Minimize unsociable souls
into popular candy bite sized
for a digestible comprehensive cycle
to churn out a simplified phrase from the guts.

A prophetic stick of dynamite
foretold to reach the foregone explosion
gather around the candle-wick, quick witted-jack jump over it
"ooh" and "ah" gape your maw, carefully crafted calculated words form contusions
reaching overhead, knocking sand off top shelves into children's eyes, bygone conclusions
by then, intrusions, no body is no death, no life to who then,
disappear, do this my dear, love is crystal clear,
sharp and a danger unto itself and others here
or so it's said, nearness muffled, deafens ears
hear their leers, squelching placed eyes
let's pry them then, with crow at left and crow at right
let's blind them, and with crowbar test who gods and poets are
let's prey upon and bind them
those who need us to pray to and find them
the masses of maggots writhing in writing that defined them
set a silver place at this table drenched in mercurial gilden-laden falsity before the great stuffed pig with poison apple in mouth;
let's dine then.

How many doors, unlocked by the keys

upon the belt of the old chapel *****

lead to stained glass memories,

now seen clearly, scenes that color "happy"

as "nothing bad is happening"

with light brush stroke through a prism

all things on a spectrum, the abacus of reality

filtered through perspective, subject to change

it feels divine, the aura of decay

how slowly it eats away, no more doors lead anywhere

but astray, how much further can loss penetrate

until all that's left to sink teeth into and bite is dust,

and that is the substance of character that one has, for one must

ash, in the mouths of babes, to and fro,

remember this was a happy place, sour note, a bleak ray

or can you know?


A dog in the church, unafraid and untame

on all fours barking mad, a man only in name

stay away, go away, get back, ruination, rumination

alienation, safety, isolation, redemption, penance

lush paradise, barren desolation

how many keys unlock the doors of perception,

how strange is the mind of a mutt, weakened by hunger

frothing with rabies, barely standing and bare from mange.

Sweet, lucid juices drip from these serrated edges
all the lights have gone out and curtains drawn
who knows what is going on inside?
A melon ball of diplomacy
patterns digging inward
turning that high powered insight inside
on itself, silence
lambs
peering out from inside it's like staying
in a cell, dog's plaintiff echoes incite violence
in this tin can,
eyes that take pieces of people with them
homunculus bandages of clay for the sick man
alchemical alteration of self, ****** makeup,
perhaps a heavier concealer-
holes crop up on the surface of goosebump plumped flesh
hairs rise to the chilling presence with dew fresh on the peaks
like grass in the idyllic morning, sweaty from anxious anticipation
shivering pale beneath, with fever wherever the gaze lands
in a suit of armor, naked before the examination of telescopic pupils
studious at the altar of presence, something to behold
invert the reflection and make the world right
let the mirror swallow whole what you don't see looking back
fill in the gaps of being human by taking the traits away from observation
that trapped inside this social sensory deprivation standing torture chamber
the iron man or maiden has come to lack.

Architecture laid in the grimoire
a sketchbook of arcane blueprints
many-storied towers rising from the dust of time
and nothing, achieving the sky and ending abruptly
heads in the clouds, the end of the road
wish one might, with all their might
if only this could last forever
self-denied, glossy-eyed atop the height
that this red-yarn spun network is so delicate
tight-rope walking between two peaks
strumming the chord, straining the balance
giving and taking, waning, below there is the promised "never"
that fantasy of love, commitment to an institution
on either side are all the concrete hardships built by hand
that simmer on low, splitting hard lines in the spitting demands
letting go is easier than falling into the lurch to never know;
to forget, what it was like to be on solid land, fate tangled with arteries
in the roadmap that constructs the bustling cities, severed
a streetsweeper assigned to come and flood the needy
cleanse all these structures, hollow out all desire,
empty of trust they mean less and grow higher,
safe havens, home for multiples of two ravens
craven, warm by a trash fire, art deco lobbies and grandeur
gilded foyers, all signs point to something deeper, the surface of a liar
guarantees, contracts, no demolition, decay slow and crumble
no fault of the construction, blame time, the equation is out of our hands
it all comes together, separates and rises individually to its pinnacles, then falls apart slowly;
all according to plan.

Behold, you tower of imminent collapse
obscure, picturesque obelisk
dishonest monolith, ironic cairn stone
call yourself behemoth, you mammoth
an affront to the primordial gods
who stir this civilized cauldron and lick the soup bone
how you've metastasized, between two lines
so very fine, you walk the edge of Occam's own
what with the sticks and mud and rocks
brass and iron locks airtight, you cut this Pangea into pie
cover the faces of your clocks and walk away upright
with your cute, morbid curios of olde
the missing link- frozen somewhere in the Arctic cold
carnival amusements for your half-pennies, hay-pennies, hayseeds
you pay, a slithering mass observes your compassion on display
tailing the predicted demise of a cosmic appraisal spans Twain the temporary sun
massive panic in the wake of this poisonous gas from fireball's past
that with held breath, eyes do not turn away

The hairless ape is cleansed of knuckle-dragging to the bipedal standpoint by,
baptismal in a pool perfectly still, reflecting back the boundless stars of a frontier sky
as calm beneath the surface as the shuddering, shimmering lake
a soul can search throughout all time in that most restful sleep;
and be unable to keep everything it has learned once it is finally awake.

Readers scour the white pebble beach when the tide rolls in that certain way
frothy, black as calligraphy ink still drying on the page beneath the sun mid-day
collecting omens on the rocks to declare the future or omni-present fortune
heel, toe, stained with a skeptic life your sky-blue silk and black bristles
carry along over the landscape like a paintbrush, leaving a thin red line
the murky tide of fortune is high

A goat dances on its hind legs the kagura in the traditional garb of the Miko
with his foreign tongue hanging long from his foaming mouth and horned head
wildly speaking of heresies yet to come and blaspheming in manners not invented
unaccompanied, the brush approaches this desecration of all sense standing
with hobbled feet from the miles of prophesied shore that never foretold its coming
to stare it eye-to-eye, without kneeling, as soon as the demoted kami locks eyes
the dance stops, the tide itself stops and begins to roll backwards, recoiling from the land
where this thing has set foot

Clots in the thick, wooly fur of the beast form first, revealing the reversal
dry death rolls wetly backwards up the throat into a long cut,
near severance of the head, a fountain erupts from the terrain in four pillars
all flowing back into the eyes, nostrils and mouth of the goat
without revealing the terror or flailing away, she stands witness to it
stalwart with stoic determination and faith, nothing can deter her
unnatural as it may be, the loosely hanging fit of the Miko fall to the ground
a bleating animal stands on all fours, and leads her into a temple of white ash
high up in the thin air and snow of the mountains, where there is only the unwritten of the pale to behold
with only the trail of her long spindling fate behind her,
and not a natural thing occurs beyond the Kami's gate where they meet
and nothing good can happen once she was drawn to the dance
now a queen in ice, bloodless for all her love given
loveless for all her love given, godless, faithless
and alone.

Through a golden-amber hue of softened rays of dawn
with a hint of butterscotch rising on the baked back
gently hardening in the warmth, naked silk spun outstretched
reeled into a statuette, naked and glowing eyes half-open to a yawn
seemingly as innocent in her natural state as an unapproached fawn
she wraps herself in robes, descending from her attic
each step down seemingly brings right now closer
until the morning-do of Artemis in Eden is gone
by noon she is a toiling man in the den
by night he lays decay beneath his feet with every further step along
down the gravel drive, back up the lush and grassy lawn
leaving frost where her hair like wheat, ran all the way down to her heels
and touched the blades in days beyond,
a trail, tread, treacherous and dead lays cold in the steps
that lead up and down, where a rapturous child's laughter resounds
in harmony with a christening of an affair between the soul of man and a bitter hound
there, surrounded by the crickets, cicadas, and all the nightlife in the air
nothing on the property square, as if to suggest this were cleared by forces in nature
a hallow, or hallowed ground?

Once she whispered into his ear as he sat in the dark, uninterred
and even as stoic as he was, the closeness is what stirred
her hands were his or his were hers,
merciless and precious, left and right, run the fawn
they were disturbed by the conclusions that were drawn
roaming back and forth from night to day, lingering over the middle as the sun
mother giving birth and raising man to father daughter to give birth to mother
the loading of life into death, six bullets into a the six chambers of a loaded gun
the romance of morning blended with the fear of these nocturnal goings-on,
walking hand in hand with a shape in shadow, never to understand there was always only one.

Kitty lands on her feet
hairs stand high on end
little jagged bolts of gray never
euphoria in pheromone form
she rubs against a promise
her sweet little head perks up
with a purr
pointed ghost-grail ears cup
beneath the palm that rests on her
a shield from eight loves and one life
the kitten's tiny heart warms cur
whose cold body, hunched over the curb
draws thinly the visage of a flicker
a humming streetlight heads over
to the warm allure
joining pattering rain
keeping he rhythm against a dumpster
raspy breath lends itself to the bleak ensemble
leaning on the point of knees, lullaby rock to sleep
fall over, into the pavement on the street
a ninth love seeps, the scenery itself
busted bottom rusted dumpster and fading light
emaciated, mewing turning to a sad soliloquy
of a crumpled heart atop a wet and smushed cigarette
the lamp goes out on time with the city, and the gutter takes the body
but the kitty visits the grave, warmly cuddling in the chilling palm of its friend yet.

