, but if they were to do so,
they would be as the yonder rock,
or the caged boiling soup
of ancient fuel all
perfection
will
be
...

So
I let her go;
I freed myself of
the death I refused to
become. And when she broke,
I told her,
"When you are whole,
you will be happy to break, again."
Break bread with love.

She was winter & I am spring
I was a budding poet
Her voice was pristine
I yearned that she sing to me
hear, she'd hold those notes in symphony
here, I grew to love her
there, in the twining of our love
in twain, we loved
she loved
I loved
She adored the lyricism
the play of my prose
the waves of emotion that
flexed curls in her toes
I arose
in ways akin to my nature
like wetting a letter
mail in the mailbox
unknown sender
I never let her in
but she did me
this way and that
in twain, we loved
I loved
she loved
I loved the shivers of her soul
sending quakes into my heart
the flute of her throat
the notes of her tears
bitterness, sadness, madness
she let it all free
in voice
in me
I cried, let it stop
let me out
let me not
I will stay
till I'm weary
till I'm old in springtime
till you're teary
In twain we loved
in twain we grew apart
old tires on the Volkswagen
ambling along
singing the old song
on and on
in twain, we loved
in twain, we wanted more
I wanted her to sing the same songs
she no longer loved her voice
she stopped singing altogether
I was wondering
Are we together
In twain, we loved
In twain, we grew sick
I ached for her touch
a poison like pancakes
sweet... for toothaches
the cavity of my desire was a trench
a gorge
with stench
that she despised
don't touch me
I'm not in the mood
don't look at me like that
like what
you know what
In twain, we loved
In twain, we sought freedom
I began writing the new chapters
the new adventures
enraptured
the tales spun like endless yarn *****
endless inspiration
endless distraction
you won't spend time with me
all you do is sit at the computer
don't you care about my dreams
don't you care about mine
I did care but you don't sing anymore
you know why
I don't
you should
In twain, we loved
In twain, we broke free
I wasn't rejected
look, an advance
that's nice
aren't you happy
I am, see
who's that
a friend
you only laugh with him
he's funny
I'm not
you are, just
what
this isn't working
not today
then when
not today, I can't, my dreams
I like him
I can't
this is my decision
why is this happening today
you chose
I choose you
you could have written songs for me
I did
you wrote songs for yourself
I'm sorry
me, too
In twain, we said goodbye
Yet in goodbye
We were together
She was fall, and I'm the summer I always dreamed
Basking in the sun of my destiny
Absent of the kiss of cold, where I left my innocence
Absent of love, where I left my heart
Along the westward road where seasons never end
Along the westward road where sweet songs end in silence

Have you ever had a bad cherry?
At first, they're succulent.
You feel thrilled, almost salacious.
You burrow for more.
You fill your hands with their gravity.
Red ones, dark one, even better.

Then you find it, it looks like all the rest.
You're ravenous, unable to pull your lips from its surface.
You expect to crunch down on its soft supple skin.
You find the horror within, it's bland, the taste is thin.
But each one before, held a marvel within.
Your heart is riotous, it looked like all the rest.

The anger has me writhing with a tempestuous din.
The sound of heartbreak yelps from inside.
How could it be that one?
How could it be that little thing that seditiously winks without eyes?
A piece of my soul it takes but it doesn't leave by any window.
It dies within, leaving my gut to wash its sin.

Sometimes you are that bad cherry,
That beast that brings mourning.
I sleep with the scar and heal in the morning.
The cherries look too good today to pass up.
But another bad cherry looms in the wake of my deep thirst.
Just as with you, there's always another day.

All the sins
washed away.
So was wrought the grace.

Wings, like lovers arms, enfold.
White as light.
Healing flames.
Passion pure.

Such was the kiss of forgiveness,
upon this newborn soul.

The dregs of insanity
don't fade.
They linger in the drain,
bubbling viciously.
I watch them choke the
innocence
from the stone.
It seems to blacken
and I wonder:
"Was that my flesh?"

It is still my flesh.
I am still a sinner.

Yet, by the power of this...
bankrupt insanity.
I float over the past
to embrace the future.

