A person goes out to town to cure
Boredom or loneliness
Often looking to conquer both

Even an introvert wants company
It’s taken six years to go search

I found a coffee shop
With a black box room

I took a seat
And waited for the host
To start the show
Improv comedy
Never been to one of those

The host asked
What’s inside this invisible box
Answers came out from the audience

I said a can of worms
Not loud
I hate attention
But the host heard
And chose that can of worms

Someone listened to me
And now they are making
Me my own personal joke

I got to admit
I was jealous
Each member has conquered
The fear of people
Of being in front of people
Of speaking to people
Acting crazy in front of people

The show was great
We all had a laugh
One day I will thank them
And maybe one day
I’ll join on that stage

Just one foot in front of the other
Next week is a poetry reading
And that’s where I’ll be

I visited the heavens today
all gods were absent
looked out the window
we were in the clouds

landed in Detroit
on a dreary day
why would it be any different?
this skeletal remain of a city

at least the bartender was great
but now I’m drunk wandering around
Detroit
hope I wake up in my hotel

Smoke signals from a silent cigarette
float to the heavens and linger
in the mucky conscience of regret
resting on the temple, my forefinger

Thumb lifted to expose
a metaphorical gun
countenance in prose
staring at a midnight sun

When will that monster again ****
another that I love,
Why did I so feel
like I could best the powers from above

I created a ghastly Adam
and I dare not create an innocent Eve
my future I cannot fathom
all time left to grieve

I will chase this gruesome snake
no matter where it slithers
across Hell's frozen lake
this calamity summons me hither

My final and only ambition
is to cast a life to silence
his and my cognition
will clash and bite in violence

I created a monster
and a monster created me
Madness! How it so saunters
and wails as if a banshee

Look over on the frozen horizon
a horrid shadow stalks
I, a fire stealing Titan
will march out to solve this paradox

You're a painter with brush
My face isn't worth painting

You're a writer with pen
My story isn't worth writing

You're a poet with soul
My umbra isn't worth rhyming

You're a photographer with camera
My appearance isn't worth capturing

You're a director with 35mm
My action isn't worth watching

You're the artist
I am the creative block

I ran across a butterfly
with a broken wing, struggling
only wishing to soar in the sky
this left me thinking

How many actresses are out there
that can make a man cry
that make you say
what is Hecuba to her
You know the kind

She ran away back in 05
out to Cali, looking for a small break
she is still waiting

tables

12 hour shift then
leaves to practice
before she breaks down
and cries
and calls it a night

How many poets paint
a picture using only
language
never to be discovered
You know the kind

The shy kid in class
that is always picked on
scribbles in a journal
if only you could read it
you would

understand

He walks home
to yelling parents
locks his door
and writes some more
before he breaks down
and cries
and calls it a night

only to repeat it
again
again

I picked up that butterfly
and brought him to the grass
away from the burning road
and speeding cars

I hope one day
it will fly
again
again

September 16th 2018 1:34 pm

The war started between the illegible instructions and chunks of wood. I decided to enlist, well, more like volunteered. I arrived at the camp today and met a few loose screws. They don’t have time to train us, we are being shipped out as I write this in my journal.
I hope to god I survive this thing so I can see her face at the end. She will be ecstatic to see me alive, I know she has her doubts. We can not let the engrish win.

September 16th 2018 3:17 pm

We have arrived to our camp. It’s a pigsty. Styrofoam specks cover the yard like snow and cardboard chunks are blown to bits just over the trenches. No time to settle in. Just enough to down a cup of dirt coffee before we charge in. It’s been storming all day, everything is covered in mud.

September 16th 2018 3:56 pm

Stage one has been complete. We have a wall up. This should help stabilize anything that comes after us. It was no easy task and we have been told this was the easiest part.

September 16th 2018 4:32 pm

The foundation has been completed. There were casualties. Henry, a brave man, lost a hand and had to be evacuated. We can hold them back if our aim is true. I hope there are angels watching above.

September 16th 2018 4:33 pm

There are no angels watching, only devils in the disguise of pictures with the number on the wrong side and the finished side flipped around. The foundation had to come down. Back at square one.

