Green light suspends my structure
Darkness then enters, pervasive, invasive
Darkness without hostile motives
No reason to ail my beautiful light
It just happens

So long aloft in arms of others
Legs are shriveled, decorations, a show
A show that cannot support the form
Of the athlete the task demands
Disappointment, Atlas failed

Smooth and bare the corridor
Opening into an expanse of cavern
Rough on the edge, ravaged
The Devil took a bite out of Earth
Looking into the space, empty

It is not what is taken
It is the burden kindly given
The freedom to inhale and exhale
To be tossed by storms and make them
The ability to succeed, or even fail
Responsibility

As the lights flickered down,
Over the carbonic sparkle of
Orange Juice spiked with sprite,
Do you remember holding a kiss
To the chagrin of parents and hostess?

You loved me so much, you
Made us a bed in the corner
Two sleeping bags merged,
No longer apart.

And I thought,
In this world,
A snake pit,
Filled both, with vipers and *****,
I would hold your hand
And have your side.

But with palms pressed together,
My fingers entwined
To keep me from grasping,
I realize,
You had mine.

Twas brillig and the slithy toves
Did gyle and gimble in the wabe.
“Beware the jabberwock my son
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch…”

The twin scourges of solitude

Death comes upon closed hearts,
Nay… Cold Hearts would pray for death
Close cousin to the cold heart, the busy mind.
One rises with the other, in fact;
Both encage…
Both disconnect…
Both starve … of joy
Both take… the person…’s soul.

I give up, I say
Love is not for me
I fall to me knee
Bow head in defeat

Why do I show my neck to my foe?
There is a better way, I do not know.*

I don’t know
I simply do not know
Everyone looks toward me
Expecting my advice
It’s not here

I do not know the reason
For the changing of the tide
Nor changing of the season
Nor the…

The answers
Are as hidden from me
As they are for the rest of you
So do not look at me
Turn and go

Your words are quite confusing
Your phrases are too contradicting
Your thoughts are too well hidden
your…
I just don’t know what you mean

Why is it that you make things difficult
Why is it that you are [replace: ‘need to be’] so vague
Why must you hide those [replace: ‘such’] things from me
Why is it that what makes little sense is all you only say
         What I need to hear … {illegible} …. what makes
little sense


I can’t understand. My mind no longer works
My heart can’t stand this confusion much longer
I must know what you want me to be… anarchy
I must [ want to] know what you think

I need to know your guidance (your wants, your aspirations)
I need to know your wants
I need to tell you how much you matter, how much I care
But it’s a catch-22, (you see)
I don’t know what to ask [say]

There are (too) few words I can use
To say what you mean [ quite what I feel]
“I love you” is much, much too trite
“You are my world” is just not enough
So I guess (this Valentine’s) I’ll (just have to) ask…
  “Will you be mine?”

--
Once Redacted
Replaced [with]
(Added)

1
Lovely Life.
Delightful Death.
Refreshing Rebirth.

#2
I am the vacuum
I am…
Am I the absences of something
Or the presence of nothing?

#3
*I was born to be a statue
So ivy could strangle my being
So roots could separate my parts
I feel creepers climbing my limbs
I feel vines tangling my form
But my automaton gears spin too fast
  to let me die.

I am Schrodinger's cat
My thoughts are an experiment on entropy
I am both dead and alive

I've been tongue tied since third grade
never able to say I love you.
Especially to myself.

Come ******* lips
I want to enter your heart like a diver
I want to pierce your soul like a stare
I want to inject myself into your life like an exclamation
And linger there like the first kiss offered by a lover.
I want to impose on you like a beloved grandmother
And tease you like an incessant itch
(The more you scratch,
The more of your thoughts I’ll inhabit)

I want to love you like a metaphor
Building in your mind to a climatic epiphany
A realization that all my words are symbols
Of unspoken dreams of you.

The dog howled with the gunshot. “Rabies,” he would later explain. When asked about his son.