Without such tarnish
to strangle my soul
I smile...
it is a child's smile.

I’ve sat within that crowded room.
Elbows, like the knobbed tree branches of a forest,
sway with mirth and freedom.
Yet, my heart lost its fire long before.
And as I sat, I sighed the rousing air
of the room with carouseling dancers,
and felt that no one was there; not even myself.

There are many things that solitude can inspire.
We desire what we can only hope to have again.
Yet, how lucky am I? I dream of things I’ve never known.
I see her hug his hip to her hip, whisper in his ear...
What did she whisper?
He will tell one dear friend,
and that friend,
will feel what I feel – a burst of elation, a drop of envy – a deadly cocktail.
And that friend will go on and wonder, “What if she were mine...”
And I know because I was that friend who tasted her in his words. And dreamed.
I dreamed until the dreaming kept me awake
until the dream cannibalized other dreams
until the dream put visions of her in the clouds
until the dreams, dreams, shattered-my-soul!

I was the one who told my friend about her.
I crafted her beauty and charm with such power to disarm, using my silken language,
and he tasted her essence in my words.
So, now I sit here.
I sit here in this room filled with carouseling couples.
I can only sigh,
as I watch her dance.

Do you see the towers of the, towers of the mind.
Broadcasting jealousy and sin of every kind.
Was hopefully lost, but now I’m hopelessly found.
Was flying high, but now I’m hugging the ground.

Dangerous music of the, music of the lion,
Scaring the children, can you hear ’em cryin’?
Sometimes sleeping sound, sometimes waking silent.
Always eating lifeforms, always acting violent.

Do you mind, yes do you mind, a different tasting relief?
Do you dream of God, or does the devil ***** belief?
You say I was blind, now I want you to say that I see.
You will lock the doors and I will distribute the key.

Safely seeking seven songs so silence stops.
Broken bridges braying creating many crops.
A spectacular vernacular sweeps the nation.
A dreadful mouthful regurgitated elation.

Sight to the sorrowful, blindness to the blissful.
I dare say corporate ****** tarnish the beautiful.

Betrayal, is like the mole in the pasture.
You thought you knew all about it,
when it popped its head up,
but god knows what it does underground...

Sooner or later, you find out, the mole was blind all along.
Didn't even really know you were there.

So how do you trust a friend who has no eyes to see.
How do you trust the uncertain problem solver, the maverick.
How do you trust the truth of Lady Justice, herself,
Sheathed in ragged, blood-stained cloth of the innocent.

Maybe the real question is, how do we trust ourselves?
Aren't we blind, when we live half our lives in darkness.
Still further, we live most of life in sleep,
Where our dreams are luxurious secrets, even to ourselves.

No one speaks of their lofty dreams, they stay perched in limbo.
To speak endlessly, until not spoken to, if only life were so simple...

If I could ever see,
a woman that personifies,
the symphony of this bliss,
I would cry,
and feel no shame from it.

If she spoke,
with the restraint-ed passion and grace
in the tune of my emotion;
I dare say I would be lulled into a dream,
the romance of which,
I could never hope to realistically pursue...

I lay bleeding in the crevice
trying to scream the pain away
like a fiction, was noble bliss
I closed my eyes to end the day
and along came the man
that would silence my fears
bandaged wounds
skins of beers
dirge of tunes
smiling, "Cheers!"

I could walk when morning came
shake of hands
sharing names
Eljago, he said proudly
I cringed admitting my name
regardless he called it fitting
I said much the same

With Eljago's farewell words,
he strode in danger's path
Mount Death on his horizon
I looked on, "Absurd!"
walking after him,
"Why head there?"
He said love tests all men
but for some, there is a fare
"I'll join you on this quest!"
Looking mournful, he said,
Beware...