September 16th 2018 5:56 pm

The foundation has been rebuilt. Correctly, I hope. More men have been lost. I know this is dark, but one had a flask on his body that hasn’t been emptied. It is now emptied.

September 16th 2018 6:29 pm

The wheels have finally been installed. We are now mobile! Thank god. We can now trek over anything that gets in our way. It’s still pouring rain. I wish I could find another flask.

September 16th 2018 6:53 pm

Hooks and roll and top have all been fitted and examined over. We may have done something right for once. There’s hope that we will win this thing after all.

September 16th 2018 8:48 pm

We stumbled onto a cache of cold ones. We lost sight of our goal for a while. We are back on track marching forward.

September 16th 2018 9:17 pm

The last wooden peg has been hammered in, the last ***** has been ******* and locked. This is it, it’s finally over. We won!

September 16th 2018 9:18 pm

“It’s about time” was my only reward.

It’s ok, I came out stronger than what I was. I have scars I can tell my kids about. The blisters from using hand tools and the knowledge on how to decipher Chinese disguised as English. Useful talents I’m sure.

September 16th 2018 9:20 pm

Finishing off that cache.

Mr. Piano Man how your
fingers rain down on the keys
dancing a somber ballet
capturing the feeling of being empty
like those bottles underneath

Here Mr. Piano Man
the next drink is on me
while we sift through debris
of our melancholy

Every note stings
every chord bleeds
woe is you
and
woe is me
play
Mr. Piano Man
a song to our ennui

Let it rain Mr. Piano Man
let the storm hammer the strings
lets swim in the puddle
of whats spilt underneath

Oh Mr. Piano Man
What is that I hear?
That note that was just hit
it sounded rather queer
there is no room for happiness
at the bottom of this beer

No! NO! Mr. Piano Man
I don't want the sun
go back to stormy waters
to where you had begun

I thought you a friend
I thought we allies
I thought we understood
the sounds of demise

Mr. Piano Man how you so betrayed
with your songs of love and spring
every note my heart aches
every chord a bee sting

Mr. Piano Man this is my goodbye
I am leaving you now
please don't cry
I am going to my new friend
Mr. Bartender
How do you do?
Give me an endless bottle
and another drunk to talk to.

Out of the dark forest I stumbled
onto the pebbles of a moonlit lake
my languid eyes bumbled
swallowing down philter mistakes

a pale goddess in the flesh
how my stupefied eyes stared
at the beauty of her nakedness
something in me flared

flared and turned and burned
my flesh no longer mine
stag in form standing taciturn
she calls out for my canines

I run and try to yell
nothing escapes my lungs
pattering of legs hungry to quell
come to rip flesh with teeth and tongues

stumbling and tripping over
stones, limbs, roots and mud
left to a new life a stag rover
I hear the ******* and the studs

faster and faster I try to move
from this typhoon wave of carnivorous hounds
but curse these feeble hooves
the claws and teeth came crashing around

flesh stabbed with a thousand teeth
a pack of mouths tear and pull
a stag corpse I bequeath  
to the hunger of my own wolves

Squalid off-white cube
fluorescent buzzing hue
water stained tiles
tribulation from digital files

dilapidated symbiote
invisible hungry parasite
optimism capsized in the abyss
tedium tongue french kiss

five hours a month
forest bathing in the sun
a cure they say
nature is a gateway

shambling down trails
languid gait sails
fractal patterns surround
tweets in background

head starts to clear
wondrous frontier
five hours a month
soaking in the sun

not enough time
to melt away grime
five hours a week
leaves a happier physique

summer sea breeze
rolling over unease
basking in the heat
leaving is so so bittersweet

return to human farm
pray for fire alarm
nature is a gateway
natures my getaway

My countenance
made love with the harsh earth
she left me
bruised
confused
and bloodied
with a couple days
plucked out of my memory
thank whoever is above
for the few buddies
that pulled me to the
corner with a flashlight
bag of cold ice
shoulder rubs
and words of advice
I got back in the ring
ready for to resume the fight
I learned that night that
you can't beat Gaia
but that you could endure
a few rounds.

Just kidding,
I was knocked out
during the first round.