On a night where the wind was dry and arid
coming off a summer day of rain that left the surrounding woodlands humid
trees sticky to the touch, their red-brown bark left dark by the torrential downpour
now it seemed a clearing gave way in unnatural air
everything within the radius, dry and hot as sand in the desert there
not one wet blade of grass nor trampled twig
not even morning dew graced flowers that blossomed outside the huts
on the occasional sprig
in the center of this drought stood a lone tower, only a head taller than the tallest buildings
and still not as tall as the mighty trees beyond the surrounding woods
wherein lived a fell and gnarled creature, once human
who long ago had communed with magick forces for a wicked bloodprice
cursed to hold the borders of this meager keep against all life for its lifetime thrice

With a flourish they walked across these loose dirt roads
a dress laden with intricate gold against green cotton and silk
inlayed against such decorated, attentive details it seemed
with every rise and fall of the ***** that it covered to take on its own life
with every step and slightest breeze, to dance away from the wearer
a ghost trapped, tethered to the vain spirit of flesh that owned it
who's to say if a mason saw this, a bricklayer, the architect or some knight-errant
who had settled, no, in fact it can't have been the Knight-errant
Ser Hobbe was he, of barrel chest and light armor, with the club and leather shield to match
his manners, errant not to court a maiden, though the beauty enchanting him lived
and breathed, life into a person wearing her, the Garment of Green and Gold

Trees fell as the well-traveled road from the castle felt farther away, and well supplied
the people settled a village, small, in a reasonable clearing near to a river
with plentiful game and resources, intending to make it larger by calling upon workers
once they had established a safe foothold there and a system of order approved by monarchy
which lent itself to the tower rising, one floor first.
Housing the nobility, some cousin or other related to king and queen who lived weeks away
they stood in the barren home, admired the hearth and stone, then ordered it as if the earth itself would stand on command
to "rise" and "make it greater"
with only a crew of few able-bodied guardsmen sworn on their honor to the noble blood,
and all but two working at their behest, it became a setting for a coup in this development

Two stories. Another half or third, not quite as full and even as the first that housed who became known as the Wizard
though they are unknown themselves, only that the nobility found them and enticed them
took them in, and they were witnessed by Ser Hobbe, who was sworn into their service
no longer errant, now a Knight of their blood, promised the garment and its possessor in return
as though he were retaining a corpse that had been stolen from his care on the way to a proper burial,
as soon as Ser Hobbe was permitted this price, he took it in fashion,
the Wizard, an advisor on alchemical things, medical and magick to the nobility
it is speculated, was there in service to offer assistance to an ailing noble
be it the wife or husband, it has never been known, but in what became the attic
that incomplete, roofed over, third of a story that was itself the third floor
they were established themself, a center to operate
it is said that for months following the completion of the Tower
neither Ser Hobbe nor the Wizard were anything but venerable to anyone
anywhere in Ford-Moore

A ritual, tongue dipped to the root in ink for that
captures the essence of the wronged whose voices cannot speak
with curses that run as deep as their entire life, the heavy iron-gall
burnt wood mixed by mortar and pestle poured over the throat
and words in a language of blood-magick druids of highest orders have long forgot
whispered loudly the gallows-making cost onto these thatched-hut pigs to slaughter
that was heard and incomprehensible, as birds fled from trees, deer were scared towards people
rabbits hopped, and rain fell with heavy, pounding, driving, blinding force and fog
encircling the lot, an ancient voice that can only be conversed in once for the cost of two lives
one taken to make the poultice in preparation to receive the knowledge, and another to be the bearer of the power
every word symbiotic with something human eyes look upon and hear, but to listen and see a mortal mind cannot
one of the nobles, never know why or which, enacted the toll on the other and inherited the Tongue of Rot
it is said then that first the Wizard was alerted, and that Ser Hobbe was second to know
both quartered in the Tower, the Wizard scrying saw madness and sensed Hobbe
who was gripped by the fell Green Garment, as he wandered through the hall below
bursting through the seems of that cursed thing he sought,
his face stained with a pleasant, warm grin and the blood of the maiden owner, he faced the Wizard over the dining table
two dead nobles mere rooms away, Ser Hobbe an unwitting champion had an unshielded mind to the plot
with his might and club he was as formidable as the Wizard was, and they did not smell blood in the air before they fought

Rain fell so heavily there was no passage to or fro
no matter, as wandering forth from the Tower came a sinister glow
and all that is surely known is the faces of the dead then after, were contorted with the look of an everlasting nightmare and woe
they said for three times the natural life of anyone, as long as they walked past Ford-Moore East, if the sun was low
you could still see the sparks inside the tower from the battle raging, and feel the presence of all the residents warning you death awaited beyond the border; wise children and men regarded the wives' tale not to go.

Trickle, the freshest water
falls
sweet, cold, teardrops
fresh from the pale pedals
fever-kissed by the dew
never know a gentler mist
painless, this frost
fell

Shower curtain fall
hop, skip, jump, roll and collect them all
pretty shiny collection in the ball, a fist
never missed, like this, the equation
life divided by a shower curtain
time over everything that happens over time
equals life, divided by the fine line
cutting into the divine sea-brine grind
left on the ponderances played out to the extreme
wearing down a weary diminished resigned, unrefined, strip-mined mind
unkind, peek and time winds clockwork gears tight until the hindsight plight cannot fight
it takes machine might to resist explosive pressure under binds that never designed
sold souls a tin soldier in bolder eyes of better beholders beauty knows there is precious sculptures
where all that rests is a clay boulder

Better to rest
a marble in a grander arena than realized by the stumbling discoverer
sliced in half on Solomon's knowledge, acknowledged for potential
only a fourth, half for each half and half of that for half the effort
for half the price for half the blade
for half the cleaning of half the clay
leaving less than a fraction of a copy of the golem made
cleaned off the shovel that digs the grave that buries the victims of infanticide
dead crybabies, laid to rest at last, jumping jacks and skipping ropes
whips and nooses, caltrops and rubber *****
one grave dirt ire, eye invoked, spirit higher, fire high voices spooked at wind through smoke
on the wind a specter spoke
this clay tin soldier laid to rest in a toy chest sarcophagus
his jaw dislocated and lever actioned from the back, with a wind up key
wooden, stiff, disregarded and disconnected, eternally watchful;
a vigilant veteran from the pile of junk that forms his tomb is he.

Worlds away wonders wander the world where wits are whirled away
today say, maybe they'd astonished to see the accomplished Adonis
of Helios' Colossus over Rhodes who got up and just walked away,
with a how do dividing the curtain and cracking the equation
dropping Moses' staff, a shower curtain across the non-sequitur equator
narrowing the horizons of all laissez unfaire thinking therefore collecting sandal fare
heart to Descartes, an impressionable precursor like a fine red Monet
Immanuel Marx dogged Socrates, regarding the genes of dogs Kant a dog have his day
Left the Right Hegelians, barking Diogenes, Wittgenstein gained in time wit in rhyme
with them, Malcolm's Little shoebox shine, deadname drop Harlemite lite, right
Americanite a mineral passage of rite, the torch guiding the night, healing those
who seek the roads, scholars looking for Rhodes, reformed in prison, crossed by X
he is real, alright, the Israelite, a nation, truth inside a deception inside a deception
Plato's Allegory, a cave underground, as close as one ever gets to outside
is as close as one ever gets, months apart, crossed off, X eyes, truth denied
escape for the birds, dream on Alcatraz, Nirvana and Americana holding hands
bedrock to bedpost, money between the sheets with narcotic pride
where shadows, patriotism, politics and reality likes to hide
they come huddled, hungry, seeking an old promise
to find a statue hollow and cold inside, wander the globe,
strip the robe, a beautiful poem
centuries old, keeps a wishing dream warm
where the metal groans and grows old.

A poem invaded the headspace around the pillows- here
where sweat and sleep lay beneath the crushing pressure of heavy thought
crushed into the outline of a man, visibly staining the upholstery of this temporary coffin
that stores the undead, dreamless, visionless
on the verge of consciousness like the continental shelf drop-off
wading back into the self towards a cold, dead lighthouse beneath
a the cosmic horror of a black hole North Star
this aerial battle, dog fight, swatting beast palms with futility at the waves of planes
sent to deliver a dose of thought, interpreted however one will
an atom bomb lands straight between the eyes, with a meek groan
to all the atoms, a roar that splits the fabric of space and fulfills their purpose
the message, delivered, and the colossus, monstrous, slow, creaks to life
though for prayers of pity, and begging for sympathy, take flight elsewhere
to a friend in need, with these words, that would greet the world through the filter of poetry
so early, so wearily, so tired, dragging from the lair of impenetrable haze
would it even be an act of love, if these went away
and there was peace and quiet, mouth-waters this monster
to lay-about alone and wallow in for days, could that lethargy be forgave
that is faux to the empathetic gift of this burdensome inspiration
hailed generously as intellect, and attacked viciously as always the joy of imagination
by the joyless, those that purposefully fail to see it is pure to put the mind towards creation
tiny little fighter planes, bombarding with their ideas and leaving behind the radiation
the negativity in traces of memory, they enter into a mausoleum dedicated to self-flagellation
bent on desecration, this invasion
leaves behind fires on the mind, meant to express the desires to express
self-aware-selfish-selfless martyrdom, this energy should not solely belong to the slothful titan
whose lust for solitude is truly wherein lies the greed
the dilemma of mischief is convincing oneself not to do a self-justifying misdeed

How does one nation embodied by this giant, move another back to life in their love of writing
and if these thoughts that spur these poems are what it takes, an invading force, would it be an act of love
to commit an act of war in wishing them upon another?

