My eyes are black:
because sleep, often, defeats me
in the brutal Battle of My Bed.

The art of counting sheep
is one that- this head has not mastered.

So, as such, the damp tobacc-
o- keeps my lungs looking,
dreadfully, similar to my eyes.

The alcohol that keeps me plastered
is withering away my liver.
& death, one day, shall be delivered-
unto me.

I can sense it, you tell the lies.
"Nothing", "Just tired", "I'm fine".
I can see through your disguise.
Baby girl, open up to me.. you are mine,
& I am yours. T'whom you, I adore.
You see, you think you are hidden?
But- I see You, in your eyes.
Has someone auctioned off pain;
you must've accidentally put a bid in..
Because it seems you have won
your fair share of misery.

It seems, as though, we live in a time so grim
- an' I believe the world'll need a few more spins
- 'round the sun before it'll, ever again, be fun
- for our daughters & sons ta', in the garden, run.
Once the war's done - an' lowered've been the guns:
- maybe then, we'll see the tiny crumbs of buns
- that the mothers had baked for the boys who'd won.
But - the men at war with their heads felt none,
- in terms of peace, an'-  nor did their sons;
- they are the children of a massive war
- an' don't understand what all o' the death was for.

Yes; you are allowed to be angry
but- it's not my problem- frankly.
It is not mine to sip, this mug of tea,
-worrying about what it is that you see
-when you look on over t'ward me.
I'll be out there by the birch trees
-and you'll, within a year, find glee
-in somebody else. I know- very well
-that this is the situation at hand.
No; I can no longer be your man.
I hope you'll understand
-but know that you won't.

Though, she said it so, very, peacefully:
"I can't wait to get away from the prairies!"
it still sounded, ever, so scary - to me;
for I have always been a prairie boy.

The orange leaves o' last fall begin to emerge
- as the white drifts deteriorate to form surg-
-ing streams that tear through the low prairie
- an', suddenly, human kind seems more merry
- than they were in the recent months an' weeks;
- yay - a joyful smile crosses humanity's cheeks!
It must've something to do with the changing season;
- tis' the only reason - that I can comprehend.

Cravings for poison-
not eating much else.
Too far gone for tampering.
Darkness. Avoid all the noise and-
stare at the staggering elves.
Unflattering & always scampering.
Constant metamorphosis.
Turbulent cranial fortresses.

If there is a creator,
she should be proud.
"Well done, my friend!
   She, truly, is a masterpiece."

Are these slander & slurs,
I seem to be hear-
ing with these two ears?
How, men, may you hold valid opinions
of me as a ***-r -
when our acquaintance
has never been near-
er than a distant planet from here? -
Weird, -
you seem so sure of your facts.
However, it seems awfully whack -
as you've never crossed the back-
of my mind! -
Suggestion, sir: --
if I may concur; -
Stop hasting over others lives!
  If you've already blown through
  seven wives.. - don't you think -
  just possibly -
  that - YOU - might
  be the issue?
Open your eyes!
Take control of your live!
& I'll continue down my own
    the way I always have.
Trust me, friend.
Once you can see,
you may even thank me.
Surely- so much more, you can be!

I will still be here,
reminiscing you, my dear,
right where you left me.

More specifically,
where you refused to take me
into your fingertips..
Oh,
the way you stroked me though..
I wish you had done something exciting
like thrown me
far out into the water.
Instead, you grazed your fingers
upon and past me
in search for the perfect pebble.

Why, oh why, must there be steel scraps in the sky
-whose sole purpose is to spy upon you and I?
It'd cause ancient astronomers to let out a sigh
-as they realize they can't see Mars, nor the stars,
-past all the junk put in place by tyrannical czar's.
Us peasants: we've beared cuts & are left with scars
-upon all o' our liberty, rights, and freedom.
Don't be fooled by whom ever succeeds him
-for it always ends up as, just, more treason.