Long was the journey!
'Neath forests, o'er hills
Nests of creatures, exotic thrills
Barbarian territory
Witch's lands... chills.
"I tire," I complained
Eljago urged we continue
"My wound gnaws me!" I shrieked.
Still, he pushed us
I collapsed, swamped in sweat
Angered, he chided me
and warned of the danger
I languished despite he
There was no roar or crack of twigs
no arrogant warning
the creature's maw like a cave
came to swallow us, darkness
blinding
Eljago swift, his might awing
cleaved it in two
while I sat bawling
Like two halves of a hill
each side flattening trees
the forest hushed in chill
as the beast was no more...
What did he use,
to fell the monster?
Eljago pointed to Mount Death
he insisted we go faster

The Journey was longer
than I could have known
at a faster pace
you'd think I was thrown!
I twisted an ankle
Eljago gave it strength
I fell over
He picked me up
I puked
He fed me
My legs gave out
He carried me
I wept
the air was so thick
I could barely breath
He finally stopped
He told me stories of his love
On an island constantly devoured by the sea
Eljago was loved immaculately
Her name was Vailloria
she came from the sea
they had ten children
but angered the Gods
for Vailloria was wed
despite Eljago's perceived odds
to have her for himself
he had to face Dragado
God of lies and darkest shadow

I told Eljago of my life
in laborious
excruciating
detail
and how I'd fallen to die...
Eljago, my savior,
began
to cry.
He had never heard a story,
so mired in turmoil
adversity made him strong
but it made me so weak.

Eljago carried me further,
to the top of Mount Death
There, I watched him approach
the throne
of the Shadow
of Death.
Dragado stepped out from shadow
his features made of bone
he looked down on Eljago
and laughed a roaring drone
"Is this what she wants?
That pathetic adulterous crone!"
Like thunder was the strike
right down on Eljago's head
never had a blow
filled me with so much dread,
but Eljago stood for glory
Eljago stood for love!
In fact, where was Eljago?
There he was, above!
His strike was like an eagle
or an axe
or something mighty
it split Dragado quick
but there was something
fishy
a puff of cloud and shadow
no residue of anything messy.

As the mist cleared,
Eljago glanced at me, confused.
I shrugged, scratched my beard
hoped the fight would be continued.
Eljago dropped to his knees,
clawing at his chest
"What's happening to me!" he cried.
I rushed over at his behest.
It was sudden,
it was cruel,
no honorable way to end a duel...
The shadowed hand of Dragado
burst from Eljago's chest
clutching Eljago's heart
failed was the test.

Eljago smiled,
he looked into my eyes, relaxed
he handed me a little scroll
"Find Vailloria..." and passed,
before his last words were said,
but I knew what we wanted last.

Dragado sat smiling
on his spectral throne
For once, something brave I said,
"Take me to Vailloria's home!"
Laughing, he obliged
A dark door opened
I walked through with confidence
and emerged on an island's bed.
There was Vailloria, waiting
beauty radiant as a breath of heaven
around her, children played
I walked to her right then
I handed her the scroll
She read it with her children ten
Who was Eljago, to you? she asked
Thinking of his tears,
I said, "He was my true friend."

Our world is dying
Its aches are the wars
its groans are the screams

Blame
like a thorned crown
needles my mind
sowing doubt
and guilt.

Yet, I accept my purpose...
I heed the signs
I slay the serpents
I caw the call
salvation is worth this.

I gather the worthy:
the wheat from
chaff;
those humans, now demons,
in abandonment,
laugh...
but the worthy, chins high
heads aglow
walk the path;
I tread
through endless snow.

Yet when the passage
has been met
"Was I wrong?
Am I false prophet?
Crazed all along?"

For the gate is not barred
it spits us out.
It cleanses its treasure
from our ilk
like holy drought.

Left to scour the wasteland
gnawing us with frost
We wander its wasting reaches
We're not frightened
we're lost.

In the pasture of moonlit dreams
they sought the music and the seams
of realities caged by beams
of light hidden in a tomb of sins...