Rust on the throat bone
Unsheathes the summoning cry
For this ill omen
When the moon is so close and the light so sick
It is as if the earth is trying to whisper to it in hospice
A faucet leaking off the knuckles of a weakling
A testament to that inherit the meek thing
Echoes in the dark throughout the hillside
Attentive beasts break to stand on hind legs
Inverted towers all shake the owners from the windows
The emperor bows to the beggar
Death barks and begs
Close as the world will ever get to Luna
Seas crash to show sadness with the petulant expulsion of grief
Oceans roar and storms wash away centuries to great forebearer's relief
All salt in the water will wash away
Take time for the eroding spirit tied to the beach today
While these elements wear the skin out and down with each appearance
Driving the illusory blind meat believer mad
Take solace in the slaughterhouse line
Animals all meant for one barrel of trimmings
Set to make the same compost when the razor beneath starts to grind
Let the tier drops splash the surface above
And all those on the precipice of the Luna seas be crushed by their sadness
Take with you a balled up fist inside the chest and air of bitterness and go forth into an indifferent space
Let us put an end to this.

Discomfort with ambiguity
the theme of closure
here's a hard life lesson:
complex moral grey areas in the court of public opinion
are tried and convicted with such absolute certainty
that opinion runs into a spear-wall on the thought-crime of double-jeopardy
pariahs afraid to speak, seeming to appear flimsy with flip-floppery
when in fact, what can anybody know without being there, themself
this highfalutin sentencing, rent-free living in the shoes of the accused
and never taking a step outside, pay the dues, it's all a form of legal fee
today everybody is such an expert, information at the fingertips like Mercury
with the thunderbolts, bring lightning flashes, what's okay to think according to
whoever spends their time with me, awaiting approval Orwell, all's well that ends
take these foul-hearted to learn Love from the Ministry of, the greatest weapon of mind control
has never been hands-on the brain, there was a dissertation, novelization in '48 that explained it pretty perfectly
what we create can exact a toll steeper than 2 minute's hate, we police each other to greater expectations
set forth by creations always beneath the powers that be, imprisoned within these comforting confines
accepted, that inmates on the road are escaping crazies, this is sanctuary, our beloved Big Brother blinks and dreams up the inescapable- society.

Discomfort with ambiguity
the theme of closure
here's a hard life lesson:
the Pyramids weren't designed or built by cryptids
desperation for grand designs
Stone Henge credited to alien hominids
crossing the divining lines separating man's minds
from imagining human kind capable, and inescapable
reliable and just lie, re-lie, deceitful and deceivable
great apes, savage, and unnoble, creationist crops
ripe and now grim reapable, ****** slider switch hits
the oozing of faith, confidence and humanity feels seepable
no human accomplishment is keepable, on a potter's field for all history
the blueprint of unfollowable chaos randomly defined a grand design, is sleepable
there, ignore, snoring minds, theories strictly confined the outer possibilities
orbiting the thin air, small grey planets choked in binds, rock belts on too tight
it's as simple as the biblical angel or the unknowable terror that breaks the fabric of reality
an alien, with no context or understanding, nothing to draw from our own civilization applies
there is no fathomable way to anticipate contact or the endless anxieties
nothing to predicate how, if, we might communicate
it's a topic of marketable thought sold, undermining even the atrocities
slavery and brick layers longest days because it's more fun to think about
with a PHD, than lecture on practicality applied to those degrees,
there's certainly a more pragmatic audience for it; the enticing unknown
holds meaning, planetarily.

All your gold can buy the world
if you divvy it up and pass it out to everyone
within this generation the concept of poverty
would dissipate as does volcanic gas
this endlessly desirable fantasy
let in a djinn overnight; all the wishes granted
no problem, happily ever after marriage of morality
mortality, meaning suckling at the matriarchal dependency
on vapid materialism, provide insipid commentary
insert ownership over what you work for
earned, ignore the desperation of hunger
if you're born rich do you ever fear that you'll die poor?

If you're born poor it's this disadvantage, locked windows
closed doors, a drawn line, below those who have more
frowned upon for clawing, illegality in relief, margins in these textbooks
statistics washed away cleansed suspension of disbelief
invisibility, hide their faces to hide from the blame of the broken grief
harder to face is that if everyone had a check for a billion dollars
feeling like the flame tongue burned its mouth in biting off more than it could chew
accounting for those who don't cash in, money would cease to mean anything
the powers that be would either stop it to save the global economy
and call for crisis, reflection, as great tyrannical wings within us all unfold
all-consuming, there is one universal pain every living thing has known
that is how it feels to be cold, to be hungry, to be unclean, judged by status
outcast and made alone, in theory understood that everything can be lost
when the hoard goes out, shining coins incite a revolutionary vision in ignited eyes
that vibrate, quivering excite, inhuman shiver, silver sparkling in the night
all institutions get topsy, turvy, tossed, Saturnalian days until the end of days

There is nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to envy
hatred is so easily assigned to flaunting fools for their behavior
whose importance is overinflated with their egos, in turn their stocks rise and fall
the chest of the dragon as it sleeps, all of us a dream, let them be
controlled, the prayers long whispered, cried, muttered, otherwise uttered to the stars
the heavens and the so-called Stars, is all revealing of the wishful nature
true power is all mankind under these wings of gold
being as at peace as one kind man, unbothered, unburdened, unfettered by the definition of health, a rat, clinging to the foot of a hanging dead ideal, consumerism, capitalism, communism, perfect Marxism; the hoarding of wealth.

Clench, intensity in the intestines
guts in knots, over a rainbow bridge the pale unicorn trots
reins in the hand of a sandalled wanderer, the prism of life;
the meaning behind light fades, Relief the Grim Savior waves
under the pressure, tightening, interdimensional rift a fist grips the heartstrings
playing this improv solo, it's so frightening, blink without looking
that chemical smell, all too familiar, it's like home cooking
on the brink, don't shake, let it play out, steady now
strumming arterial chords, lungs starting to quake
it's the chorus line coming in to the arhythm of panic
a scope lifted away, laid down and changed that quick
what's gone is yesterday, in those seconds of eternity
a baptism of anxiety, regret rushes the stage, the vocalist comes in
"Oh dear God in Heaven they're burning me!"
with a discordant pluck everything could go amuck, awry, lending permanence to this guest
that crept in, adrenaline, second guessing at a time like this? Even some soldiers are made of tin
even holy men commit atrocities of sin, even in the dictionary it's just a word no matter how it looks: perfection
in that murky limbo, where the mind transcends and the soul will go, there's no bar
no high road, but somehow always feeling watched, always know, in another multiverse entirely, but never an inch too far
completely stunned, Death holding the reins as it guides this past life over the rainbow
that forms beneath its feet where it walks across the cosmos, black robes, white bones, Christlike in presence
when the time comes, there's no sadism in the streak, the reaping of the dream, realizing the surrounding
it's beauty resounding, the way love would feel if it could walk in pure merciful empathy, silently among us
the force that is antithetical is equally beautiful to its opposite, in every way, it gives meaning to seeing to never knowing what the last sight could be
without a sickle or a scythe, only a hand to hold as we walked and talked about what was on the other side of visible light
the sky fell back into place, focused and faced the North Star that blunk back slowly, blearily into a blurry existence
a dog rose arisen with unburdened eyes,
a snake shed a skin of lies, a wanderer collapsed in the future road of why's
this is a step toward change, now that it's real everything feels strange
which comes as no surprise.

Sadness is the color of understanding
empathy bores an endless path
at first piercing and ideal, like a flaming arrow
fired into a gelatinous body, it slows
over years and the path before it
twists around realism
a snake wrapped around the heart
in a Gordian Knot, swallowing its own tail
acceptance, defeat, purity
the ideals become gritty
stained with a lens of knowledge
that ultimate, itself, is too perfect to be a trait
grounded in something obtainable, soulless ice reflects
the neglectful capabilities behind the intellect, acknowledging
that meta-metamorphosis that no one is so great
idols are a poisonous cure to this toxic fantasy
the new religious ****** crisis, celebrity in flesh
appreciation, fame, ingratiation, talent and skill
rising above means and station, status and still,
flourishing compassion, a flower bloom on fire
extinguished before it causes trouble, curling lips
biting, the ice manifested on the road oft traveled to mayhem kills
mischief belays this idea, good natured, good intentions
if only, shortcuts through the thicket, frustrations
manipulations, tollbooths rise upon this road,
one a hike by barefoot, through thorn, bramble and gravel
the other all nice blacktop, long and wide, hot and fresh asphalt
progress seems faster, every booth demands more and every exit passed
is farther from the last
while the work it takes to travel the other road, is all the same distance
in all the same time, just harder, what is done to cross a creek leaves a sense
of fulfilled accomplishment
where what is done to get down to the street lives in the past tense
as everything is taken by the inch and replaced with resentment
while everything gained by the mile is unforgettable, unregrettable
to expire on the road is to give everything to a thief within, becoming too tired
to live in these woods, these words, this world is to see truth and find contentment.