Got jumped going down the alley
by a couple of bottles and a card game
Got my portrait painted finally,
hands hidden by the fancy frame

"Immortalized Sobriety"
that's what I'll call it,
immortalized sobriety
and not alcoholic

I'll tell my friends
I'll never drink again
We both know that's
not ******* happenin'

I'll tell my friends
I'll never lie again
We both know that's
maybe gonna happenin'

Am I losing my mind?
No, no just one more drink
am I perfectly fine?
No, no just let me think

My mind is soaked
in fermented brine
this page is soaked
with blotchy
                         i
                            n
                              ­k
                                  -

-ling of a remembrance
woke up in the backseat
of a taxi cab repentance
aftertaste so bittersweet
declare me in-dependance

I'll tell my friends
I'll never drink again
We both know that's
not ******* happenin'

I'll tell my friends
I'll never lie again
We both know that's
already happened

Am I losing my **** mind?
No, no just one more **** drink
am I just ******' blind?
No, no just let me ******' think

I think I might need,
I think I might need,
I think I might need
you.

Half drowned in those wine dark eyes
drunk off those fermented words
that trickle off those lush rose lips
Calypso or Scylla, I know not
it doesn't even matter
as long as I am with you

This depressive choreography
                                     of flames
                                     f     i      k     r     n
                                         l    c      e     i     g
consumed in the geography
                                 of bodies
                                 b   i   c   k   e   r   i   n   g
                              
Tongue's embers  licking  
                  the innocent cheek
words like poniards
                     P   R   I   C   K   I   N   G
leaving this dance at its
                                                          piqu­e

Now left  a  s m o u l d e r i n g
             soloist on the stage
                            a dance so sobering
                                     watch this fire's rampage

burn his own pyre
              I gave into the rage
burn his own desire
             another illegible page
tossed to fuel the bellowing fire
              the end of our golden age

Silky cocoon of routine leaves
this metamorphosis stagnating
how the discomfort thieves
the fear of change isolating

The struggle lies in the escape
with no energy left to attempt
monotonous days left to drape
as if life holds me in contempt

Hanging on this lonely branch
sometimes I pray just to fall
monotonous routine's avalanche 
creates days so banal

And then a child finds the lonely silk
plucks carefully into a glass jar
Oh how the curiosity of their ilk
creates this warm inner spar

A want to escape
a need to taste 
freedom's luscious grapes
make haste happiness, 
make haste.

Floating brazier spews electric amber waves
as a setting sun radiates on the ceiling
a shadow of a ship coquettishly sways
while in the center charybdis begins swilling

another message, another missed call
another debt collector and his esurient talk
watch the ship begin to swirl, this scene so banal
amber feathered tawny eyed peacock

continues furtively to scroll her story and shoe shop
crowded room with a panel onstage
reality and fantasy evaporate and fall as a single raindrop
drown in the muck, don't know how to disengage

and to stay in the sway of fantasy.

Soma that seeps
flowing
like little creeks
sprinkling
off the edge
wetting
a tongue outstretched
watering
wilted flower beds
feeding
that pretty head
cycling
arid to wetlands

"I am dying."

"Its hardly a cold."

"Will you fetch me a thermometer?"

"I will send for one, you Shakespearean."

"I am glad you can make jokes to a dying friend."

"Learn to hold your wine."

"You mean drink? Or what I am doing now?"

"Both."

"Will you still be my friend in the morning?"

"If you are alive."

"Good. I am dying you know?"

"You died a week ago and the week before that."

"It's real this time. You will not be happy in the morning."

"Why is that?"

"You will wake to a foul smell and realize that your mourning will be spent digging a hole."

"Oh, so like most mornings with you."

"You are a real pal. Pass the wine?"