With brush
and pen
they strove
again
to awaken a long-lost friend

Humanity's aid, the devil's ruin,
a savior beyond what's worth pursuing,
for all are judged by saviors awakened
cast in iron
cage awaiting
time unwrought from plans abating
devil's deeds no longer
contemplating
their yields and wicked whims
now dating
cobwebs conjured
by idleness, hungered
schemes distorted
abandoned plunder
salvation came to the sleeping world, hence
for the devil's slothfulness made pence
duplicity broke itself in twain
devils freed and angels made
war in heavenly realms abound
demonic trickery, no longer purchase found
light shone down from truth above
o'er horizon, burgeoning sun commanded its wake
cast its sight upon the world
devils expired as does smoke unfurled
as do shadows in all-consuming light, unmade
and what became of that world then?

When the sun may set, we shall learn again...
What darkness shrouds, we forget, so too the pain,
for what the light sears, the darkness cools,
and what the light frees, the darkness feeds,
what the light starves, the darkness protects,
what the light feeds, the darkness drains,
what the darkness drains, the light protects,
what the light protects, the darkness hungers,
what the darkness hungers, the light favors,
what the light favors, the darkness despises,
what the darkness despises, the light understands,
for well made plans cannot thrive in darkness alone,
if the light should reveal the plans to be tainted
the zenith of sun shall burn the plagues of satan...

The heart. The errant symbol of restless devotion.
It can be a blind lover's hope, a buoy in death's dying desperation,
Or damnation to the wise, a martyr's foolish, festering, folly.
Be sure not to forget, that the heart is sure to die.

It will be diseased, before it is deceased.
It will be broken, before it is bereft of beauty.
It will be hopeless, before it is hesitant,
And in that pause before the final blow,
It shall weep its last tear, and love no longer.

If betrayal is dealt with a kiss, then pray tell,
What is the sign, that heralds love's abandon.
Any moment, any breath saved for eternity,
Is snuffed out in the most glorious fashion.

Calm before the unapproachable sigh, and
Still no whisper of frustration from me.
I would still be strong, if I were to say,
That I am no longer passion's, patient, prisoner,
Or cupid's, aimless, trusting, intrepid, target.

He wouldst claim me heretic before heir.
Hair like the winter white, sprouts 'pon my scalp.
Signs of my bitterness waning in the wash of wine.
For we are all grapes, longing to be sublime.

Were I to count the leaves from June to June,
Where in the world, would I find love soon?
Would I learn that life on a silver platter,
Is useless, enjoyed with plastic spoons?
Surely any fork would do, unless the meal forbids it.

Foraging amidst the gardens of Eden and Amazon,
The animals wonder at my perplexity, my regret.
How could they understand, these apes and snakes.
Up in a tree, there it shone. A familiar shape, for me to long
A ripe, red, resonant fruit shaped for open hands.
The apple shook in branches, fading like.
The heart.

This is the narrative:
I live a comparative nightmare
disparate psyches battle for clarity,
within one body,
the cycle's insanity,
but humanity is the parody of a benevolent charity.

I lead the *** of an army
and lay waste on the enemy
so heavy that the donkey
is appointed head of the EPA:
it's on the trump card.

I don't understand the garbage I spew;
so much waste that there's nothing new.
It all conforms into a deep black goo
that I must dump in the rivers, my pride, too.

There are chains on my soul,
and they are sewn into my flesh
so that I am caged in my body.
When something rots,
there's no room to breathe.
When there is pain, it is amplified.
When I wish to love, I am destroyed,
and this happens with every glance,
for I love at first sight, but I am destroyed
yet, the chains remain, gnawing,
choking, hanging me, please...
Let me free.

In form alone
in shape it thrives
it shifts and shouts
it lies in terror.
I wonder where
I know it from
and who it is
and where's the gun...
But the body it held
the secrets it whispers
I cannot know
for my tongue's like a bell.
The final knell
that soul did hear
was grave and sharp
that much is clear.

You say I'm getting too close for comfort
Baby, I'm just getting close for my comfort
but comforts not an island
where we can getaway.

She says get away from me!
I'm not as happy as can be,
because that would require a sojourn
free
of time.

It's sublime when you say,
"Stay with me, please stay,"
because I've got a plan in which,
staying
is the secret recipe.

Can't we stop deliberating our feelings?
Can't we stop stalling and start stealing;
stealing moments from The Man
when rebellion is sweet? (and necessary...)