Mine eyes have beheld a wanderer, whose ragged breath had left
beneath a beating star, hotter than all the blood behind their heart
and they were haggard, lost in the latter years of a bitter and angry life
that they often contemplated the benefits of living against themself,
for those that wanted them around, their blistered and raw feet
torn to shreds from many miles stripped of skin inch by inch on the ground
learned lessons in lamentation, far too hard headed to relent their suffering
in silence, even wailing to the world, to deaf ears and numb touch
they let birds fly away with beaks full of their flesh, fresh off their back
for that was repentance in their mind, to feed the bugs that crawled up
asking for a meal, in this dire, final hour, let the roadkill return a penance
a buffet for the hungry, this was not too much, theirs was a shared road
they were the only ones who cared, their reasoning was such,
for a helping hand so often had bitten hunks out of this skeleton
now eroding on the road, whose tears were little more than glistening salt
in the sand, dry as its motivations, to deny itself while continuing in misery
a path it knew would end in complete isolation,
a blink and these eyes withdrew the vision, shuffling feet away
the promise of change is always before, and empty until fulfilled
as the spires of a lonely city called Alienation, dare the mouth to say
"I will not follow the footsteps of my future-self, I will change today."

The thing of pathology and roads,
there is a demon named ******,
who exists to lead us astray
ideally, in your world of empathy  
who can resist a stray?

High powered cancer cells keep the phantoms running
across the long table sharks that have stopped swimming
lazily gathering schools of fish that sit on their teeth for roll call
attendance is ecstasy, blood floods the senses and those eyes
as soon as they smell it, that's all they see, every meal a feast
every night an ****, delighting in the prey never knowing
never thinking, there's a killer in an empty suit standing next to me
wining and dining with the enemy, see notes for stacks of C-notes
drones churned out of pressurized trenches with condescending tones
sinking while looking down at the surface, forsaking basic humanity
collapse on your knees, don't ***** a fingernail in the coffin to extend a simple pleasantry
it's high time that you people respect my time, which is what the clock is set to
all these teeth make it hard to sneer at you, these evolved fish eyes can see that you're upset, too
primordial origins ooze forth in the imposter syndrome complex's original sinner's skin
greed, the need to cut the sacrificial lamb's throat, sup of the blood and find
there isn't enough so shepherd more, do it again, and then
the sun itself revolves around this table because I sat down at it!
That's the outcome of the scenario, no matter how you divvy it up,
it's just basic mathematics!
Disturbingly becoming human, equating to weak by the end, fists pounding the table
smirking with frustration, like a dog smiling and dancing on two legs for its food
screaming and wailing in place of a collected bark, a normal whine, taking place in the mind
shocked to see its own fingers it recoils at its visage into stunned silence
no matter where we go, these memories will never let us be
the things that think they have depth because they adapted to the deep
to serve their own ego, alas, there are many more fish in the sea.

A wild sun refuses to set
ribbons rotate on the circumference
with thousands of eyes looking on
jagged tendrils boil this meager surface world
hear the screams, hear the cries
those who talk to angels

Sanctuary in the shade
safety in a secret
whisper a kiss to a bouquet
upon a headstone where it lay
beneath a sacred poem-prayer
meditating on granite in the still air
lay to rest the ghost-fire of resentment there
burn this incense, French inhale
cloven foot scraping grave-dirt, spitting smoke
bull-headed minotaur, lungs full of white sage choke

The wilderness is a spirited if pilfered place
lashed by this wicked star, ash falls from grace
prophetic tongues whirl in circles, speaking as if omniscient
beware, beware, dreamers cozy in the night
who climb the cosmic-skinned mountain of subconscious
the stone cairn-haunts of fireflies that light the way to the top
beware the abysmal black of Tartarus, that is far below the bellows
colder and darker than the wilderness, where not a nightmare dares to tread or trot;
nor has a dream been seen, beware

A void unseeable chews on innocent, sane, rational and reasonable minds
the seven pointed star, with oily, invisible corruption
that lays sweet words in stone with silence
how it moves across the air, an inverse to the wild sun
beware, there are no dreams, no rest,
there are no nightmares; beware.

Blood in the mind stream
Static snow in the mediation
Hit up the Dharma, do up a dose of reality
Cosmic karma costly casting reincarnation corpses
Become bodies buried beneath Bodhi, individuality
Medicinal purposes provided mastered meager-minded
Alien past life, animal past life, getting past life
One of a kind, no one is, as long as you act from kindness you're of our kind, kid
Emptiness not nothingness, peace and quiet all space and time
Tomes on happiness, suffering, humility, tones on wisdom, resounding off domes
Graceful gliding in tolerance, not knowing, binary views close immediacy in open homes
The ripening of karmic fruit rings true inevitably, sharp insight those whetstones hones
Dishonesty, disturbing attitudes, halfway there by punishment received in one lifetime
Endlessly halfway on the way towards the other half, perfect in the odyssey
Honestly, oddly, altruism and refuge, compassion and balance in watering the tree, naturally, care, do not create a deluge
Rushing to empathy a falsity, propagandized views of clairvoyant superheroes
Materialism, salt in coffee putting oneself to sleep, the poisonous allure of cynicism
Positivity, the colored, striped snake witn a crown on the neck and no venom, safe to embrace
Fearful to approach most in this day and age, but easy to chase
Chant a, mantra, with the voice inside ya
Holy positions not required to elevate a state of being
Just being quiet, breathing, following the flow of life on the element of air to know
One exercises control in letting go.

Time
What is time?
Time is an endless ocean
The current moving ever over occupied space
All objects experience time, making it the supreme element
The omnipresence of an unflinching, all-seeing eye whose vision engulfs all
That swim through the marble-white corneas
Time is crucial to knowing what life is
Experience is anything that happens to a body coursing through the oceanic eye of time
The waters wearing the edges down to rough or smooth, chipping in unique places
It can be refreshing, oasis waters in a dead sea of salt
Or pull life into a zone of deep pressure until it crumbles away to dust in the darkened depths
Drowning in time, dying of thirst, watched and surrounded by water, unseen
Experience over time is inevitable
Filtered through the nature of perception being inevitably unique
Experience over time applies to all living things
Circumventing the anomalous perception, pesky as it is
The equation is true, life is everything that happens while a thing occupies space in time's ocean.

Afterglow grieve bereavement
violaceous flesh limned
kindled espied populace
afflict exultation ayont
disengage, uncage, redeem
bewail materiality it would seem
wager evil haply on dreams
venerated existent ken ataraxy
here transpires this idiolect soul-to Pliny's ism;
lone eminently felicitous forebearer.

I apologize for what I'm about to say
if you're sensitive to language, I speak not with the intention to do harm
but to reflect pain.

Heavybag's fallen
knuckles only started to trickle with blood,
my new self-flagellation ritual interrupted
coitus, denied, the penultimate inspiration served
with every swing a flash of the past invoked
in my borderline personality crossing rage
bipolar seeming on a stable day, and I see
the nervous breakdown, these teachers
sanctuary for you, to me they say
**** yourself ******
hey, come over here and deal with this
dismissively
I keep my head down, a higher dose the next day
apathy, numb to stigmas, stigmata on my soul
martyrdom they beg of me
an inconvenience and how timely, they jokingly
say go on Tom, shoot up the school
**** yourself, you fat ******* ******
you *******, ******,
**** yourself ******,
I've been called that more times than my own name
by a long shot
all I ever wanted was to do what I was there for
then to not be there anymore
and I used to salivate as early as middle or intermediate school
at jumping off the roof, but I realized that it was too short a drop
so I recalculated, I decided on a ripcord, the train
**** yourself ******, if I do, that'd have been how I did
and I defied everyone by clinging to the only thing they couldn't take
they couldn't violate
and they did take and violate, they robbed my home,
I was beaten, *****, I keep it all bottled up
I couldn't tell anyone because all they'd say if they knew a boy ****** me was
**** yourself ******
so, I let him **** me several more times until I snapped
a tree branch over his throat
so, I clung to breath out of spite for all of them
and as soon as I could I committed their faces and names
to an infinite pit, I granted myself the greatest mercy of all
I let myself forget