My god, your beauty is bright
I can see the halo radiating
though the clouds at night
my heart hastily pulsating

whenever we're in the same room
my eyes only gravitate towards you
I recognize that lovely ambrosial perfume
when you glance, my cheeks take a different hue

I have immortalized you through my poems
but I rather spend this mortal life
basking in your lissome arms
a drop of you cures all my strife

I want you in the flesh instead of dreams
but any thought of you is okay by me
look how the moon thinly beams
highlighting my idiosyncrasy

You move my pen, dear
and you don't even know it
to you I owe this writing career
and I am scared that I might blow it

Behind these eyes, insanity
a slow permeation of a voice
screaming truths and half truths

I just don’t want to listen
so I flood the head
just to drown the haunting

but it is ******* immortal
every night I send an eagle
to gnaw on the larynx

every morning it’s there to greet
disguised as a fictional friend
                  fiend. I meant fiend.

it’s kudzu it’s ******* kudzu
every day is a mid spring day
even in winters delicate palms

I spend the nights soaking in a bath
last night I let the water ******* tongue
soon it will feast on my lungs

I can go out like Plath
except my poems are bad
and my novel is only a paragraph

I will not
     let the inner
          demons win.

Foot meets the metal of a cold shovel
with a sun beaming down
booted foot pushes the *****
into the soft and rooty ground

one mound of dirt
sweat forms above the brow
two mounds of dirt
salty bead slithers down
three mounds of dirt
tuned into the sounds
four mounds of dirt
birds chirp all around

stopped by a thick root
extra force must be used
give that shovel a pogo of boots
and we are at the fifth mound

six and seven are easy
as the hole starts to round
eight nine ten eleven twelve
a tomb has been found

carried your sheet covered corpse
laid you in the hole
cover you with what was uncovered
creating a man made knoll

Six years of memories
laid underneath this red dirt
many years missing
that time gone subvert

Soaring over the idyllic fields of poet's day dreams
an opening exposes some endless blue
the sun cast's his golden rod
and waits while humming his bright tune

Suddenly submerged
for his bait we had chewed
turbulence drops yellow bags
and white fog blinds our view

The sun is toying with us
letting the line out farther and farther
the old sun and the sky
a departure within a departure

Finally the sun pulls the line
screaming, we steady then ascend
are we going higher now?
better make amends
                                 via amens

Look all the fog is gone
this isn't the suns pole
the light is fleeing and
this cabinet grows so cold

The air thins into non existence
yet somehow we can breath
in these celestial waters
watch as the earth takes her leave

Reeling faster now
how these stars pass by
what's beyond the celestial sphere
this fisherman sure is spry

Finally a golden gleam approaches
splash through the pearly gates
into the net of heaven
pietistic fingers embrace

An omniscient voice speaks
NOT AGAIN, ANOTHER USELESS CAN?
and he tossed this metal heap away
who do I eat and who do I romance

It's going to be a long journey home.

I have drank the philters of the oceans
inside the notches of your sculpted bust
chiseled to perfection by my minds notion
immortal beauty to never crumble to dust

Skin of ivory with curves carved by a god
my little ivory girl how my fire burns
breathless, stiff, and lifeless left me aw'd
a singular lonely lover forever yearns

Just one kiss to those stone cold lips
just one before I visit in my dreams
my lips upon yours, hands on hips
how you look while the moon beams

lighting your lovely void face
The lips how they grow so warm!
Your arms how they tightly embrace!
By the gods, a living art form
to forever love in this dark place

When I first passed the gates
into the metallic garden
stamping out seeds
                      for the junkyard
with its infinite cardiac output

I gazed upon the eyes of the creatures
that inhabited this oily soil
                            of steel and chemicals
all I saw was a cry for help
to escape
          to be away
                just one day
they cry, just one day

I got caught in the claws
and it scratched
                       and scratched
the wounds heal but the scars stay

I have become a trapped animal
                                     with eyes of dismay

There's little chance of escape
I can dream
           I can pray
one day, I echo
               one day

Now I am just taxidermy
for this godforsaken industry
and they call this
quality.

A gravekeeper by trade
burying the dead to stay alive
with a green thumb and *****
the unused earth oh how it strives!

Fat tubers and roots
green leaves with red veins
small vines sprouting fruits
even a small section for grains

The gravekeeper never goes hungry
his family never starves
he loves living in the country
and his plot of earth that he carves

One day two fresh dead
and a rat, maybe two scampered by
soon a sickness to be widespread
day by day how that multiplied!

More bodies into the earth
how did his garden shrink
he was crying and crying
this gravekeeper didn't know what to think!