I've got pennies in my pocket,
One for luck and one in my sock, it's
to sock it to any buster who looks you
up and down. (and hope he faints...)

I know this is all talk
you'll stop listening
and away you walk,
but remember how
I tried and how you
laughed.

We're winding down from fun and games
suddenly there's no one to blame
when we forget to love
end up singing
blues.

When moonlight aches,
When sunlight wakes,
I'll need a hit,
Of your fervent wit.
But if I'm naughty,
Incessantly haughty,
Conquer me.
Humble me,
Please.

Beauty is in the hand of the suitor?

Groom to the wondrous world.

Coupled with harm and guilt,

This man, sheds no tear when blood is spilt,

But what can eyes do, without tears?

What path must he choose in the twilight.



If there be no ground for him to tread,

How should he conquer his foe?

Or rather, how was it done on such notice,

As he is at the cusp of his opportunity,

He has no bounds to break free,

For he sought no greater challenge to overcome.



Drumming his fingers on the scalp of The Impossible;

Scribbling the name on the skull of his last nemesis,

He bows to no sun and he howls to no moon,

Soon he will realize that he is to bow to no man.

He is neither beast nor god, neither is he spirit.



He can never realize what he is, for he loves a woman.

She keeps him tethered to this world.

She cries for all the blood that he has spilt.

She nurses his conquered, and she holds his soul.

It is the pain that he never feels, that she bears,

Which spurns her to love him and him to love her.



He has found mercy in his realm of bloodshed,

Under the loving embrace of mercy,

He realizes he is a man, for he has hope.

He could not find mercy if he were not a man,

For it is the nature of man to find mercy.

That is to say, he that does not find mercy;

Is no man.



In that moment, weakness is perceived.

Enemies conspire and in their unrest,

Tirelessly proceed to assume control of his might.

They steal her away and spill her blood in lust.

Disemboweling all in the world that he loves.

For power twists the mind; inflames the soul.



However they know not what they have done.

When they killed the woman they killed mercy,

Attempting to injure the man,

But he was no man, and when they killed mercy,

The monster no longer felt concern for the innocent.

No more were mercy's tears present to quell his rage.



The palace crumbles in a shower of glittering red.

Blood, jewels and fire careening forth across the land.

His wrath unopposable, and his defiance of life absolute.

Nothing of worth remained in the wake of his destruction.

He wouldn't stop at nothing until nothing remained.



Concurrently upon the last day,

Under the last sunrise,

Before the last rays of light,

In the last seconds leading up to the last moment,

One question remained giving him enough pause,

To cause the inevitability of existence persistence,

For no man is greater than the inevitable

And no man hath the power enough to end the world,

By any measure of his importance or abandon.

He faced the only question he could never answer.

"What am I?"

I don't want you.

I don't want your love born sweat to conquer my onyx tower,
It crumbles still, because I shake from a withdrawal,
Caused not by intimacy, but by the mere fantasy of you.

I don't want you.

I don't want your sickly sweet hive juice, oh Queen of sweet nothings,
But a pestiferous hunger felt by I and every other before me,
Allows us to follow you just by scent, twenty eight days after hearing you.
And we shuffle still to the tune of your voice, collecting the pollen,
We find ourselves selling our bodies to you without hindrance,
And we commune in the afterlife singing your praises,
For only heaven compares, but we still linger in your presence.

I don't want you.

I don't want these tears I shed to convince you that I'm weak,
But my heart is already broken and in the healing that you administer,
It breaks again, because your touch is so gentle,
The ecstasy hits like a hammer, and I writhe in silent ******,
Only knowing that this will end, but holding onto the feeling still,
As if it is the only thing keeping me afloat in the monsoon of life.

I might want you.

I've written eight thousand sonnets and every one is about you,
But every one is different, because I appreciate how complex you are,
And I'm driven mad by the love you claim to be capable of,
The shadow of it tames me and I lose my will to fight you.

I don't want you.

Fear grips my heart in the dissonance of your desire and my worry,
And the drumming of ancient rituals berates my consternation,
A ritual I see as forbidden is nonetheless more alluring,
And I claw at my cage, wondering when I can let,
This hunger be sated, let the rabbit run free.