I seem to get the blues
- each time I watch the news
- cause' it's always, "Oh- look whose
- been shot dead for his shoes!"
It leaves me, oh, so very confused
- and I can't seem to catch a clue
- as to why humans get infused with *****
- and try to bruise people with different worldviews.
Thus: the cops cruise- down the avenues
- and keep an eye on I and, each of, you.
What none of us seem to, willingly, view
- is if we formed a grand, organized crew:
- we could read stories of how we overthrew
- our masters in the history books of the past
- in and around three-thousand fifty-three.
Oh- how things could be so lovely, pretty,
- if we'd aim our eyes & arms at real enemies & harm
- in our lives. But, even still, they'll take our lives.
Because- silent, discreet leaders will always survive;
- they don't care if they sacrifice five thousand
- of their pawns: young dumb men who have gone
- willingly to their grave - to **** people who behave
- in a way their masters say, graceful as ballet,
- is, "so, very, distasteful. - Make their deaths painful."

Unfortunately- the history books will continuously
- be filled with falsities from the 21st Century.

Those ole,' sky-high birch trees grew askew
- due to the harsh an' relentless winds that blew
- through those high an' rolling, golden prairies.
Tis' that place where all o' the remaining Fairies  
- tended to merrily roam an' call their home.
Tis' there where all the weeds're overgrown
-an', yet, no one, much, seems to mind
- for it all seems ta' be perfectly designed;
-- an' nothing could ever change it's beauty
-- less, o' course, humans should choose ta' act crudely.

They'll stage false flag shootings
- so - that they can begin looting
- us all o' our rifles and muskets.
But - they get to keep their rockets
- and shoot missiles into our homes.
They'll leave us slingshots & stones
- and tell us that we'll all be, just, fine
- unless we should step over a line;
- and if we do, they'll send in nine
- of their Teflon-covered fine-
-st troops: who'll come in and shoot
- us all before we can grab our boots
- and wonder who broke through
- the front door.

Most all ancient poems will find new homes :
- rewritten in the scribblers of scribes
- who've never read them in their lives.

We have all become very glum an' down
- an' with it - we've begun to lash out;
- thus: giving others more reasons ta' pout.
Aye - it seems that I see a lot more frowns
- as I, aimlessly, roam round' these ghost towns.
An' - in me mind : without a single doubt
- I'm aware that trouble's about ta' sprout;
- it'll roll in quick - without being announced.
Aye! I see the hard times stored for you an' me;
- Yay! - for - I have examined each of the hints.
- an' I hope you, all, find a smile in times a-blue.
Giddy's plea is that you'll stand strong as an ole' tree
- not snapping for, even, the harshest, most frigid a-winds;
-- an' know that with compassion: we'll get through.

His season o' sorrows had seceded;
- the joy crept in reluctant an' slow, though,
- because he was aware the cycle'll be repeated.
Yay- t'was one thing that he did, certainly, know:
- that - with the blustery an' bone chilling snow
- will be brought along another season o' sorrow.
For now, though, he'll enjoy the golden suns glow.

Would it be foolish, or silly, of me
- to purchase gemstones for thee
- when I know not how you feel
- an' I know not if they are real:
- all o' these feelings in my heart?

Nay- it would not be so smart
- for me to spend so much
- over this lust-filled hunch.
Though, - I think I'd do this much
- if only to feel your angelic touch.

Have I gone completely mad
- or am I attempting to clear a path
- which leads me into your hands?
These feelings are hard ta' understand.

Thee songbirds fly straight t'wards her hand
- an', to be honest, I completely understand
- why they, all, make their way into her palms;
- she catches ones eye like ancient artifacts o' bronze,
- or shining, gem-crested rings made o' silver or gold,
- or leather, hard spined books that're, ever so, old!
Yay- she shone like a quartz crystal in the sunlight
- an' caused all the bandits to pause their gunfight
- as they admired her crossing the street
- with big, ole' fairy boots on her feet!

Oh- the things I'd do to get close ta' you
- an' feel, tightly around my head, your thighs.
You know not what a magnificent view
- you are seen as through this peasant's eyes.

Aye - I'd do it all - if only to be called yours;
- I'd build you a home o' bricks within the sticks!

