Don't bite the hand that feeds you
...Unless it is the only thing left

Tell me you love me.
So I can shout from the roof tops
that it simply isn't true.

We must reap what we roe
God let mere mortal show
To death the embryo
A dark society that I know

Kick the stars he said
Their dust will grace the mountain
Let their light bring day

The rib cage turns a familiar pale yellow,
Autumnal sun conjures swaths of warm air
Red fox colored leaves make bed for small fellow

But old man winter doth draft a plan
Across the meadows and through the land
He'll reap whats sowed- and not less than

Dust to dust one becomes at night
Though spring winds carry new life
Small creatures wake before the light

Language ripples thought
Through soft Spanish undertones
By beryl waters

Have to confront her
People pass, smeared oil paintings
But oh there she is

Surrounded, but alone
The frenzy moves in catacomb
Public twilight zone

The law evolves
And with it our morality
Adapting within the confines
But changing to survive

Harsh desert winds
Give no thought to equity
Nor artic seas I'm sure

No it is the people
And their conquests we endure

Fear feeds on self doubt
Starve it with your strength

where the sidewalk ends
and the autumn woods call.

They say love is wild
Wreckless and unforgiving
Graffiti tears from glassy eyes
Flickering florescent lies
But his words soothed
Like black coffee at midnight

Across the sea upon a foreign land
In a language you could not understand
A daughter asked a father
How much longer?

And with a weary grin fixed to his face
He told his love about the place
Where freedom sung
Like church bells

the bad guy
tell his crossword puzzle lie
it don't matter she cry
mama don't turna blind eye

Talent is not a God given gaurentee.
It is earned through trial, error, and grit.

write as if your heart
were your lungs at the summit
then gasp for air, breathe

Black bear in thicket
Soft trills of summer cricket
Blueberries so sweet

Those that doubt your will
Will stay fixed upon your failures
But pay them no mind

They needn't waste that too.

Those that do not learn
Will simply sit stagnantly
Forced to watch you grow

Means falling apart.

The word pierced my heart,
then pulsed into my mind like warm venom.

You knew right from the start
That you'd tear me apart
And yet you drew me in close as could be

You had baited your traps
You couldn't wait to unwrap
The guileless fly that was me

Plant yourself around those who help you grow taller, avoid dodder vines and inconspicuous maulers.

Because your world was small,
I was trapped.

Our love isn't stardust
nor songs on repeat
oh no my dear,
our love is semisweet.

It is tired eyes
and messy hair
the screaming of obscenities
into the air without a care.

It is knowing
on days I am too much to bear
that you love me for who I am,
and you aren't going anywhere.

If tar were medicine
It’d go down smoother
You try to clear the taste from your throat
But it lingers.

Destroy me.

Like Banksy’s work
I want to slide from my frame
in pieces

Break what is whole
to make more me valuable
But when I reach my limit

Please by god
Stop.

You’re both a man of your word and a man who can command a room without one.
Your confidence merely serves to straighten your posture, I have never caught you looking down.

Drip
Drip
Drip

I try to keep my anxiety in a bucket
Some days I can empty the pale with cold and sluggish hands

Other days the thoughts trickle out and so I grab my mop put out my “caution” sign

But today there’s a flood
I have a teacup during Katrina
Not filled with Earl Grey

But I try anyways.

Draw a line, any line
Watch her cross it

Love her anyway

She will set your heart on fire
Be prepared to gather up the ashes

By God son,

She will paint your hometown red
But you will lust for her with every fiber of your being

like the shoulder blades of a panther
my attention slowly rises and falls
you think you are special baby
but your name I can’t recall

you’re lost within the Amazon
away from everything you have ever known
as the rain fills the river violently
you're scared to be alone

the world doesn't seem so friendly
when surrounded by every language but your own
suddenly the things you loved the most
will shred you to the bone

protect your own heart
with the ferocity you
protect others

All who wander are not lost
Some of us are simply curious
We create a new path as we move
Each step is unknown
Some tread softly
Others leap with haste

i am
he is
we are?

Bruised up and battered the Wild Things hum
They embrace the night and what’s to come
And into the darkness their steel drums thrum

To catch a glance of where the Wild Things roam
Count to ten then sail straight from home

Where the shore meets the bottom of the sea
In the middle of upside downtown, passed the Oak tree
Oh where the Wild Things roam…

That’s where I’ll be.