Did you see me screech by?
To say I lost all control,
Would imply I had any
Did you see my eyes shut?
Not in pain or sadness,
But in peace and apathy.
Can you see the direction
To which I am speeding?
Downwards and downwards
From the top to the bottom,
Making one more descent
One last great spiraling fall.

Animal instincts grab the wheel;
Human mind gives it up.
One side knows it’s pointless;
The brakes are far past broken;
He made sure of that himself
To lose all that restrains him.
The other is quite determined,
Not developed to ever let go,
Ignorant to the obvious
That it is stuck on this ride.
Let body try one more time
To gain control over situation
As faster and faster we drop.

The smell of the breeze
Tickles beneath my nose,
Bringing with it the tastes
Of wild flowers and tar.
The sound of screams flying
Behind me like a regal cape,
Fluttering in the rapid wind.
Slowly lifting from the ground,
Hovering over mortal roads.
Eyes shut tight, so not to know
Where the fates guide us.
Back up to heaven
Or down to hell

“So there was this man, rather tall man, dark hair and sunglasses, average Casanova, lady’s man sorta guy. And this man walks into my bar.”

“Maybe he should have ducked”

The buzzed man’s friends gave a collective groan at their buddy’s one-liner. The bartender, a balding gentleman with a protruding stomach, continued his anecdote.

“Well, this man comes in and pulls up a seat next to this gorgeous doll at the counter and starts to chat with her a bit. Happens to be that this gal he was talking to is my best friend’s wife. “

“So did’ya kick the guy out? Seeing how he was trying to get in bed with your best friend’s girl.” Said a second voice.

“Didn’t have to. She told the guy straight out that she was a married woman Threatened to call the police even.”

“And what did the guy say?” asked a third.

“Now, that’s the funny bit. So the man tells the girl that her being married was no problem. In fact, he claimed he slept with every married woman around town. Anyways, she slapped him so hard, it nearly knocked him out. I swear he’ll have a wedding band bruise on his cheek for a month. Talk about irony”

The three men roared with laughter, especially the comedian of the group. Sometime about two in the morning, the drinking buddies downed their last drinks and stepped out into the falling rain. They split at the curb taking separate routes home. The last one on the sidewalk when the bartender shut off the lights was the first man to speak.

He walked to the curb and stuck up his thumb for a taxi to take him back to his north side apartment. A few minutes later, a cabbie stopped outside the bar and rolled down his window.

“Where will it be?”

“Train station” the man decided. Dripping wet he opened the door and climbed into the cab’s rear seat.

“Hey, buddy, you should really use an umbrella. It looks like you’ve been crying.” said the cabbie chuckling at his own humor.

“Didn’t bring one” replied the man. The cab driver didn’t try to continue the conversation.

The man got out at the train station and dashed to the bathroom. He went into the last stall and locked the door.  The man slid to the floor with his back against the wall, and from his pocket came a folded paper decorated with little ringlets of dried tears. He read the note yet another countless time since finding it that morning.

“Dear former,
There’s someone else, and we’re skipping town.
Love you,
Janie
P.S. You aren’t as funny as you think you are.”

Doubled over, the man howled out a mournful tune through broken sobs. He had decided to come to the train station to wonder what train his one love climbed aboard as she left his life.

Ha!

Laugh at me
Please

Hate me
Please

Maybe then I’ll learn
Maybe then I’ll change
Cause right now:

I’m so fake

As fake as America’s
“Lovey dovey”
Big, caring brother politics

Why didn’t you all tell me
Before?

Or maybe you don’t think it yet?
Yeah that might be it

I can see it on
Your faces
I can hear it in
Your words and
Your voices

You all think I’m
Something,
I’m not.

You all buy my exaggerations,
My down played traits,
(My attempts at hiding
What I don’t want you to see)
And even when you don’t
You miss what I am

Why are you throwing to third?
I’m just reaching first!