I don't want you.

So close to breaking the hermetically sealed barrier,
So close to losing all recognition of moral oversight,
So close to breaking down the walls that coddle,
So close, so close, so close, to ultimate sin.

I want you.

Suddenly a weight shifts and the fall is too fast to feel.

I want you.

Like light banishing darkness my pearl is let loose,
And the line that was drawn cannot be real.

I want you.

And I'm proud of that, even though God will strike me down,
But someone told me that rules are meant to be broken,
I understand now that you are the candy,
That my mother told me would cause cavities,
But if I don't eat the candy,
If I don't have the cavities,
Someone after me will never hear my story.
They will do the same.
If I don't break this rule,
Someone else will pay the price.

I am your cautionary tale.
This night of passion will make that certain.

Solemn hands, led by somber mind, raise the instrument of silence, putting it to sober lips, and softly the silence reigns, but soon abates.

Poor hands lower the instrument as gentry waits.

Rich feet tread upon buoyant ground, an island out in a storm, awaiting judgment.

Forces fail to ****** the veil from feeble foes between the toes of giants tall and giants small that fall from forty-five hundred miles above, fists rattling, jaws chattering, buried in the collision.

Perhaps nails are this way when they affix me.

However, I quickly pry myself away from the cruel, cruel day. Singing lost languages, listening languidly, plying myself candidly through clear and cloudy skies, alike.

Journeys over just lands, burning in my dust-hands are strands and strands of whiskers, plucked from lions’ maws to build an antenna.
My hands shape a needle weaving itself into the sky.

Yet, the collision of derision upon my mind will affix me to my madness, and there is no escape from a box that I have been told to call humanity.

Weeks spent searching for an answer.
Inside, I've only been finding cancer.
Grow strong, you'll be a dancer.
"You're wrong, that's not the answer."

I'll grow into a crook, roaming streets.
I'll crack open stores, like nuts, for eats.
Prostitutes will be my daily conviction.
My homes will slay me with eviction.

Little did I know, I'd become a legend.
Like Bilbo humbly living at Bag End.
Plenty stories to tell, mistakes to defend.
Dragons I've slain, lovers in deep ends.

Yet, it's all come down on this bluff.
I'd always believed I was a tough.
I'll have you know, it's just a bluff.
When I jump, I'll fly into the rough.

You once sat,
in the palm of my hand
told me love,
was our home to share.

Did I forget?

You once raved,
of my stellar cooking
often looking
where I couldn't see.

Did I forget?

I paced the hospital floor
seeking an end
to the anticipation of doom
you couldn't fight.

Did I forget?

A long breath leaves you
lost in the atmosphere
you die alone
in endless night.

Did I forget!
Did I forget that you made me?
That you toiled for hours in the womb of love
nursing the fractures I had when you found me?!
Did I forget how you taught me symbols of communication
that allowed you to understand me beyond the shallow
shadows that I was so used to receiving as love?
I must have forgotten? My heart must be rotten...
Did I forget the taste of the salt on your lips,
as if you were a boundless sea that would
never drown me, or sequester me from light?
I must have lost my mind, why!
Why can one act unbind the seams
of such a precious gift: the threads
of love and the tome of truth!

When I fell in love again,
I must have forgotten,
because for the first time
in my wandering life
I didn't know you
anymore.

I belong in the
dark rain
I reign in the deep fire
I belong in the joy and the pain
the love with no name
my weakness refrain
I lie
I conquer my desire
I reign in the echoes of my shame
I sleep in tomorrow's loving arms
I search for the beast to be tamed
but of all I seek
passion has branded me true
The toil of the earth paid my price
but I'm alive in the emptiness of cost
I'm in love
with devotion
a mistress whose price is unending
and gladly paid
I die to be her passenger
I die because death is my coin
but I'm disposed in the youth
of my innocence
where it yet knew the devil
It dances now,
steps wrought with despair
but every step leads me closer
to the peace beyond
I
never
belonged
in the ocean of the ordinary,
my wings can fly galaxies with a beat
evade calamity with a whisper
champion defeat with a bow
and embrace the inevitable with grace
and we awake...
In the hour of reckoning
light will shed upon the abyss
and we will learn
I never belonged with your enemies
because mine clothed me with armor
before the storm
I remained unbattered
unfazed by power's ultimate purchase
I lingered dead,
yet undying
my victory transposed into immortality
Thus, with enemies such
who needs a friend like you
not for whom I belong
not for a morsel of truth.