Teachers never looked twice, if they did it was like
watching daytime television
no lesson plans, no structure, I remember them
sneering at me for being there, for being called names in their classroom
for being nervous, overweight, clumsy and awkward, uncomfortable
and scared, and then being mad at me when I skirted truancy laws
CPS, investigating me after my dad stopped beating me, when
I could've named a dozen houses where kids were still getting beat
and the **** cook's grandson who showed up late from the lab
and the drunks who showed up with the flasks, the rednecks with the tobacco dip ring in their pockets
I was so ****** on an overdosage of poison that it damaged my liver and I had to stop it
but that didn't change the reality I was supposed to ignore, I still saw it
in hindsight, I wish I was blinded, then I might have turned out alright
I know they'd probably just have led me to the tracks and left me there to **** myself
assisted suicide for the outsider, moved into town before they put up the first stoplight
but, sure, teachers do their job, if that means they said, just sit down shut up
watch a movie, play on your phone if you got one, do this quiz so I can say you did something
read a textbook, I don't give a ****, I'm gonna be over here and if you interrupt
**** yourself *******,
that's how it was, I never questioned it, because it always was like that
I never asked how it was elsewhere, I didn't think I'd live past 17
or past 18, or 21, or 25 or 27 so I'm really in uncharted waters now I'm almost 29
and no codependent relationship for me to abuse, just drugs

I talk to you
and you might think that means you, it doesn't
it means the paper, me and you
we've got our own thing, I don't need anybody else
this is what got me through
my first and only love, the thing that I lassoed my heart and identity to
that nobody else can take credit for giving me, I found it myself
dug it out of my skin and bone and muscle and sinew
and cultivated my own interests in it, forged every fiber of growth
over every year, every second every minute, I took the energy burning me up
every time I saw disdain, dismissive, disrespectful, belittling, hatred and inconvenience in someone's eyes
impatience for my still being here, still being alive, and I turned that into notebooks full of chicken scratch handwriting
my learning disabled hands could manage it, nobody gets to own this, not one lethargic **** teacher who didn't raise a finger to the board
when the kid whose dad owned the car dealership was running me down, or the football team, or the cheerleader was threatening to **** me
but when someone claimed the same on my name they sent me to the office and I had to sit there, knowing it was useless to protest
I did my ******* best, I never let these people make me violent,
when they wanted the worst of me, I wrote it down,
defied them to fight me, stayed silent and turned every
**** yourself ****** into a story, a poem, an idea, anything creative, just anything that was something
more than that repulsive reaction, get over yourself *******
I'll die when I'm good and ******* ready

Bag fell off, gloves off,
barely a trickle of blood,
barely a tickle
no air circulating, stagnant and stale in this summer heat
there's nothing on the table, but the dog could eat
hand yourself a victory, hand over fist pat on the back
and at this address leave defeat
I don't care, who wants what if anything
what you think, I don't want to know
just keep it to yourself, I don't care
just leave me alone, goodbye touring these last few walks
shaking fingers tenderly touch memory lane, caress the stalks
and with each punch I've thrown, exertion grunt and groan
I let spit fly through my teeth, a rabid dog beneath
biting, reminding, flashes, each landing blow, **** yourself
rooftop, train, pills, parking garage, gun
I hit him harder, harder and harder
tail between his legs, his carcass is thrown
standing, heaving, desperate fear, anger quivering in my eyes
I snap and snarl at this specter of myself, to just leave me alone
you don't have to be gone,
just be quiet, god help me, just shut your barking mouth
stomping the throat of this animal expelled,
I fall back into myself, an escalated conflict of spirit
elevated into frenzied panic, the need to hurt
without reason, I delve, don't make me remember
I seal them away, superstitious of their nameless, faceless
demonic hold, in jars in my head, these mentors, these helpers
teachers, there is hardly a worse word

I want to go away
to a quiet place
I want to become a quiet place
where I can let go of all the noise
and be quite okay
life does not excite me
I do not anticipate it
if all my life were writing, then maybe
but living alone is a task greater than this
and I do not know what I want, but more
more than the peace I've seen this can offer
so I search, in other places, finding myself
right
back
here
I want to be content, at peace
and so I write, I feed my spirit, body, heart and mind
but I am given to darkness, foreboding ominous evil
acts of malice and treachery, betrayal of the most intimate trust
and even the best efforts to keep myself leashed only serve as a noose to me
so I try to distance people, and isolate with the best intentions, finding myself
right
back
here
and sooner than later I will complete this tour,
say goodbye, this confessional, it is not poetry,
you do not understand that it is, expression is
and you can do it, let your red setter loose with wandering ennui
speak your displeasure with today, rewrite history, in your closing set
circle back around like those teardrop vultures over the mausoleum gallery
and come back to me, for I will be
write
back
here.

Sitting here behind a cloud of smoke in this gin tinged dumpster joint
glazed over eyes drinking in the bleakness of the world in all the customers
coming and going, such a dismal state of affairs and oh the affairs they're having
wedding rings found in the pockets when they're going for cash the next morning
the sanctity of that institution, ultimately the meaning is being phased out
on a generational level, a rye chuckle, never been the marrying type,
settling down with two kids and a dog type, picket fence type,
sounds like a slower suicide than sitting here, behind a row of empty glasses and bottles
there's no question where the ichor in the glass stands, empty
empty like this white man's ambitions, like his dreamless nights
go to sleep intoxicated, wake up like you've been battered around, sore and destroyed
with nothing to show for it, no title belt, no gold, just twice as tired and slower for all the pain
******* his teeth, looking at the shuffling bystanders moving about
flies buzzing around this open sewage, a king's feast just for them
one day a trumpet will blow, you muse to yourself, rolling the last drop of swill around a crystal cup
and that warm, honey-like texture, sticky and thick, slowly pours down his throat at a molasses pace
more spit than substance, like the words exchanged in the fervor of the night
we all wander willingly into our hole in the wall, where we become tell-tale hearts
never wanting to come back out, you muse as your eyes and instinct clash
stay open, but it's past two, so close, another one to help him decide
and another, hits to the head that'd leave grown men reduced to childlike
all this squalor, so glorious in the vibrant glow of evening
a hand lands on his shoulder, you turn around to see who it is
hey, life don't stop for you to get hurt kid,
sunrise.

Thrumming bumblebees' flight distorted and slow
bass heavy traces, trails of sweat, praise be the valkyrie
wandering aimlessly on her ethereal angel's wings
a pale woman on Pegasus to gather the,
fallen, think for me, of deeper, darker sleep
than even kings in their undiscovered jungle dens might know
unseen by the eyes of men and all the things their memories might show
what alien fascination of nature to recall an animal's lifetime
in the wild, among houses of caves and skyscraping fauna
where the temperature on the floor thick with vines
is hot and heavy with steam, condensation gathers on the lungs
like breathing in a perpetual sauna, perception gathers on man's tongues
deception of his meager imagination laid on the ears
croaking, groaning stalks of unknown life
turning one's own mind into a parasite
making a mirror of insight inside, reflecting back on fears

Goodbye tore open the sky, a fist through the ribcage
a bolt through the squall line
in a moment, Pangea on the ceiling above Earth
a nightmare remembered, reflected and projected
shown to this creative ocean of life below
the endless thick of Jaguar, Panther, Tiger and Lion
whose eyes shine in the green that is bunched together black- like diamonds
striking a matchhead, the phosphorous tip of a finger
the kiss from a lip of one oblong, impossible, obscure God
splitting the last pure retreat from the disdainful nonsense of humans
in an environment where only so few can survive,
play us out on a high note, rest in peace assured
with a mutual trust, man isn't mind, no one leaves this universe alive.

Love, the quietest volume tome in this apocrypha

dysphagia, a fantasy of crossing seas to see

a phantasm in fantasia, met with aphantasia

stolen from the mouths of babes, dysphasia

on deaf ears, aphasia, blind eyes, dysphoria, America

distribute misplaced distrust, fairness it's just injust

inform the infirm of interim canned worms within

the mind's eye, boring huh?

Lustful fire, borne into the, **** of discontent

this continent of opinionated, belated, celebrated

hated, content, resentment, revolution, civil discussion

and civil war, fare is fair if justice is injust just rain flaming corpses from your blimp *****

deflate your egos, throw out the discus, go and fetch the dogs some biscuits

**** everything, reclaim nativity for the crackers, ingenuity, ennui in ***** revenue reviews, incoming claims of independency

choke on your proclaimed declarations, a serpent's scale tipping your throat closed in silence in privacy

in support of engineering a wedge split Twain the ***** Joe-ked about between history and heresy

them old cats crow the same song Jim heard crow, a length of rope to hang yourself and go free

die you Tyrannical Oedipus Rex, die *******, die

long reign supreme anarchy

long reign supreme equality

the only true moral equation to solve human error will always be open-air savagery

that's just the show the stage is set for the world to see.

Thy neighbor: a biblical statement on community

the feeling you get alone beneath a streetlight

when it starts to drizzle rain late at night

and your hands are full and pockets fat

with information on where you live

who you know and love, your phone

and license, your keys, your confidence

that no one is following you;

no one has any reason to want to know anything about you


Yet you feel eyes on you in the open

when you believe you have privacy

your dome is the underside of an eye

placed within the socket, with many hive-scattered eyes

set in hexagonal walls staring down

unblinking, therefore all seeing

tracking your every move with the reverence of royal airs

why do you despise the comforts of the throne?


Your subjects, faceless, nameless

inconvenient, observant, who are they really?

Thy neighbor, just as private, quiet, secret, they are not it!