Can’t you see the
Contradictions?
Oh there’s so many.
Can’t you see the
Unexplained?
Maybe it’s not obvious

Laugh at me
Please
Hate me
Please
Call me fake
Please

Cause I’m not what you see
And I’m not trying to be me
(Me just ain’t cool enough, see)
Doesn’t that make me a poser?
Shouldn’t you be *******?
(That’s how they say it should be)

This is as much about you
As it is about me.

They call me sauvros
Or in the English style,
Saurus.
As in dinosaur,
Those terrible lizards.

But I am just a Saur,
Just a lizard,
Though,
That's bad enough.

I am a scaly thing
A grotesque personality
Crawling around
In this guy's head
Whispering bad things
Dark, terrible things

And you'd be loathed
To see me angry.

So slow
Always slow
Always behind
Traveling slug's pace
Against cheetah's sprint
Seeing the goal
Slowly fading in the distance

Racing
Running
Raging
Struggling to catch up
Never to catch up

The mouth
A lap behind
The brain

The brain
A thousand miles
Behind the world

The world is gone,
Is a spaceship
Traveling to the moon

I am a boy
Standing on Earth
With
My loves
My lives
My dreams
On a one way trip
To the stars

I guess I'll learn
To build a rocket.
I have plenty time
Stuck on this rock.

It almost a joke,
See,
Well, truly
It is irony.
That a man
Whose dream is
To have it all.
Has no chance
With who he wants,
Who would  likely
Make him happyist.

It's is likely the sign
Of a vengeful god
Or at least a god
With a black humor.
That makes a man
A longing romantic
easy to fall to love.
As well as a boy
Without skills, Lost
In his child's crush.

That is the irony
Of a blind painter
Or a deaf pianist.
Even a politician
With morals
Is better suited
Than I am as
A bumbling
Casanova,

It's a bitter joke.
And I'm the ****
Of it
Hoping god
Might say
Just Kidding

The naive boy
Helped his friend

The naive boy
Was told not to

The naive boy
Cried "the Earth is flat"
Too late to find
In fact, it's round

The naive boy
Was a kind young thing
Hospitable to all.
Now he knows
The lengths some go
In getting what they want

I am not
The naive boy.
No longer!
Just an angry boy
Betrayed by friend
Who did not deserve
The kindness given

But I will not show
My internal rage
And they will never see
Thoughts on my face.
Who is now Naive?

Some days
I can hardly
Stop myself
From collapsing down
And weeping emotions

Other days
I want to throw
Myself upon
Those with answers
And beg for reprieve

Some days
I wonder
What the point is

Other days
I know.
Those are the worse.

The recipe reads:

2 and 1/2  ounces dedication
To 3 pounds *******
To a gram of work
To a ton of cheating
To a tablespoon punctuality
To a gallon procrastination
All with a base of
Genetic Luck

Success,
Success,
**** this

What's the big idea
Of having to succeed?
I don't need to succeed,
Not by your standards.
I write my  own formula
For a successful life.

One
Bitter
Shot
Of
Not dead, Yet.

Son; he says;
I am going to die.

How soon; I ask.
Real soon; he says;
Twenty, thirty years,
I've lived a while.

Why are you so old?
I ask, brokenly.
Because I was not
Ready to be a father
When I was younger;
He answers,
understanding.

I don't want you to die,
At least not so soon;
I grumble weakly

But, I'm ready for it,
I've spent my years
Holding onto life;
He says;
With you in the world
My last real job
Is to teach you
How to live.

Life's too short;
I say.
So short;
He agrees.

Now,
Let's talk girls
He says with
A wink and a smile

"Do you love me?"
She once wrote
In the words
"Could we be together?"
And tied it up
In red lace with
Hopeful hearts

"No.
I don't love you."
I replied softly,
Sadly, mournfully.
Through
"I don't think it'd work.
I don't have time."