Two moons rise and one moon sets.
Spotlight captures the one who frets.
Caught unawares in pursuit of wonders.
Tears drops stain the gloves of blunders.
Slipped off to forget what we have done.
The gloves decay under rising sun.
One moon sets and another rises,
while the sun departs with myriad disguises.
If two moons were wed in sunlit dreams,
would we forego our plans for all good things...
Would pleasures unstitch our tidy strings
and delay our minds for fallacies to sing.
I admit I'm unsure.
Nevertheless I will try,
to wed the moons, to brighten the sky,
but beyond the celestial weapons of love,
an infinite yearning awaits our passion.
For there are many moons in need of another.
There are many suns that must shine on the two.
For at the end of the day you and I do not matter.
Wherever there is one, there must be two.
So I say to her, I must be with you.

Are you patiently persistent, or persistently patient?
You are encouraged to be both when under the pavement.
Yet, in the world of the living, everyone's rushing.
When you blow jobs from the government, blushing.
When you smoke cars at the dealer, pushing.
Ideas laced over one another like a hero in addiction.
Pleasure locked in fervent battle like out her space friction.

I need a place to die where love is infinite.
Hostess: "Another cup of gin?"
Me: "That's it, I quit!"
Hostess: "You don't even work here, Jim?"
Me: It's weird, I know, but this moment isn't working for me,
I've got to split..."

We need to live in a place where you can't get addicted off of spit!
I don't want to buy pleasure, don't you ever make it an option,
do you like broken souls, so broken that the empty's rotten?
I've lost my nerve with this, so I can't feel a thing,
Reality: "Sir, we've been calling you for years!"
Me: "Oh, couldn't hear the ring... from where I dropped it!"

I'm divorced from this insanity, reality? Travesty?
I show up at bars, saying, "Let me out!" Bars of steel!
It's a hard sell to be sober. I'm sober, man. "For real?"
Everyone wants the pleasure: a jolly good time!
When someone's sober, well, it's almost a crime... (it might be)
Beer? No. Poker? No. Swear word? No. *******? Ummm...
:)
Maybe...
>:-)
No.
:'-(

What a land. What a hopeless, marching masquerade of: huh?

Two horses galloping on sun-kissed plains
Hoofprints on roses
Hoofprints rippling surface of quiet lake
Hoofprints carve your name on yonder moon
Because we’ve been everywhere, and I was everywhere with you

Are your fingerprints on the back of my hand?
Must I be careful not to touch someone new, lest they know you’ve been there?
Would they tremble in fear?
Such love! They would say. It burns bright even in dying!
I needn’t fear such things. I’ll never touch another.

Should I cry? Would tears express such sorrows?
If I were to bring peace to the world, would I ever find my own? Such sorrow.
With such sorrow, would ****** sate the wound? Worlds reduced to graves and still sorrow lingers.
Such sorrow must burn away of its own ilk.
Better to have loved then lost? Better not to have loved you, at least.

I laugh.
The miles between us were a drop in the ocean. Truly, they were.
I can't get far enough from the memory of us... because I am the moon upon which your name was carved.

The music wasn't reaching him.
He was starting to wonder,
was he really him?
The picture fades in the portrait
rim,
but it's okay, if who you are is dim,
because the world is brighter than your
sin
but to him,
the world fades in its global
rim
and his life loses its flavor
love loses its neighbor
It's kind of hard to think
when your job is slave labor
It's kind of hard to wink when happiness
is hard to savor,
but that doesn't mean you've got to hate your
creator.
How does life go on when you're empty?
You hunger for more,
but in front of you is plenty
Why?
As time ticks down
from eleven,
the suffering is worse
when all you want is
heaven.