Should he be happy for business
should he be sad for the loss
is he crying for his vegetables
or is he crying for the bodies that are tossed

Little by little did the green become stone
his loved ones feast on a diet of worms
now he, a lonely gardener of bones
sits and watches as his world burns

You chased
I ran
You yelled
I turned
You swung
I ducked
You huffed
I pushed

The back of your ankle caught
on the underside of a gnarly root

You twirled
I watched.
You screamed
I watched..
You bled
I watched...
You gasped at air
I watched....

The old jagged branch penetrated
through your squishy eye
and kissed the back of your skull
blood burst and squirted
while the rise and fall of your chest slowed
and your body grew cold

A rose bush was born amidst the clutches of an early winter

I left
You haunted
I cried
You permeated
I stayed silent
You spoke in my dreams

I know they found you
I visit and leave you flowers
But I am through,
I finally convinced myself
that it's not my
fault.

Nectar of the grape
Anesthetizing myself
Emptying bottles

The ocean's wave rolls
and beats repeatedly
carving a way into the soul
of this precipice
foaming at the mouth

no, wait....

that's just your tongue
coated in a miasma of
a siren song
you ******* liar  

sunbathing on my pyre
the whole town now congregates around
with devil-red
containers of gasoline
while your devil-red
lips act the fire

Only the clever witches
survived the trials

the whole town now dances around
feasting on the lotus petals
that root in the palm of your hand

look at them move
locked in each others hands
chanting
"This will bring peace"
while they nod and agree

"Pour more gasoline"
escapes between those sharp teeth

happiness is a moveable feast
at least your eating
like a queen

go ahead and **** the marrow
out of these innocent bones
tomorrow I will be gone

once I thought of you as Ithaca
now realize that these
are Troy's stones

it's time to sail back home.

Gaze upon the hidden
an impossibility
light is forbidden
in this distorted intangibility

But we see
finally
we see
general relativity

The devil sits at its zenith
Hell’s warmth embracing
a bead of sweat escapes
both the man and the beast
locked and circling
waiting
waiting
waiting
until one leaves alive
both man and beast
want to show their bravado
one charges
one waves and dodges
both smell death’s breath
a crimson river starts to flow
and the dance is repeated
until one sits on Charon's boat
or is pulled by death’s horses
but in this dance
both have tripped and fallen
death is overjoyed in the afternoon

The quill's sodden ink evaporates
while this bell jar encapsulates
leaving these dreary words to permeate
only to rain back down and stagnate

this terrarium, my lonely estate
pickling eyes that spate
people peer through the glass only to deprecate
while I slowly start to acclimate

two horizons squint until light dissipates
allowing the darkness to overtake
monsters crawl out to dilapidate
snarls and growls devastate

this is fate this is fate this is fate this is fate
is it too late is it too late is it too late is it too late
echos verberate echos verberate echos verberate echos verberate
this is fate and it is too late these echos verberate and I ruminate
I ruminate and ruminate and ruminate and ruminate

with a languid gait
a countenance set straight
while I desperately try to create
a happy blissful sunny green free state

it's not too late it's not too late it's not too late
meditate meditate meditate meditate
don't let the glass alienate
pick up the hammer and swing
                                                       till the glass B    E      K
                                                ­                                R    A      S.

For some, poetry comes naturally
But for me its like carpentry

It takes nails, wood, glue, and time
To build these words that hopefully rhyme

In the end I hope these walls survive
So the beauty that lives within will thrive

To grow into ones colorful crest
To inspire fledgling poets building their first nest.

The deliverance of life echoed into that of pounding death
This frozen tower metamorphosing into a coffin sealed and fated
That gorgon’s gaze did I meet and uttered not a breath
Lost in those frightened eyes, thoughts left me sedated

“You stare so... Father, what is it?”

There I sat, day circling into night
By the dawn light through a reflection
I caught through their tragic sight
Left me gnawing at my hands, objection

“You put this wretched flesh upon us and now you may strip it off!”


Calmed my soul and silence we sat, another moon waxing

“Father, why don’t you help me?”

Left your lips while your languid soul seeps
Blind now with no words to offer
One by one perished but never did I weep
In the end
Hunger proved more powerful than grief.

My heart syncs with the ticking clock
You stepped through, our eyes locked
Eyebrows raised, a signal gave and
all time stopped.