"That's okay"
She whispered
Not shedding a tear
On paper, at least.
"We are best-friends,
Right?"

"Yes"
I murmured
With all my heart.
I was bit by
Rejection before,
And I would not wish that on
My best friend.

Scary thing
About money
There's never enough
To buy what you
Want.

And
When there's enough
There's nothing
Worth buying

So why spend a life's
Time
For a million in dough
When in a night
You
Can have a million dreams

Good bye world, I do not see
Good bye moon, I never saw
Good bye valley, mountain, sea
I bid farewell to you all.

Where is the sand
I once did touch
Where is the band
I once did loce
Where are the birds
The air and trees
Where are the worms
The dirt and leaves

What happened to everything
All the bells that used to ring
All the cars that used to shine
All the tastes of fruit on vine

Everything once was new
But then, today
I signed away
The beauty I once knew
If only to say
I follow majority view.

Tryptophan, Turkey comas
On a stuffed stomach,
Chock full of dreams
Button bursting insight

So much food
So much family
So much joy
So much to be thankful for

Thankful
Not to be dead,
To be enjoying life
Here on Earth

Thankful
Not to be poor,
To be able afford
The comforts in life

Thankful
Not to be alone,
To have friends and family
Helping to guide me

Stuffed
Sprawled on the couch
Realizing how much I have
Realizing it could all be
Gone within a blink.
Thankfully, I’m here
Thankfully

I’m alright.

Let love not spring eternal
But rather give it decay
And leave it days numbered
So few as to be counted
On only fingers and toes

Let love's flame burn
Not eternal
Not forever
But rather in short bursts
Hot flares of passion
With cold spells between

Let love be a flickering eye
Let it pass from one
Person to another
Let it not rest on its
Quest for a partner

Let love flow on
As the seasons flow
Waxing and waning
Let it change daily
Growing maturing
Aging developing

Let love leave home
And stay away
Until it is ready
To settle down
In its true place

Let your love not rest
Until it falls upon me
Or
Let my love not remain
With you who loves another.

Dawn

The sun arises
Bringing the cleansing light to
Wash out the dark stain

Day

The clouds float up high
White blemishes in the sky
God's imperfections

Dusk

Sun sets, moon rises
Hiding away pale blue dome
Uniform of black

Night**

Chaos in the sky
The stars are shining this night
Disordered beauty

Light up the sacred fire.
The warm spot in every
Heart of every lover
As is tradition to do.
Add in infatuation to
Get the inferno burning.
Feed it words like kindling
Those simple nicknames
Love, dear and honey
And then add compliments
The coals to keep it lit
And alive for a longer time

Next
Throw the big pieces in
The caring, thoughtful acts.
That will never fully burn
Leaving a blackened reminder
Then the large promises.
That you will look at no other.
That he or she is the only one
That you will always love.

Now you have quite
The bonfire to sit by
To warm your chills
But eventually you’ll run out
Of all the other fuels

The only thing left to burn
Is yourself.

I woke up this morning
With my pillow still damp
From last night's opening,
From that pin-up show
Where truth was first on
Followed by facts then pain
And all was bore straight
Through long held tears.

I woke up this morning
To see your cold eyes.
That Peculiar stare of
The scientist that's scared
Of the monster he made.
Those isolating looks.
That tells me your view
Of me has changed.
Those worried, sad eyes
That are ready to jump
To my aid if I fall

I woke up this morning
To hear those careful words
That tentative speeking
Telling me that you're afraid
That any word you might say
Will cause me to fall apart
Will cause me to take my life.
And honestly, they could
But your cautiousness could
Drive me insane as well.

With your love,
You choke me
With your worry,
You ****** me
With your care
You stab me
Deep in my heart.

Dear Mom
Dear Dad
I am okay.
I lived this way
Long before I told you.
I know how to deal
With pent up pain.
But you act different
As if I'm a time bomb
Or a mental patient.