Yet you feel eyes, for this is the animal

wild, who surrenders by stepping into the trap

finally, relief in the jaws of civilization when they embrace man

and their teeth too weak to do the job, employ metal ones to snap


No more do we run the trails of our forest home

no more do the woods and wilderness we roam,

no longer belly up in the sun do we roll, nor happily do we lay

only when we are outmatched, and must pray to be spared as prey

no more do we kick up dirt or chase scents on the wind

now we shiver in our dark crate, embrace the trap we set within

this is what puts a sick dog down and domesticates a wild man.

All these white skulls in black robes

gather to form a scraping of the Grim Reaper's knuckles

pale bones that crack over a century

flakes fall, democracy a mockery,

society reaching to tug on your regency

swing your scythe, then, amateurs of Death

creeps-to-be, the sleep of the burden

that you miscarry, a jury of a baker's dozen

presided over by pressure, a phantasm form

informing decision, the swift thievery

of civility, it's clear the query presented

and who you answer to are not your people

you have more in common with plague

famine, pestilence, strife and conflict

caused by misjudging your own ability

to walk the edge of a conscience

slick with the blood of right's robbery

go and wet the knife, rest in fear at night

instruments of ****** who play an orchestral masterpiece

if your backbone bent straight with morality,

your souls would leave your bodies out of disgust for the high price due on the lease.

More of a confessional lately, isn't it?

Offsetting the vibe of this being art

there's a barometric pressure gathering over this mausoleum

pushing my head down so my eyes cannot look up the path

to see the funerary gallery as this storm-dirge plays the accompaniment to my march

across a mud road that feels like a steep ascension to-

all my work collected; rotting to high heaven

above this monument, within a grim eye-portent, swim the shadows of tears

vultures circling on the wings of thunder reflect bolts in their hungry pupils

starving as they swoop to bite of crumbling stone rooftops

nibbling of gargoyles, salt and concrete in their beaks

like arrows loosed from a bow of divine insight

their quiver a gray, bellowing squall

with rapturous rupture the dive bomb begins

upon the dead raised by the flood from the grave

the aces scream that all important call

an eye opens on the world below to behold the feeding

finally, void-borne teardrops fall.

Home and all the love that fills the chest
the time-lapse decay of the fox into maggots
and nothing more
weaker and softer in a cave whose walls are all pillows, marshmallows
shock-absorbent sugar
rend away the flaking clay of this charade
throw the snakeskin ticker tape flash paper over this parade

Where silver chains are collar and luxury
time spends the people who keep track of it
where watches are cuffs and monitors hold the gaze
competing with the walls that breathe noxious notions
contorting memories into convincing realities like dimensions
like a spider weaving a web over a dreamcatcher in a waking nightmare
singing a lullaby and a curse while it works

Requiem, a deity to which sleepless thoughts raise divine desperation and pray
the time snaps grey off the faux, a revealing display, a show now to stay
and nothing more
grievously believing conflict is direction or that purpose is assigned
wandering in search of meaning in an oasis that goes on forever
where nothing that grows is edible to the palate; all the water is vile
the oasis does not bend to desire or greed, when the situation is dire indeed
it is only a small comfort to die in the shade, surrounded by everything you need

Rests, how many have this body taken, for what is it if not the body of work
reliefs, in the headlines that stress folds in the paper on which life's story is written
retire, not forfeit, not quit, but tired again and again after so long
explain, no, do not aid self-destruction with loaded questions and firing squads
intentions be ******, to hell with the regrets and knowing and picking
like death-eating birds, determined to find meat in the fur of that fox somehow
...
all that is without oneself cannot be mine
all that is within myself is both mine and all there is
it is a far easier way to live in chaos, never knowing a moment of serenity
for one must choose peace within and manifest it in all facets to be serene
I am lowly and settle for respite in a quiet mind.

This stillness is not without turbulent whirls
all to mix up the blue
inaction does not mean patience
contemplative and painless
anxiety produces paralysis like a venom gland
biting into the self

So often misread and felt unseen
misunderstood, striving to explain
in a voice unheard over the room
ideally one understands the fear and risk
focuses through the adrenaline like a tunnel
threading many needles all at once

Genius is not such an abject view
stuck in the way of its own progress
while unhalted momentum slows down
and all brake to catch up
thus taking no action creates the disillusion
that steady, calm and observant makes a leader,
perhaps fit to follow the tail end

Envy of the ease
whose nerves do not manifest in ice clutches
that they dance before the eyes
step by step through life, always certain
even when befalling those missteps
like a maple tree leaf,
they merely pirouette and twirl away.

Cold and still in the dark, an inner eye turned to the future
that well of uncertainty that stirs deep within
calm, slow flowing streams of thought from the ocean
a focused spirit, melancholy in its clarity of self
but comforted by the sight of an old man

He says evil is a hard choice to make;
some never get to choose in the first place
it is rarer than the good that it pulls minds away from
yet only by exertion can it be done, energy consumed
even in a void there is a presence of peace
and if you exist in nothing, the only bad there can be
is what you create out of nothing
wisdom is not having answers, he says,
but being open to the possibility that all questions are like life
open ended.

I fall into mud, you pull me up by my neck

You let me wash the stains out on my own

Never carried me, you taught me

Everything about survival that I've ever known!

I'd be a mongrel, a cut throat or have my throat cut
deadbeat in the dirt, on my hind legs, a mutt overgrown
if you didn't fight me, force me, love me enough to make me
overcome the mistakes my loose-knit heart has sewn
for the best and the worst you were there every day, not a moment free
that's all the good times, all the cross-talk and all the bad times we had going on
you taught me how to settle conflicts without losing my identity
they bring hardships with soft cargo, soon enough they're going, gone
love is the answer to my burdens, nobody's baggage is garbage; it's not my duty to bear it, I toss it and leave it thrown
you taught me giving people space and isolation are different
it's one thing to be there for you and quiet and another to let you feel like you're all alone
my mother you came from nothing to raise this whole family like the spinal bone,
for every storm, every broken inconsistency and emergency, you are the matriarch, the stone.

Superiority from roots to branches
fraternity excelsior, forever where neverland is
infernal immaturity, malicious impropriators
generations and nations, hatred and placation
tradition, bones in the foundation
sweltering, blood waters the fields, sweat salts the soil
birth-rite of passage for years, never lived on a money plantation
heritage hidden from peers, shock to the shears
sheer heart attack, locked up in worst fears
guilt boils eye-kettles to tears,
scream for the sun to fall
surfacing cicadas are all empathetic ears
thunder before dawn, buzzing is all anybody hears

Testify, the very cream of the wheat
scraped froth from the top of the crop
the tip of an etiquette pick of the elite
meat so fine it melts between teeth
pompous and disconnected in its airs
that the pig never writes the pen; while turning up its nose at all of those beneath.

The exchange rate of proof in a social construct
life experience, debunked your weathered skin is defunct
if there's no photograph, show you could smile and laugh
release the anchor of today and just let before and after float away
be in the moment with all you have,
do what you never do, say what you wouldn't say

Need a lens on, focused, catch my dreams for replay
no net over the bed, sweat pooling around my head
foul smell of smoke and alcohol that's the way
what's a party if you aren't faded,
what's a diamond in the rough if their outlook isn't jaded?
There's no secrecy if there's no privacy,
on any given street move sideways, camera eyes all see
like it's New Year's Eve 1983

Hope for a flashier destruction
learned behavior and complacency
sleepwalking into a new era for humanity
influenced by popular opinions so easily
we can make the world the worst it can be
overnight, tomorrow is always a concept away from being realized
truth is elusive, lost in the pursuit gives visibility, target a nuisance
the truth is harder to believe than the fabricated fantasies
things we say, "They are behind it all" invented enemies
conspiracies, scapegoats to put the mind at ease
you feel better when you can visualize a problem
yell at the president, police, CEO's and companies
blame leaders and celebrities, other countries
nature and disasters, the economy and disease
fearfully, there's no correlation only opportunists and opportunities
who do not see people and lives and families
no, they see land, resources, money and properties
savage and decadent, sitting on civilized notions comfortably

Can you really say you were there if you weren't with a friend?
Can you say you had a good time if you can remember everything?
If you were up all night, ain't it time for this to end?
Who's watching? Who's caring? I put my clown shoes on and sing
Because I quit drinking, started smoking, stopped worrying so much
and I seem twofaced in how I spend my time from who I spend it with,
but I'm not beholden to any social contract; I'm a contradiction, give me my space and I'll be in touch.

My friend, it feels hard to breathe today

your open arms receive the burden of my pain

sharing more of me, the more of you I take away

this sunspot umbrella unfurls the evil on my brain

I'm writing to you like a journal, in solitary confidence

ignoble in my intrusion, with selfish insolence


Are you anymore a friend than the medicine that sedates me

calms and quiets my anxiety?

If I use you all the same?

Am I any less in need of help if my reputation predates me?

And I am both a label and a name?

I am choking on my misery today, lungs filled with lead

spread my disease, inhale the smoke of my fire and fill yourself with dread.

