Light seeps through the
Window cadences of rhythm
Like a heartbeat
Of true intentions
Misconceptions dodge the soul
Dust particles pass my face
Proving I’m still alive
Somewhere inside
This shell

At night my astrolabe
Can not contain the measures
Of uneasiness and skepticism arising
In this government induced anxiety

Rolling thunder, closely followed by lightning.

A storm is near, all normalcy goes out the window.

The droplets make a soft pitter-patter on the

Stark, midnight concrete.

Inlaid with the tears:

Of college students,

Business professionals,

Homeless wanderers.

The salty droplets create a ripple effect in the water.

A man driving
We are always in a rush
He hits the puddle who hits
The little old lady

Our destinations become blurred
As the torrential downpour ensues.
People, including me,
COMPLAIN
GRUMBLE
No eye contact walking warily, wayward down the street.

But sometimes, maybe,
the clouds in a storm bring
Peace, maybe
Clarity, maybe
Presence. It may be.

Sometimes there’s a rainbow
Look for that.

I see you
Skating away
Skirt chaser
Alcohol induced love
Drug hazed fiend
Double shot
No salt
No lime
Straight alcohol to burn away
Your thoughts, condolences, intimidating sneers
Burns away your resolve, yourself

Look closer than they appear
As I look in the mirror
I make out two black figures
In tandem
Like a devils dance

I dance with the devil
But I have my soul
Seeing these images
Burn my retinas
Tarnished

Why do I pick you up?
Relentlessly
Energy bleeding
Gasping for relief
No solace in
Your (you’re) gray;
Matter

Through each situation,
           You’re a new person, conformist.
Body like a snake,
                The serpent himself
        See him? Contorting, twisting, fitting.
He’s the Man of the hour.
                Dripping like solid gold, are his words.
                        The “audience” stands captivated.
          Almost frozen, I’ve lost my tongue.
Unable to speak, I’m no match
          - For you.

I thought you were sent from heaven,
But you came straight from hell.
clawing, scratching, gnawing me down.
Not even “God” can save us now.
Te hodiste. “**** it.”
Pobrecito. “Poor thing.”
Cooing like a child who steals your heart,
Never to return.

In the throes
In those transposed
In my mind
through the murky
Stolen waters of thoughts

Blurted out,
Probably obscene
Cut. The director yells
Who is the director of my life?