I've felt sort-a down : I'm sure your love's the cure
- an' I'd do whatever it takes to get my fix..
I'd build you a giant cabin in the Irish highlands!

Oh - thee things I'd do to be called your guy;
- I'd shower you in silver, gold and diamonds!
Aye - I'd gift you all the gems I can buy!

Call me crazy - but - I'd do this much
- if only to feel, upon my skin, your touch!

Oh, you foolish ***** within my chest,
- you hardly pump adequate blood through me
- an' should I rise too quick: I'll fall t'wards me' feet;
- upon an ole' wooden floor: I'll make my nest.
Yay- tis' where I'll take a brief, uninvited rest!

What - then, heart, makes you dream o' bliss an' glee
- which all seem to revolve round' that fairy
-- the one with the gems on her fingers an' neck?

Oh- you silly an' foolish heart, you,
- you know you could end up a shade o' navy.
Oh- but she makes you sing jingles so merrily
- when you witness such a beautiful view!
Oh- you know you may be hurt, greatly,
- but - even still - you dream on carelessly.

To keep my mind from feeling blue :
- all, it is, I have to think about is you
- an' about those, absolute, beautiful eyes
- that resemble a magnificent Summer's sky.

Aye - she shines like a gem, ever, so bright
- an' brings unto the Earth - a vibrant light!
Oh me, oh my, what an immaculate sight -
- an' for her affection: I shall put up a fight.

Imbeciles scribbling death threats to "the Donald;"
- all because: their whole life, they've been coddled
- by their teachers, parents, and the television set.
Lil' do they know: HRC would've been war & death.
Though, they'll keep regurgitating the media's lies..
- all because they've blinders pulled over their eyes.
I suppose, I, do, feel sorry for the wandering sheep;
- because all o' their third eye's are, oh, so asleep.

Wake up.
Stop letting them destroy your species.
You, truly, are the change you wish to see;
- if you're nothing but a hateful pawn,
- in the greedy elite's information war,
- what, then, becomes of the Earth?

T'is a world full o' entrapment
- should you loathe the establishment;
- be weary with your communications
- for there may be implications
- when they spy on you and I.
Nay- nothing escapes their eyes!
They'll monitor each our calls;
- no matter, just, how small
- o' a talk it might, very well, be.
Yay- they do spy on me and thee!
Nay- nothing escapes their eyes
- but, even still, we must try, our best, to devise
- a quiet, fool proof strategy to see humanity rise.
For - if we fail : a free human kind will surely die.

The light shone upon my eyes
every, single, time that she walks by
would leave fierce gladiator's blind.
I may be seen as wise, but-
behind these brown eyes -
I am the guy who will, quickly,
greet his demise -
should I never feel her thighs -
constricting the sounds around my -
ears.
This lust has lived for so many years.
I want, nothing more than,
to whisper in your ear-
    the sweetest nothing's
& the realest something's.

It has been- the same ole' scene
in this same ole', stock city.

I spend my moons- singing out,
baffoon -ishly,
this same ole' song of Eldorado.

I sing this same ole' song:
as the dead, golden grass
grows grand and green.

I sing this same ole' song:
as a sixty mile, whipping wind
blows through the Mississippi.

I sing this same ole' song:
under the succulent shine of,
the fullest of many moons.

I sing this same ole' song:
until I hear the beetles and worms
chew through this coffin,
deep in the ground of  Eldorado.

None o' us could, ever, really know,
- just exactly, where each o' us go
- when all o' the bright lights go dim  
- an' our bodies are, suddenly, limp.
Do we, all, get to see some grand being
- when we cease to continue breathing;
- or- does it all, simply, turn to dark black
- with no chance o' us ever getting back?
"Should we find ourselves six feet under
- or, up, high above the thunder?" I wonder.
Do our souls elevate to some magical space
- or do we, all, lie still in our boxes with grace?
We might not ever know the, exact, truth
- but, even still, the trees - they bear lively fruit
- an' the Earth still spins round' the Sun..
An' - for now, e'rything seems to be calm.

I wonder,
"Has anyone ever mentioned unto you:
  that your eyes shine more- vibrant-
  than a blood moon in the high,
   eastern skyline?"