That's why
I never told you
Cause I knew
That you wouldn't know
What's best to do.
Casting me aside
As a freak is far
From what's good.

The cold stone towers
Cast shadows across
The barren desolate lands
Throwing darkness for miles
In the quieting times
Of the sun’s farewells.

The hard steel gates
Stand in stark contrast
To the openness of the sky.
Shut tight as a clam shell
Barring even the insect
And the wind from entering.

The tall brick partitions
That loom over the world,
Halting all time in their
Intimidating presence,
Keep the caged birds in
And the foreign spies out.

But a small breeze blows
Across the empty plains
Starting up a rumbling
As the walls began crumbing
And the fortress walls
Collapsed in wards
Showing that they were
Made of nothing more
Than dreams for posts
And sugar for mortar

The protection falls
Tumbling to the ground
Baring my **** body
To the growing crowd
To see all my scars
And my deformities

The winds from the plains
Give me apprehensive chills
As I wait to hear compliment
Expecting only cruelest jeers.

There is an artist,
A thoughtful painter.
He's called a master
By his followers.
Critcs say that he has
Made some of the most
Beautiful
Magnificent
Fantastic
Pieces in the world.

Now
He will do it again.

He stands before
A white canvas
Set on his lucky easel,
Rapping his brush
Lightly against his head.
As he studied the space,
The off white void
Challenging him to fill it.

For three days he sits
And three nights he lays
Staring at the white
Two foot by three foot
Blank rectangle
Until he decides
On what will be
His greatest
Masterpiece.

For three days
And thee nights,
He holds the bursh
As he paints a scene
Of grey people
On grey landscapes
Going about their
Grey business.
Doing what grey
People normally do.

On the last day,
He looks at his work,
A portrait of the truth
And inner workings
Of the whole word
On a single Canvas.

And he smiles contentedly.
Rarely does he compliment
His own artwork,
But believe
That his piece must
The finest to be made.

Yes

It was a pretty piece,
But it had smudges here
And blotches there.
Most unnoticible
To the less wary eye.
But I see them
And I mourn to think
That someone
Ruined the pefection
Of a white canvas.

The world is gray.
She can be cold,
Harsh, indifferent.
She will hurt you
In more ways than
You could possibly
Ever imagine.
She will tear you down
When you're high.
She will bury you
When you're down.
She will let you freeze
Starve and waste away.

In the end,
The world will hold
The smoking gun
As she fires the
Bullet into your brain.

The beauty of it all
Is that none of it
Matters. Period.
When the world is harsh,
You can be happy.
When the world is mad,
You can have peace
When the world is grim,
You can be hopeful

Becuase
Before it's all over
You will see little
Miracles made daily.
You will see challenges
Being constantly overcome.
You will meet wonderful people.
And with them, you'll create
The amost amzing magics.

The beauty of it all
Is that we can always
See beauty where it's
Hard to find.

Out in the streets
The machine guns rattle
And the mortats explode
Like som sick conductos
Idea of a drumline.
Rattattat Boom Rattattat
The young rebels play
With their fireworks
While I drink my wine
In the safety of
The corner cafe.

Tonight,
I thought about you
My dear old enemy
And of how long its been
Since we were ther at the
Starting line of this war
That still limps toward the finish.
And already we have left
Our mark upon each other.
You have your scars,
And I have mine.
We've both grown old
From waging our battles.

Yet we still fight on,
And that's what's amazing.
Neither of us has given up
And I respect you for it.
My rival, to you I say.
You are my brother.
You understand the pain
Of the wounds I've felt.
You understand the goal
I strive so hard to reach.
We are brothers by
The blood we spilt
From one another.

I sit in this cafe
Sipping wine with pastries
Lettling the younglings play
Their most dangerous games,
And I raise my cup
To you my brother enemy.
Though one of us must fall,
I hope we'll get along
In our many lives to come.
I pray for you brother
Who follows the same goddess.