The stone monolith of judgement

presiding over myopic movements

casting a glare of rage-red, bleeding

residing restfully, on an ivory balcony

wherever I seem to go I'm always leading

the shadow of your gavel ever over me,

like Damocles; I can't stand trial on broken knees


Ideate suicide and violence, stranglehold thoughts don't relent

choking reason, chasing down common sense, my time is spent

fear is a stronghold, you can hide in it, safe from an open view

it's a choice that's harder to make when only pleasantries are tunneled in front of you

I've lived with anxiety in control, giving my madness a voice was never a conversation piece

eyeballing me for burial in a pigeonhole, exploiting the pressure of this lonely sadness,

isolated, on the outside it's easier to justify peers' peering hatred, give it a rest, social police

I wouldn't raise a hand to you if you were my teacher, self-taught, classless, I've had this

streak of luckless love, always alienated, never exonerated


Never been interesting, patience testing

a patient, temperament foul and festering

not being all there might be the best thing

daydreams, Elysium reeds in the wind sing

home calls me, that empty lot looks a lot like a golden ring

free to decide on paradise, no longer lifting the weight of dawn

just to see the next day, conscience flowing, glowing outward on

trickling rainfall association, loose-connection, brainstormed concoction

grow and groom personal Yggdrasil, a bonsai tree, in this place

meditate on the realization of the vision, every clipping is a footfall towards grace

persecuted for the image, behavior, for the portrayal

conceived, thought, written and spoken

every effort to improve serves self-betrayal

a window into a moment that they look through and then call broken.

From there? Yeah.
When the glint strikes off the reflective eyelids
all that stands before it is a blindspot
don't stand there waiting to answer or be forgiven
run
run for your ******* life

New boss, old boss, hat in the ring toss
old faithful, fate-fool, a hate tool,
pick an eye, either eye, both eyes
going postal is washed-up, going coastal, old hat
new news, comply on layaway, that'll cost the botha youse
goodwill is taxing, vexing, hacking, give your back-reacting-now that-
dot your I's and mind your tightly wound W's
pension for paperwork is not a fair trade, first laugh is free, next charge though, there goes
how you gonna make a mistake, the takeaway you fake the venom to hide the severed head of the snake away
protecting, projecting losses, greenbacks, stacked in backpacks to resurrect an architect like Imhotep to build projects
in daydreams you can feel the sun off them, in real life you can't see them if you break your necks
competitive incompetence, popping off like water balloons with incontinence
does anything in the whole wide world make a lick of ******* sense?

A man told me he knew the secret to being powerful and making threats,
it's not doing anything, letting their imagination run wild while the other person sweats

and he said so you have until I'm done counting down from five... to be out of range
I looked at him, relaxed and at ease, we were in a wide open space with no cover
Only five?
Yeah?
I watched his eyes
From there?
Yeah.

Hardly have the time, have the energy
never excel at being a beacon, expel the faux morality
there's a flag up here where the air is thin
you should see it, washed and worn, poised brilliantly
it's the ideal symbol, unmanned and waving in the wind

Assume high ground and no longer stand next
this nonstop squawk-box is a flooded chicken-feed
all the pick-and-peck running around with no heads on necks
glaring holes through character history for past misdeeds,
build a reputation off dead-end roads, laying fault wherever it leads

Crime is a heavy coat in the summer, some wear it year round
mercilessly branded, no forgiveness, people are always thankful they're above water when they see someone else has drowned;
not to help, but to blow out bright candles, smother dreams and watch lives go up in smoke like birthday wishes
the strongest weapon against a population is the population, it's the omnipresent bullet that never misses
we're all eating scraps off one plate together, leaving behind less food and more ***** dishes
so guarded and insecure it's almost an offensive decision to voice opinions anymore, but we all do, besides,
you won't be here long enough not to at least try to realize a difference, don't mind your own business
put your mind behind your own business
take your best creation and put it on the outside
live long enough to see it once, take it in with pride
it's your time to be seen, be felt and be heard, as short as it is.

If you're reading this from the end
stanching the unfathomable river bend
please unclamp your hands, the fae is a friend
to all life of all the lands

Her royalty is only signifying
the fairy princess; her tears are drying
they worship their loss-born deity
a majestic tree of negativity
upside down, roots penetrate sheer stone,
to grow into another world entirely
as dark as a ghost in a graveyard on a new moon, alone
as vibrant as ****** glee, jubilation and rejuvenation in proximity
her people glimpse this foreign past with awe
they revere their dear mistress, a phantom love
her people run and play alongside her in the visions they saw
they are equal and share alike, life is lived laterally, none below or above
they bow and pray for her to appear, to hear her speak
she is captured and enslaved, forced to grant wishes
she is a goddess among them, her attunement made her weak

The dark fairy, both ancestress, sister and corpse of the fairy princess of yore,
summoned to another time and world, where magick is inverted in a way she has never seen before
worship at the tree that grows on all planes calls out and gives back her form
a cold butterfly flitters back to life, leaving its cage and smiling warm
and the stump that it died on grows back to a forest, as all the stones and steam engines turn to deer and foxes
little bunnies and mushrooms and logs, hounds and cats, fish and frogs, bees and bears and dogs
all the people stop fretting about all their material needs and stop thinking of places to be
and slowly forget of wishes and kingdoms, dragons and gold and even the fairy
they experience true care-freeness in the ecstasy of joy, o, true bliss
that only the pure love of a powerful heart can plant such seeds with a kiss
as they are so content they don't need to eat, or sleep or drink
the people forget to live, they are overwhelmed at her return and thus forget to think
and all of those, the little girl who caught her and everybody who used her to make a wish
die one by one, as her heart breaks into pieces, crying, while every human succumbs to a final, ecstatic paralysis

Without people, the forest overtakes the continent  
idyllic to a fault, over abundant animals and insects, predators and prey
generations passed, the dark fairy becomes a leader, quite prominent,
before the fairy princess is lost in her own entanglement of power, unbalanced nature, unjustly you might say she once again fades away.

Ever deeper borne into the earth
guided by flickering torchlight
robes of fallen starlight descend,

Each marching with purpose, down into their caves
darker and colder as they fall closer to the underworld
communion beyond the veil begins beside their graves

Scholars write grimoires, studies of the absent birth
pondering on a tree that is both there and not, like smoke at night
magick in the roots reach for the surface like fumes, all upend

At first dozens and now hundreds, their chants roll off a religious tongue
beautiful choirs gather, their excavation of this new god
creates a calling, they will come when the song is sung

A tree of smoke that clings in reverse, roots dissipating against a cavern ceiling
the very reflection of an ancient tree that once existed, in another life
thousands fill tunnels to it, pull back their hoods, their eyes revealing
a great distrust of the illusion placed around them now, handling reality as gentle as a knife
carrying less of existence to and from their underground, upside-down cathedral
every time they face the feasible plausibility that this is not real at all
weaker in the presence of that tree, back to their shrinking world they crawl
one that has tarnished in their view and lost much majesty, everything is so grey and small
in their minds this is a revelation, not a lie or deception, but something they could never see
their great appreciation, amassed they bend and break in ceremonies, dropping to knees
all to wail, to sing, to bless and bleed before the branches of their tree;
forthwith from the leaves in the fervor of madness beat the wings of a dark fairy.

Magick is born of natural forces
love triumphant against all odds
the enchantment on mortal minds of beauty surmounting in the splendor of their forests
and in stranger places, darker, forbidden; for magick is not barred by intervention or interest
it defies mortal order, without agenda, blooming even from malice and the foulest festering wounds of cruelty

In such a place aforementioned arose the practice of necromancy
many, many years ago many thousands died of a sudden plague
that swallowed an entire kingdom off the map, casting its history into obscurity
all within the borders perished, thus the land was condemned by reason
and then abandoned by superstition, her neighbors offered no aid
fearful for their lives they turned away from the dying and dead season after season
alone they toiled and suffered, famine, pillaging and poverty, the shadow of a harvest scythe spreading over them was not delayed

With years the truth was all but myth, misplaced faithfully by historians in their books
and with masks full of theriac, resembling carrion birds, expeditions departed across the borders
often the doctors noted only the overgrowth of plants or ruins that once were towns, often so to ***** looks
for they were believed to be morbid and perverted, some were treated like witches and others like crooks
while the expeditionary doctors closed in on their consensus; that it was perfectly safe to tame the land
it was a young herbalist who discovered this sense of dread and darkness in the soil
where foreign flora, an unworldly brush and trees that dazed the senses stood
sprouted from the ashes at the site of ancient castle ruins, these Wyrd Wyrm Wood

She lived there, unnoticed having snuck beyond the open borders on a lie
and in her studies, became at one with the garden rooted in genocide
in tune with all the life, her toes bare in the dirt, breathing the air of that mad forest
the spirits adrift spoke to her on the wind, revealing their unrest
their lives ended by a sudden burst of poisonous clouds, respite and relief denied
begging as they choked on boils that burst in their throats, drowning in blood as allies on either side watched them die
all for the folly of a weapon launched from the North, falling short of the West, catapulting volleys of plague exploding in the sky
the outrage of thousands, with all the ancestors preceding them, and all the dead who walked before
fertilized in the land and shone down on by the heavens, came to her in the form of a king, so by the sword she swore:

As a Dark Druid, Necromancer and vengeful protector
of those innocently slaughtered, she bound this ghost king to her own soul
by the root of a blood-watered flower, ground by mortar and pestle  
the power to freeze bones while swinging the steel of the undead king,
with all the strength and knowledge of entire bloodlines behind her
she set forth, a ghost now forever tethered in her shadow
chained to each other, her life unnatural, she expelled the invaders
who neglected their duties only to feign woe over the drying ink of a treaty
then come to reap the benefits of benign promises.