My head really hurts
  and I can't find the words
  to express how I feel;
  the mental silence is real.
The problem, however,
  is that it's not silent- ever.
There's always a dull noise;
  it's untranslatable to young boys
  upon this wide world- Earth.
What, I ask, would it be worth
  to try to find some truth
  in a mythical language that you
  do not fluently speak?

I was headed on down to Chadron, Nebraska;
- for: I, dearly, needed some time away
- an' I was craving a bit o' Americana,
- so - I hit each Waffle House on the way.

As I passed through the mountains in Deadwood:
- I, seemingly, understood that manhood
- was still a couple thousand miles away
- so I threw my smoldering cigarette in the ashtray
- an' pulled into the next little, roadside cafe.

Should I never make it to Nebraska:
- look through those trees in South Dakota.
I'm certain that your eyes'll spot me;
- out on those Black Hills, in the Elm
- laced mountain tops, : tis' where I'll be
- likely.

Expect thee worst & hope for the best;
- don't trouble your mind with all o' the rest
- of the details. Ya' see? Even the slowest of snails
- will infiltrate the deceased rabbit's den-
- eventually.

Politicians are receiving golden medals an' awards
- for sending hundreds of thousands o' men to war.
These men march to death, merely following accords,
- without ever asking, just, what they're all dying for.
They, do, believe they are fighting for their country
- unaware they are, but, violent, disposable monkeys
- who are being used by corporations to make money.
An army of blinded men: full o' hatred for "commies,"
- an' ignorant that their deaths, "boost the economy."
Tis' a ****** shame: they got trapped in this game
- an' their sons, regrettably, are bound to do the same..

Oh- so very high up in thee eastern skyline,
- towering buildings glimmer in, such, a busy city;
- of a greed-filled utopia: they're gargantuan shrines
- an' in the people trapped beneath, I take, such, pity.

Spending forty hour, plus, a week working a **** job:
- just trying to find enough cents to pay rent
- for a **** apartment. It's nonstop: this plot
- that the elites an ' cronies have up and dreamt.

It'll torment the best of men, to see, ever so, clearly
- all o' thee sick acts that the elites'd like to do
- to you
- and me.

Oh, you blast'd and blustery evening,
- how you do, indeed, leave me grieving
- a brother o' mine- a partner in crime;
- a peaceful man who ended up freezing
- such a - very - long, long time - ago.

"Careful not to crash your chariot in the snow, Giddy!
For- at -40 degrees: being stuck in a ditch isn't pretty;
- are you sure you want to leave? It's, ever, so misty
- in that deep valley just North of this ole' city:
- Eldorado. Giddy, if you go & are engulfed in snow
- then I'll wake tomorrow with woes- & feeling guilty.
Feeling guilty because I know I could've stopped you
- but you wouldn't hear my spew-  of caring concern.
So- tomorrow morning, I will learn-
- of your death.. I'm sure as heck
- that someone'll stumble upon your carriage wreck."

Aegidius' carriage crashed upon a lonely back road:
-a quiet back road that nobody has ever known,
- a quiet back road where people seldom go;
-where his horses have laid down in the snow & froze
-and he knows- that he will, likely, be the next to go.

God only knows, what hides within those snows!
If he don't end up froze, I'm sure that the crows
- would love to decompose, and dispose of, those
- fleshy bits of his- after all that's left are his ribs
- lying in the snow: torn apart by God only knows.

My friends, reclucantly, drag me out
to some local clubs to drink ale & stout.
I try my best not to sigh, too much, or pout
but it all comes back
with the memories about- her.
I slip away from the bustling crowd,
crying, 'it's too much- too loud."
Slithering over to the old wooden stool
I kindly tell the bartender,
"Keep serving me these until I drool."
An unusual look upon his face as he nods.
I notice everyone in here puts up such facades.
I refuse to plank up my soul & heart
though, I would if I was smart.
So I keep
hiding all emotions
by sipping on various potions
& adding certain chemicals to my drink
when no one's eyes towards me
make any motion.