Help!
Call an ambulance!

Thank you for saving my life
For if you haven't called
9-1-1
I would of died.
For I eat too much
processed food!

Look into mine eyes
tell me what thou see

I see a prison, a soul
with hopes of escaping

I see padded walls
with a crazed man aching

I see deep sorrow
a human breaking

I see a gray sky
always raining

I see a husk of skin
eternally forsaking

I see a chasm
forever isolating

I see a mind
always creating
and hating
thy creation

I gazed upon thine eyes
and I saw hell in thy pupils

I grew up between bookends
with the holy word held between
one fell off the shelf with no amends
now the shelf is filled with words unseen

So I read of other options
now I question the thread
of these fairy tale adoptions
which have been so deeply embedded

Christian school, weekly church, prayers before bed
my childhood filled with these epic tales
of a guy who died and then rose from the dead
and if you don't believe, well, see you in hell

They are good stories, some even great
but that's all they really are
to live by them is to live a life castrate
burning bush and a man inside a whale, a little bizarre

I am not mad I grew up this way,
but now I live a life of questioning
of what's beyond the pearly gates
without all of the one sided lecturing

Tick

In the tyranny of the measuring clock
Death is but a tortoise in this timeless race
With every slow tick and echoing tock
Forever keeping its careless pace

With so much to do I stay awake
With one foot in front of the other
Running with knees and feet that ache
Time feeds worms a salutary supper

In the end we must lie and nap
Embrace eternal slumbers deadlock
We are just hares caught in times trap
In the tyranny of the measuring clock

Tock

We were once all agog for the journey of life
Now just a mouse click leaves curiosity cured
Nescience masquerading as artificial cognizance is rife
Likes, follows, comments, thoughts and prayers lured

A slayer of ambition gave birth to the lazy
No will to work, no will to think, just click this link
And complain all day about how your life is crazy
Stare at the screen as if forgotten how to blink

Welcome to Medusa's social media inc.
Share every feeling that's on your mind
Arachne's weaving web now interlinks
A Giger painting has become mankind

It's embarrassing
It's depressing
It's caressing
It's inheriting

The natural beauty that lies outside
Left only viewed through filtered photos
Language devolved into hieroglyphic emoji replies
Tobler's ambition left reposed

Curiosity and ambition subdued
A final word
Adieu

If Boy George cosplayed
as Greek youth Adonis, we
would call him Boy Gored

The greatest piece of art
is found in the movement
of bodies

the fluidity of the wrist
to paint the nakedness
of humanity

the speed of fingers
strumming and plucking
our souls

the sensuality of flesh
moving in rhythm
of life

the meticulous eye
capturing little moments
of society

Art is beauty
and beauty is movement
of bodies.

You don’t walk but slither
You don’t talk but hiss
Your tongue only blithers
Coiled in bed with a monster so venomous
Your a real man eater
I, another mouse in the field
Running in the harvest of Demeter
While you strike, going for the ****

In the center gravity holds
tightly as we spiral
awaiting to enfold
ever pressed in cosmic vinyl

Stream of consciousness
traveling down tin cans and a string
going on about Romulus
and ramblings, vibrating in between
half a world away
keeping each other awake
thanks again
for the company

A dark shadow glides across the burning asphalt
    and stops while I fly past
    one foot in front of the other

A spider, I thought
     no, couldn't be
     too long to be one, and slow

Scorpion was the next thought
      no, couldn't be
      they do not call this area home

I had to stop my stride and turn
      sneak to where that dark blur rested

A long blue streaked tail
               fading into lightning strikes

A baby, or perhaps a toddler

All I know is that it's
  tiny
  and fast.
  like me.

It made the grueling heat on these back streets
   worth the suffering.

Is it suffering if it is what I crave?

The gorgon's masonry casting châteaus
for the rich
turning hearts to pompous narcissist

once of legends and myths
has arisen once again
blue light and endless scroll

the gorgon's masonry casting shadows
for the everyman
turning hearts to pompous narcissist

Sitting at the bottom
Of the sun-kissing tower
Rapunzel,
I hear you crying for help
Could I make a suggestion?
     Stop cutting your hair
          And blaming the scissors
               Instead of your own hand.