The waiter arrives
With the check in hand.
I look it over
And tell her it's wrong.
"Can't you see
I was eating
With my frined?
This should read two
Not just one."
She looks me over
And bids me farewell.
"Be careful now,
There's blood out there."
I assure her that
I know well of this.

What pain it must be
To be one of two
When two were one
And the other is done
Leaving one as one half
Not even a whole.

There's not much left
When you're not complete
When the rest of you
Has departed from sight.
You are useless then,
When  you are the other part
To the missing piece.

No wonder he cries
In the night for his brother
No wonder he waits alone
For the one that won't come.
No wonder he cannot
Give up on his hopes
He'd have nothing if he did.

At least there's some good
Lucky, he's not an outcast.

That pain, I hope to never know.
If all is together, uniformly one,
Then to be left out
Is to have never existed.
To be one divided by all
Is less than one over infinity.

I understand what it is
To be one half or one third
But if I was one
Divided by the world.
If I was the last one left,
I think I'd prefer death.

Tap, Tap… Tap, Tap
Morse code at its finest
Each time pencil drops
A resounding click is made
Marking letters and words
With sound’s punctuation
Click, click… click, click

I wonder what it means
The code the pencils use
To communicate their thoughts
Does the pencil shout
About its abuse and misuse
Or does it cheer
For guiding hand and beauty made

What does it feel for me
It knows me as I am
Through the love poems
And the angry words
Does it agree with what I say
With what is in my soul
No matter, it’s still my closest friend

The pencil knows my confusion
But with each “tap, click”
We whisk the fogs away
With each line we write
We feel more free.

Little bird, little bird
Stuck in your cage
Why do you want the sky
There are storm clouds out there
With thunder and lightning
And Hunters fire upon you
Shooting you down where you fly
With anger and hate
The world’s a dangerous place
For little birds to fly around
You’re safer in the cage

Field mouse, field mouse
Why do you run
I do not wish to harm
Just that the cat’s loose
And I want to protect you
And call you mine
People lay down their traps
They wish for you dead
I will not grant their morbid wants
I love you field mouse
Please stay with me

Beating heart, beating heart
Pounding in my chest
Why must you make a racket
Be quiet and still
You are driving me mad
What’s wrong with being subjected
When it is just by me
I let you run a while ago
And now it is time to rest
My beating heart, slow down a bit
Before you give us away

Let’s play dress up
You and Me
Wearing our masks
And pretending to be
A different person
Than whom we are
A fighter, a coward
Nothing’s too far
For us to mock
Just to keep the fools
All under lock

What can be said
In an ode of love;
One could write of
An affection for other,
Then he could list
Qualities and memories,
Flattery and promises ,
And even declare his wants.
He could say the world
For the love of his life,
But really
Do these things
Make up the heart of love?
These are empty words
For the tiny details,
Since there is no good way
To describe the whole
No simple terms to say
In one single poem,
The one emotion
That conquers your being.
When it takes a million steps
To journey to one’s heart,
The center make up of the soul,
And how could you describe
A soul in mere lines?

Big Words,
A Grand Image,
Weird riddles,
And metaphors,
Hidden truths,
Subtle lies,
Great irony,
And tragedy,
High classes,
Arrogant “I”s
Games of chance,
And Royalty,
Shrewd politics,
Murderous kings,
Cowardice generals,
And God’s avarice,
Damaged kingdoms,
Injured souls,
Innocent love,
And a downfall,

It’s the recipe
For a melodrama

A hint of feeling
To add some spice,
A conflict, a hero
A maid in distress,
Without these all,
It’s just a comedy,
And wouldn’t look
Like our turbulent lives.

Frozen in the ice
I wish to speak to you
I long to touch you

You see the cold eyes
Of a man who’s been cursed
To losing his wants

And you turn to leave
Standing there, you take one glimpse
Of the frost demon

But quickly you exit
Shying away from icy touch
Too wise to stay here

My eyes follow you
Until they can see no more
The muse of my voice

Crushed and depressed,
Not able to make change to
The situation.

