Can two truly rule side by side?
Walking separate ways;
making different strides.

A lotus blooms and then it dies,
like all other things in life.

Will we take the mountains?:
climbing as one;

A serpents bite,
a sweet peach,
And a lack of speech.

Light tender skin,
and space filled with zen.


Darkenes eyes,
past or prize?

Can two truly rule side by side?
Walking separate ways;
making different strides.

We could not possibly be the same;
two equals one, will never be sane.

I sit and wonder,
And wait for complain.

Each time they come,
and next, they leave

or I throw them out
with the rest of the dogs --
Let them get lost in the best of the smog.

But a king cannot be thrown from his thrown.
You cannot take back the strength he has grown.

You cannot compare the lengths he has shown,
or the seeds he has sewn.

A careful caress,
and a hat with many jewels.

I've killed all the fools;
my new pharaoh rules!;
taught me what kids never learned in the schools.

Can it be?
Could it possibly be we?

Footprints that fade,
or victorious glee?

Sometimes a storm or
a pigeon of light..

Can two truly rule side by side?
Walking separate ways;
making different strides.

She was the girl he watched
all through the winter
with her hair sprinkled with powdered sugar
beneath the red and green
of the holiday.

She was the girl who noticed him
finally, when the sun melted the snow
into running rivulets in the grass parks and forests
along the edges of flower beds
and picnic blankets.

She was the girl who lured him in
with lips parted like a flower blossom
and hair like the April showers that pounded
the roof above their heads
as they cuddled til 3 am.

She was the girl who threw him out
when summer boys became an abundance
and he tumbled into the gutters with the dried weeds
and lay there all through the summer
wondering where he went wrong.

glass cuts his body
        up
          down
     in
    out
and all the way through
until he is ravished by
an euphoric state
only he understands
he's bathed in blood
which to his eyes
is beautiful
               exhausted
he crashes to the floor
complacent
in long awaited sleep.

Lost in the fog, tripping through words
I stumble upon sight of a flying bird,
but he’s not really flying, he’s lost too.
Poor thing belongs in a zoo more than I do.

That’s hard to say, considering my giant jaw.
Considering the laws against my sharpened paws,
But I clawed my way out and I’m not going back,
Either way, I’m running; now let's get back on track.

Know war, no peace
No war, know peace

He was James Dean,
My cigarette daydream.
He was wild,
And I was his flower child.
He was my secret,
And I was unfit.
But with that mischievous look in his eye
I never could say goodbye.

"You know, I used to be good at math,"
He says,
A cigarette cradled in his fingers,
Spilling ash on his blue jeans.
He rearranges himself, removes his jacket -
It's much too hot for leather now -
And reveals a Dean t-shirt.
Too cool for school, I suppose.

"The rules just got too crazy, too specific.
Too dependent and tangled.
Well, too much so for the effort I was willing to exert."
He's frank, I'll give him that.
How does he make utter sloth seem so innocent?
Too cool for school, I suppose.

He calls himself a Methodist.
Not like that, though.
He says he's just figured life out.
He means the hows, not the whys.
The stops along the tour of personal success.
A Methodist.
Too cool for school, I suppose.

Death projected itself from his mouth,
Silently parting his lips in the form of a cigarette,
And I couldn't tell if it was smoke or desire,
that burned my breathless lungs
with a flame-less fire.

And I thought that if he saw me, he would laugh,
Laugh at me under my own duress.
But he caught my stare, and stared back.
James Dean with eyes like thunder
And a smirk that could **** more than his own cigarette.