You're the jazz that melts around these tall tall buildings
Smooth as the smell of Château Margaux
Bold as the city lights that accentuate the night

I must admit that I am bored.
Utterly bored, actually, with the overly romanticized construct of dominance.
How easily one can claim to be dominant.
Shocking? No.
We as human beings aspire to attain the intangible.
Exponential wealth. Immortality. Fame. Power.
We live in a world of illusion and fallacy.
We drive cars that we can’t afford,
often to jobs that we despise.
We attain validation through the media,
from blasé people that require it in return.
What I have found- and take this for what you will,
is that my longing for external dominance is simply a translation for
“By god please take control, and ground me to something real.”

Suicide isn't a desire to die
Or some crestfallen out cry

It isn't some perverse fetish
Where eyes are fixed upon the wreckage  

It is a lack of will to continue
Life blurs through the rearview

Suggested to be an act of luxury
But **** the same old drudgery

I will always wear my heart upon my sleeve
Lost between the truth and the make-believe
Perhaps the only difference is what I conceive

I am corrosive
Like the sea, you see
I'll take what's left
If you come near me

I do not see red.
My heart races.
My throat tightens.
I see nothing.
I feel nothing.
I am nothing, but what I am in this moment.
Broken walls, fractured fists.
No, I do not see red.

As I am inspecting the tomatoes for bruises and scrapes, you walk by.
Your stance is as ***** as the collar of your dark blue dress shirt.
Your pace tells me that you have no time to waste on inspecting for bruises, or scrapes.
Perhaps your wife is expecting you home, or perhaps someone else?

As the essence of "Tabacco Oud" dissipates, I bite my bottom lip hard. I imagine yours taste of gin or brandy. A level of richness and depth I could only fathom to taste.

Petrichor and metal
The grey sidewalk elucidates a small copper object
How lucky am I to have come across you…
“Drop that, it is nothing!” He clips.

Our private little rendezvous
Love me until I am black and blue
You can show me what you went through
Then I will hold you like you need me to

Music has the ability to strip us raw.
Regardless of color or creed we are connected through the crescendos that expose our shared vulnerabilities.

My friend Billy stated unapologetically over earl grey tea and orange zest scones that the premise of his all-time favorite novel consisted of a man having *** with a goat.
With some resistance, and perhaps skepticism, I asked him, “Why?”
“Because the world would be incredibly ******* dull if we all just wrote about humans containing stardust.”
“Well, we are all technically…”
“I understand that. We are also full of water and feces, animated toilet bowls if you will, but I doubt that would flow exceptionally well from my calligraphy pen onto a textured piece of paper. Humans are often no more than a messy and selfish group of animals, governed by the illusion of creativity, law, and morality.”
“Is that why it was your favorite novel?”
“No, I liked it because it was ******* hysterical.”

Black craft paper in hand, you watch as the snowflakes land
Your kindergarten teacher explains that each one is "beautiful and unique"
But now as you look in the mirror you can see neither

When you were little you used to love to catch lightning bugs
You would watch them float in the Mason Jars, as the July air kissed your cheeks
But you don't notice the seasons anymore, do you?

For you, time passes unnoticeably
Lost between the coffee breaks and the heartaches
You push life aside
Until nothing
is really
left.

Tragedy is heavy
It rests upon a gradient of scraped knees and broken hearts
Only those with tenacity will ever see the light

The frustrated poet runs his fingers through his hair,
then strikes the last word of his final verse in despair

Across town, a painter incinerates a wooden facade of a steeple
For the existential artist, hell is truly other people

But the sculptor who whittles his work with a knife
Is solely the one who values his life

For he understands that the process of creation,
Does not rest within pre-calculation

A yard stick was used to measure where my skirt is supposed to end,
just long enough to make sure that my body did not offend,

You see it wasn’t lady like to dress in that way,
or to play video games where the premise was merely to slay

The only coding I ever came to understand,
was any form of foul language, of which was tacitly banned

You argue that women are inherently more cooperative,
To which I would argue that humans are merely imitative

While women are no longer obliged to do housework,
I am, at least in part, merely a product of my international network