Oh, me!
Oh, my!
  "The things I would do,
   to transform to a fly
   upon the walls of your room!"
   (Everything!)

Oh, me!
Oh, my!
  "Admiring you, I flew-
   around the pillow I wished was mine:
   the one lying next to you!"
   (Oh, how I wish!)

Oh, me!
"If only I could portray, so that you knew-
  all of the beauty, within you, that I see."
Oh, my!
 "What I would give- to be your guy!"
   (Anything!)

Oh, me!
Oh, my!
  "If only I could transform to be-
   a fly: hovering above thee." 
  (Alas, it's just another pipe dream.)

Exchanging a large coffee for two-hundred cents
- in a, oh - so, desperate attempt to prevent
- himself from falling, fast, asleep at the wheel
- and crashing his big, ole', blue hunk o' steel.
Driving, so, slowy down a snowy prairie road,
- with no particular place, in his mind, to go,
- beneath a, winter's, waxing gibbous moon's glow;
- tis' where you'll, certainly, find Aegidius O'Crow,
- somewhere way out west o' big & bright Toronto.
Where he often goes, though, people seldom know.

The Waterfall of Angst pours over me,
swiftly, as my speed drops to sixty.

I came into town to get my car,
all, clean: so that, (maybe)
this evening, I don't have to use
whiskey - to polish up my mind
 & make it a serene- place to be.  

Hell, I don't even drink whiskey.
Gin or ale is much more suitable for me. 

Loathing the fact that I must go 
and exchange silver quarters,
for their quadruple counterpart,
just to get the ****'d
pressure washer to start.

While avoiding faces I know
  in the local mart,
  I begin to question when it begun:
  this love/hate relationship I have
  for each, and every, one -
   that I have passed by -
   or know of. 

  --

I finally possess full coin dollars!
Release the wrath of the rains and oceans!

"Hey!" I hear a man holler,
"These soapy potions- contain no ******!
   Come back tomorrow, if you must-
   to soak and unsmudge
   your bucket of rust!"

Oh! The sorrow!

"But, my dear friend!
  I cannot return after this night's moon;
   for death: it, certainly, shall come soon!
  I don't believe I can pretend- that I will
  ever return to the Waterfall of Angst again!
No! No! I don't have the strength."

  --

He gave me a length- ly stare,
obviously pondering if he dare -
ask questions regarding my answer.

As he opens his mouth,
I scamper off into, sweet, seclusion
where my heartbeat can steady
& continue living my delusion.

White drifts melt- forming shallow, surging creeks:
- thus- bright colours o' green'll arrive within weeks
- an' each o' our spirits will, surely, be enlightened.
Yay - thee shades o' spring are, ever, so vibrant;
- an' we, each, will find shining smiles upon our faces!
T'wards the blue skies, we'll sing our joyful praises:
- songs o' appreciation to the great Mother Earth.
We'll sing along with the soaring, high up, birds.
Yay; it'll, certainly, inspire all o' our joyful words
- an' the streams'll gleam, bright, in the suns rays  
- whilst thee children, carelessly - in the garden, play.

"What in thee hell have you woken cheerful for?
Tis' but another start of nineteen eighty-four:
- this much I am sure, and can assure- you, of.
Tis' but another year of satellites spying from above
- & tis' but another year of people dying from more
- manmade infections, bugs, and diseases whose cure
- will never be given to us peasants: this much's sure.
What reason do they have to save us people they ignore?
We're deplor-able
- and we'll all be dead before- you know."

Does the city crier
ever close his massive mouth?
Look at all the folks..
   hanging on the edge of a wire-
    wondering just, exactly, what it is
     that bloak's babbling on about.
"A drought did befall before the Shire"?!
      Surely- this crier's a liar!
Beloved barkeep.. just one more stout.
  & then, my friend- I am out-
                            this b*tch.

A fierce an' blusterous wind blows 'round the snow;
- bringing with it - to many a-men : great woes.
It does, so, bring sorrow - an' it's hard to swallow :
- that bone-chilling, brisk breeze out o' thee west.
It blows in, determinedly, - as if it is on a quest;
- a bitter journey putting many a-men to the test.

