Living through the night.
Sometimes
the sweetest dreams
keep me awake.
Faded.
Whispers in moonlight.

Subconscious streaming,
wishing
to be made whole.
Tales of heartbreak
shatter-
happiness screaming.

Light, fantasy stroll
hijacked,
taken by duress.
Dragged through the swamp land,
washed up
on the dreamscape knoll.

Eyes bloodshot in stress
blinking,
staring at today,
all the lovely words
together
like a rose bush dress.

Petals floating affray,
stumble
and slice at the heel.
Trailing uncertain
passage.
A tragic ballet.

Dancing feet reveal
her strength,
and the future glares.
But I know she's strong,
mighty,
like well crafted steel.

Though it isn't fair:
Living.
She reaches her hand,
touches my fingers
softly.
I wake with a scare.

My soul, she commands.
Relief
floods over terror.
Crying out, I choke,
"Don't go.
Stay in our dreamland."

In the morning,
they worked hard
because they worked
for themselves.

By afternoon
were disenchanted
and became goods
upon a shelf.

But that night
the moon turned red
because the toys
came to life.

The next day
the twist ties were left
but not a thing
was right.

His left hand flourishes
                                                                But­
The audience watches intensely
                                                       ­     There
The motions dazzle
                                                          ­          Is
Everyone paying attention
                                                   Something
Unexpected
                                                               Else
The illusion is shattered
                                                 Transpiring

           The magician takes a bow.

The foundation starts to crumble,

building like a muscle spasm

seemingly suddenly

but the chasm’s not shallow.



A throbbing pulsation,

intensity multiplying

through a fragile vein

where the weak start  to stumble.



There are cracks in the sidewalk,

disjointed like tendon

shouting through the pain

of childhood stained in chalk.



And the moment’s not passing.

The golem’s gnawing,

crushing bone into sand

into dust into hand.



The grinding screeching metal

causing the spark to ignite

the forgotten weeded mind

which fights but won’t settle.



Then the clenched power courses,

telling lies in righteousness

crying, “this won’t end!”

unless you stop it.



But the repletion of madness

tears the blood from the knife.



The throat is open.

The mountain’s *****

punching holes into families.



The swinging freedom of

unconscious motion

finds a target in innocence

if exists such a myth.



Sweltering demented meltdown

eroding this tail wagging acceptance,

ripping at the skin of freewill,

proving a point.



That monster has no soul.

that demon stares backward,

smiling from the pages

of mankind’s fiction.



“Burn!” he hollers.

Suffer and burn.

You are my children

in the lake of fire.



Only when it dries,

staining the lips of emotion

can those eyes see once more-

there is a person buried beneath.



A man in the devil’s jacket.



A man.

Painted a masterpiece
In my dreams:
A Chilean villa.
Cactus streams.
A flower composed,
Wilted with time
With muted colors,
Tequila with lime.
Fields of desert
With tuxtla soaring.
Winding paths of
Wood and brick flooring.
A cool wind blows
Through the heat
Over sweaty brows
And sandaled feet.
A moment trapped
That’s never been.
A life of others
Never seen.
Put away my brushes,
Stood back to admire
The deep ocean sky,
The burnt orange fire.
It lay on the table,
Alive on the canvas
When waking did cause
My hard work to vanish.
In memory only
And never shown
Forever discarded
Once beautifully known.
My studio of mind
So often produces
A wonderful concept
With no practical uses.
I’d like to live there
And run those streets,
Take shade under awnings
Sampling savory meats.
But I’ll never go there,
Never see that place.
Never plant in soil
That’s been erased.
That marvelous day
Conceived at night
Keeps the dreaming
Forever alight.

Tender, tiny dollar bill-
you give my time such worth.
Give my life to buy a thrill
And a box put under earth.

My gravestone sits over there;
paid a pretty penny.
Manages to look so fair
Surrounded by so many.

The car I drive is so nice
For my ride to the yard
Do not ask of me the price
Lest your dignity be marred.

My golden watch is better;
Reminds of time well spent.
Paid off the hassling debtor.
Lived at work to pay the rent.

Sick to my stomach
doesn’t it ever
fall into
place? This mad dash
race.
This human face
staring back at me,
tracking me like
I’m supposed to be
someplace,
meant to keep some
pace.
But I don’t even
want to go outside.
So I just hide disgrace
behind a mass of
failure.
And tailor my existence
so to wait for later.
And maybe
if I keep it all on
paper,
someday,  
some way
it’ll mean more than
labor.
I’m savoring the moment
the best I know how,
what I can allow,
and it’s turning me
into an old
man.
I ran into the world
like a coward
to find myself alone
and underpowered.
I showered myself
with the gifts
of my work.
Now I’ve got nothing left
but a false smirk
on my breath-
looking at this world,
afraid there’s nothing left.
And on and on
the ants keep up
the nest.
When will they stop and see?
When will we set ourselves free?
When can I just be me?

It doesn’t matter.
It’s hopeless.
All this empty patter
in tatters
when it’s lost in time.
This paradigm’s
got us locked
in a system that
uses.
Wears it all down,
bruises and
the abuse has
got us all thinking
this is the best of it.
And one man
can’t outwit
the masses,
because what passes
for moral
ends up in a quarrel
we can’t break out of.
Because we’re too tough.
Because we’re too rough.
All this pride’s
got us blinded.
And behind it all
is a fear of being
forgotten.
Of being nothing.
Our legacy’s rotten.
The timeline is
******, gushing
but fill another
dot in
‘cause the war ain’t over.
We ain’t done
giving each other
the cold shoulder.
And we’re getting older
but the fight’s still young.
Our enemies hung
but still nothing’s
Changing.
The same chess board
just rearranging
the pieces.
And the creases
in my face are
getting deeper,
and I see my child’s eyes
reflecting the face of the
grim reaper.

I wish you could see it.
This path, we could leave it.
‘Cause the answer’s
within.
Let’s dive on in
to our options,
‘cause the masses
just keep gawking
at the sky
like an answer’s
gonna fly
out of the clouds
singing so loud,
but God ain’t been talking.
And I haven’t seen
a miracle either,
so we’ve been
putting our faith
into a beaker,
letting the public speaker
tell us what’s real
and how to feel
‘cause it’s so much
easier.
A breezier road to walk
when you don’t gotta talk
to the fella your dad hated.
Staying sedated,
watching TV and
wondering if this was all
created.
That’s not the point.
We’ve gotta disjoint
from this follower logic.
Giving all our power
to the demagogic
and those who seek profit.
It’s better than nothing,
but we’ve got to come
off it.

Peace is a choice,
so if you’ve got a voice-
Let’s hear it.