Like cadavers are so many lovers.
Drunk on a table for two,
laid out and cut open
examined, weighed and cataloged,
yes,
cupid has your number.

He sharpens his arrows.
"Oh, how cute! He's like a baby!"
Shut it!
He's a monster.

It was nothing serious.
Angela and I were noncommittal,
then,
it just...
Happened!
I kissed her and she lost her footing.
Her legs slackened like climber's loose rope.
Angela fell, hard.
I pulled out the arrow. (I only wish I had disinfectant.)
She was breathing funny. I wasn't sure what bit her,
but when her eyes flickered open,
I felt the shame she would never know.
I looked up in time to see a fluttering of white.
A dove? I was too naive.
Angela started to get clingy. That's when I got stingy.
Soon, I began to ignore messages selectively.
Eventually, she was a fading memory.

Monica. Jessica. Lisa. Monique.
The story kept repeating itself.
"Get a grip, love was chasing you! Some should be so lucky..."
If that grip is cupid's neck, give me two handfuls, please.
I nearly stopped ******* around altogether,
haunted by feather after feather,
but I really just learned to play it safe.
Cut them off after a couple of weeks.
I'll never forgive Cupid, that rotten ****.

Her name was Felicia.

It was day thirteen.
I had my copied and pasted, "Sorry," SMS ready to go.
We were engaged in pillow talk,
it was nothing serious.
Sarcasm turned into playfulness.
We rolled over,
she had me pinned,
she nibbled on my earlobe,
and with artful tongue stroked
years of pain
from my soul.
She reared back.
Our eyes locked in mutual reverence.
We smiled and embraced letting our slick bodies revel in the moist residue of our tender frolicking.
It was then that I felt the itch in my shoulder blade.
Color and warmth fled my chest.
It was with a numbness that I let her go,
and reach back,
and felt the long spine of the arrow,
like the stem of a scythe.

The weeks that followed were a heaven
that I had always hoped not to enjoy
and felt ever more guilty in knowing my unfettered happiness.
Simple pleasures I once knew were then mountains of joy.
My passions magnified were as the flames of the sun.
I even feared I could turn her away with mentions of my love,
but this was not an unrequited venture.
We shared in admissions of our deepest affections.
There was not a moment passed in yearning of our old lives.
Even shedding light on our past imperfections was a delight
incapable of breaking the spell.
Truly, this is the purpose of youth; this love; this roaring of souls entwined.

Is justice blind?

I certainly felt this token of nature cast its judgment upon me.
No sooner than I had finally accepted my new reality, did I watch this sheltering bubble burst.
We weren't as open as I had imagined, of course, I shouldn't be so naive to think so.
She disappeared. I was distraught for what seemed like weeks, but.
I got a phone call.
The phone call led to a hospital. Within the hospital, a room.
Within that room, she lay on a bed, head shaved, smiling weakly.
I sat hesitantly by her side.
She grinned as she pinned me with a pink ribbon.
"You'll fight with me, right?" She said, as her eyes searched my soul,
quivering, yet there was a fierce strength behind the weariness.
"If I don't fight, I'll lose more than losing you."
She lay her head in my chest. A chest that could lend its power.
Looking out of the window into the horizon, I wished for things I never considered to be signs of hope. Yes, I'll fight...

In that moment of my life, it was as if I weren't alive.
Perhaps my body was waiting for me to return: sitting there, breathless.

Are brave words the measure of fate?
Oh, I wish this were so, yet some battles only time can win.

I didn't go to the funeral. I simply asked that I may scatter the ashes.
It was a moment for two. I stood on a cliff by the sea, a place she and I loved. I spoke to her, in ways I knew she deserved. I scattered the ashes, and I knew she had returned to the promise of life, a place beyond time and pain.

And so, time passes for me.

In time, I am ready to love another.
A familiar itch in the shoulder blade.
I know the arrow is there.
I look up and there is cupid, smiling.
No need to hide from a gracious soul.
I gaze and I whisper:

"Please, Cupid. This time, don't leave me breathless."