Nay- there'll be no hunting, nor gathering, today;
- guess all we can do now : ration thee food an' pray.

What defines a man?
The words he chooses to use
- whenever he can.

"Art thou undecided
   upon embracing me -
   fully?
  Oh, my dearest maiden!
  My mind continues racing -
   you see?
  I cannot find myself
   on a distant voyage -
   wielding all of my supplies  
   upon this ole' wooden deck -
   if it's not the same trek -
   you wish to take.
Fair maiden,
  I'm willing to put so much at stake.
But- if a brief trip is what you seek -
  my ship will, surely, wreck & sink. "

Ancient astronomers let out a sigh
- upon realizing that their' intrigued eyes
- cannot see all o' thee Planets in our skies
- past all o' these intrusive, metallic flies
- that are, strategically, designed, simply, to spy
- on, each and every one of, you and I.
They may find themselves distraught
- and will try to move themselves abroad
- but their' freedom can never be bought
- because the elites despise their' thoughts;
- thoughts of freedom, liberty, and justice.
The royals'll ****** anyone who's conscious
- regardless of how, incredibly, harmless
-they might, very well, be. Don't you see?
That it is lethal to meddle in the plans of royalty.

I know exactly what's coming
- and I'm, oh- so very, afraid.
I cannot escape the humming
- that is drumming inside my brain.
As of late, I have been numbing
- my mind; I cannot contain
- all my troubles and my pain.

The trees are where, it is, I ought to be
-away from all people and from society;
I cannot, possibly, become what it is that she
-wants for me to be. Thus- I, ever so, silently
-head over t'wards those bushes out back
-with a fully stocked sack- or pack with snacks.
I head out t'wards those bushes out back- and hack
-down some brittle trees into a quaint little shack.

The Creator scribbled out Gaia when she was young;
- she'd never expected what Earth would become.
I don't think she'd imagined the fists being swung
- and I don't believe she'd imagined all of the bombs
- exploding in markets: killing children & moms.
I'm sure she's not calm, looking on- at all she created.
She screams out, "No! No! It needs to be repainted
- with much more pleasant colors and moods!
I never thought my lovey sphere could get so crude;
- should I do nothing: all these species are *******!
I must act prud-ently."
Little does she know, she no longer has authority;
- her creation has began to breathe
- and has the ability to get up and leave.
All She can do now is grieve
- and wish that she never did believe
- she could create something pure
- in a universe so obscure.

This Earth rotates so, very, fast
- an' for some : it's a total blast.
Though, for some : it's complete hell -
- being locked up on this spherical dwell-
-ing. Yes! To some, this world does sting;
- an' - sorrow, to some : it sure does bring.
Even still, though, Earth spins circles 'round the Sun
- and any sort o' closure is, barely, little to none.

Oh, my spurn of this shallow swamp!
For: it is not extensive enough
to blanket my body, when I fall over,
clomp- ing through the mud so rough.

To, under starlit sky, be submerged-
fully- on a summer night-
a desperate attempt to purge-
this black matter from within my blood
and these negative emotions that do flood-
my mind from time to time,
these sinister thoughts of mine.

Under muddy waters,
all of my feelings absolve;
& under muddy waters,
the time on my watch comes to a halt.

It's truly tantalizing-
how all of my pety issues can be resolved:
with merely one immaculately deep breath
- of the muddiest water.

Under muddy waters,
the world's disarray fades off;
& under muddy waters,
I let out my last and final cough.

--

Where is the grandeur
in growing grey, without the girl
you're grateful god grew?

Do you understand how grand-
it would be to sleep, hand in hand, 
next to her while she is blanketed
in my old, ragged shirt?

Oh, the stupid smirks:
I would emit without command.

--

Unto these muddy waters,
my shadows follow.
Unto these muddy waters,
my soul has ran
- and fallen;
and into these muddy waters,
I will be swallowed.

--

Just have to drag out the garden hose first-
& run the faucet for a days worth - time. Then, and only then, shall my end- begin.
- Under muddy waters.