Should this blanket of gold slip below the dragon's neck
as it grows and grows under the fortunes of your people
then it will awaken with heavenly fury, and raze your kingdom to ash
from which a fertilized garden of tormented magick will grow anew

Skeletons fused together of families seeking shelter
fine stone homes reduced to sea level
shadows on the walls with no one there to cast them anymore
a gulp of air is poison, bursting blood vessels and choking lungs
there is as little left of the castle as there is of any hovel
not even a standing door
ashes fall like bitter snow on neighboring tongues

The dragon's great green wings coveted the hoard of gold
beating gusts of chilling wind, the molten mountain runs cold
patrolling the peak and perimeter of this necropolis
festering energies awaken the spirits of the dead
energy from the lustful connection of a dragon to its hoard
the madness that brews in the very atmosphere
contorting the tapestry of reality to the will of paranoid malignancy
once a king, a catastrophic ruler, corrupted by power
now an echo that ****** the hairs when carried miles from home
he is one with his legacy, a dragon, for what more can anyone claim
only a crown on a body, witness to obliteration; only a king in name

Thus only do ghosts manifest keep company of the lizard
who cannot outlive the dead, annoyed that one day
perched on its gold, it will look out on all of its victims
unable to know they are at bay from the treasure, finally resting its head
even when that day is gone, the spirits still wander, aimless in despair
uncertain sad expressions, slowly decaying, lingering there
appearing with inverted funeral garb, white rags, robes and veils
sullen and dreadful, with sour magick in their exhales, an icy fog in the air
every day they are less restful, this kingdom of ghosts, every day robbed of peace
anger grows while none knows at what, why or where
they cast horror into distant familiarities of their memories, never knowing they can't become aware.

Fairy in a bottle, prisoner to the common-folk
under royal guard, she grants wishes for their riches
a tax that only few can afford, the hoard of gold
thus is the law as the king himself spoke:
"The magick of our fairy princess is a powerful and sacred resource,
for the elite nobles and wealthiest few, I will arrange an audience for you
to request a wish, within reason and of minor impact to my kingdom, of course."

She was slave to the whims of dimwits with limited vision in the castle keep
as awake and alive as she yearned to be, their gold rattling nearly put her to sleep
and the politics, the requests for maidens and knights, flying horses, saddle-broken unicorns,
unbreakable steel, all these selfish boons, while ever-obeying the king's private decree
no magick would last beyond the boundary of his kingdom, or for more than one day
under pain of being lashed by a whip of poisoned thorns and de-winged for all to see
the crown he wore was one of wicked gold, doubling as a helmet in war with two pointed horns

To subject all people to his view of how the fairy came to be bottled he adorned himself as a conqueror
his horned battle-crown and golden inlaid cape that twirled around his chestplate, ornate with dried rose petals preserved
on the pattern of spiraling cuts, white-gold engravings that made it look at first glance as if the statue of some idol had been crushed by a falling star
for he wore his status as a reminder, that he captured the fairy princess and made the first wish, to be the richest king of all the land near and far  
with which she made her own decree:
"In slaughtering the forest and my kin you have shown who you are. Your lustful desire requires a powerful toll, if you do not pay for your crown you will bargain with your soul. This magick of sin takes and gives form to the fell, fear for a dragon, should you short the hoard below its skin and scales or the dragon will rain hell. Gold it demands to take such a form in this plane, thus gold it will demand to remain."      

The king had fed the dragon, resting in his keep, mountains and hilltops
peaks and valleys of fortunes for the privilege he took as a possession
but, time cannot be bought, and even the thrill of magick stops
when it is so costly and flows freely with so little discretion
the rich, nobles and lucky all became wise to the deal
as long as you stay within his borders for a day after you pay
you can have almost whatever you feel
after days had passed the great bat wings of the lizard were felt stirring
the dragon grumbled, shaking the fields miles beyond the castle walls
the king's own throne fell from the tremors alone, brick and stone blurring
as the dragon takes flight, unstoppable and massive, the king crawls
the entire world shivers at the destruction to follow
and he crawls to the fairy, to beg forgiveness, if he could only pay his debt tomorrow
while the air explodes, the chemical heat massacres hundreds
his cape turns to furs, his chestplate back to bone and his crown to the buffalo hood the fairy made it of
kneeling at her altar, finally he reaches for the bottle above
as the air grows impossibly hot, the king laughs high and shrill, all hydration left in sweat, he sits pale as a ghost on the castle floor
a second from his death, he admires her one last trick
no sign of the fairy or the bottle, clutching nothing but one golden brick.

Magick beat on the wings of a butterfly pollinating gardens
every kiss upon a flower's face left a glowing blush
dew was being basted on the blades of grass,
bees were supping of their morning tea and honey
just before the dawn of the age of man
when purple gold imbued the land

For centuries the fairy princess whose friends carved every snowflake by hand,
picked up and painted all the leaves that fell from trees
to place them back on branches so they may fall again
who were the glimmer of light in cool lakes in summer
and who scented the wind with fresh sweetness
to see people smile when they remembered...
all the life in the forests
the fairy princess and all the life in the forests
for centuries were innocent

The humans frolicked through nature naked and pure
with simple pleasures in the paradise they never asked for
firebugs kept them warm and the lightning bugs made them safe
they were joyously harmonious; one with the fae in their prancing
until on unfortunate day, a child cupped the princess in her hands
capturing the fairy during a game of chase, The Day the Forest Stopped Dancing

Awakened as if from a trance people began to build homes from the trees
make tools and take game for feasts, robed in furs
while the little girl heard the princess' pleas
in exchange for release, the fairy would grant any wish of hers
the people built a settlement, smoke from their fires overtook the scented breeze
the child brought the fairy to them, knowing she'd have to grant wishes for all the curs

In the center of town there was a stump, which soon became a cage for the princess
as she was forced to hold audience, her magick left the forest in excess
it flowed into their civilization, stone buildings, horse-drawn buggies and silk
they were nomadic and naked one day, the next herding cattle and churning milk  
in weeks the advancements were industrial, coal, steel and steam
the fairy rarely slept, sometimes granting wishes she heard in a dream
her cage was elaborate, glass, pistons, iron, steel, the works, it encompassed the stump that was its foundation
allowed little air and no privacy, her wings became weak without the freedom to fly
guards all day and all night could hear her cry

Without her magick the forest fell into disarray
idyllic no more, the animals fled from hunters and the insects were subservient to their routines, they forgot to play
generations passed, long removed from the child who caught the princess in her very hands
before the fairy was no more than a butterfly encased in resin, dug up in strange lands.

By my own standards and principles
lofty morals, ideals, and values
I am a bad person
a complete and total failure

Hypocrisy, toxicity, vanity, petty desperation
abusive anger and aimless destruction, deprecation of identity
no respect or reverence for life, vile and small, harmful declarations
of my immature, pitiful, hatred for all
with a four cornered mouth, love, peace, chaos and selfish affairs
the distressful ever-present need to know someone cares!

Even if I have to preserve their love in memory, to preserve dead affection  
it's all just a narcissistic circus serving the draining need for attention
deceptive perception tricks the attunement to socialization,
am I insane, a psychopath, no, I am defined by my frequency of anxiety, manic depression and total self-deconstructive complete desecration
self-serving lies, when I run into the rules I expect from others the rule no longer applies
convenience, laziness, manipulative extroverted energy spent to the extent of cruelty and exhaustion
it'd be easier to hide every shred of evidence I have a past as this more safely avoided *******
than to keep trying, one shred of humanity, to get in touch with the decency I know is within me
it's easy to blame all the problematic seasons of my nature on any event or individual
those excuses satisfy prescriptions and doctors, they pass off the edge of being awkward socially
but I know my malice
the limit of it stretches out slowly

While I extend two arms from my spirit to crush the evil down less into a capability  
then into a capacity, make it less my reality and more a controlled crystalline statistical anomaly,
I know my heart chakra has been destroyed perfectly
though I have no disillusion of persecution or saviorship;
even this I can repair, with medication, meditation, time and poetry
a journey.

A rocket exploded in South Texas
left a reaching inferno from the base of petty worship
a god whose hand fell on no one, touched their eyes
pray in solitude, your words aren't worth it
just look for your answers in the skies,
where is your orbiting warship?

Imagine, invent and innovate on ancient lies
a better tomorrow, aim your arrows
in the machines mankind deifies
all of this squalor beyond the visible spectrum of light
is the reaction and consequence of what people decide
long to believe in nothing, demand proof by tangibility and sight
long to have faith in something, devote yourself by proxy to the discourse that causes deicide
there's always a holy something to fight, there's always satisfaction in taking side
all my cosmic gods and all ancient gods, pagan gods, all the gods of fiction and all the gods of tradition
all the minds that strive for enlightenment, worshipping education
scientists and philosophers, who are all pious in their own way
all the void and defiance, the uncertain and indifferent
launch and land and relaunch yourselves into life every day, make the most of flight before the ground interrupts your stay.