But time does remind
Of what fools humans can be
And one does think

Of all the mistakes
A man can make in his life is
To hold on too long

And maybe I can’t
Speak the words you want to hear
But maybe that’s good

You never did tell
Me what you did trully want
Nor will you ever

Maybe the lesson
Here is that I am the fool
From love’s avarice

In thinking wrongly
It was my fault you had left.
You do like the cold

People rarely
ever see anything
Unless it JUMPS at them.
They have to be shocked and
Notified to what’s in front
Of their own faces
“Oh excuse me, sir or ma’am
But you’re looking at something good
Something worth reading.”

A poem is never really appreciated as much
As when it is printed and bound
And stamped with the publisher’s seal of approval
All the papers need to be water marked
And bound in red tape
Closed with red wax
Locked in an envelope
That reads
“Confidential, this is too great
To let others see for free.”

And even then, it’s not official
Until it is signed on the x,
And made on legal sized paper;
Sent to the Vatican, the governor, the reviewers,
And everyone important gets their say,
Or until it’s bound in leather
And locked away for the rest of eternity.
Filed along the other masters
Like Longfellow and Poe.
Locked in a poem’s heaven
Where “Jabberwocky” greets each one
To nirvana

Nothing is taken for granted
When it’s set in stone and
Is the final draft
Never to change again.

It is a scorching 95 degrees;
Hotter than hell for this time of year,
And I am wearing a dark grey fleece jacket.
I have no clue why I’m wearing it;
Maybe the fates decided it,
Maybe it’s the work of some god I don’t believe in.
But as the sun rays keep shining down
Through the open roof of a powder blue beamer,
Causing the hood to shine like gemstones and
My skin to boil and fry under the dark fabric
I won’t take it off though,
That would ruin the feel of the trip
Of having the wind of the road making it fly
Like a living creature with its own mind

And I am sitting in the convertible
Sniffing the fumes of gasoline and toxins
Holding them in my lungs to ferment a while
Before letting them all back out slowly,
Reveling in the taste of the road.
Going nowhere rather quickly
Flying past other shining super bullets
speeding down the black barrel
I've already traveled these same roads.
And therefore, this trip yields nothing new
Except for a few more bugs in my hair
And a few more miles on my journey

It’s 7:09 am.
Sitting in the classroom,
Like every day before.
As I drain my Vault in a few gulps,
And my friend beside me
Sips at his coke,
I say to him,
“I have decided
That I have commitment
Issues.”

He looks at me,
Through slanted
Disapproving eyes,
And in a harsh tone, says
“What?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe in love,
Nor that I don’t want love,
Nor that I don’t want a relationship.”
I respond,
Taking the last drink of soda.
“I just don’t see myself
In a working relationship,
So I don’t even bother really trying.”

Shockingly, he raises his voice.

“No, no, no. That’s not what I meant.
What makes you,
Think so highly of yourself,
That you could just decide,
On something like that?
What makes you god?”


Taken aback,
Surprised more by the speaker
Than the actual words.
I silently think
Why of course I’m not god
I don’t create rainbows on command.
Obviously I don’t make miracles
But it is my mind
and my world…
So what keeps me from being
God in there?

The bell rings,
Not an old time bell like in the movies
Just a recording to draw focus back on class.
While I sit in the back of class,
Experimenting with my new-found powers
Inside my own little dream world

Broken symbols
Align on my walls,
Superstitious charms
Left out to ward evil,
Magic fortune cards
To warn of danger,
Prove useless to me
When depression comes.

No amount of luck,
Can save my skin.
No voodoo magics,
Can change my fate.
I throw salt over my shoulder
To keep foreign demons away.
I clutch my knot and eye
To keep my own monsters down.

They all are false,
These dark beliefs.
Or else, I’d sell my soul
For good things to be.
If I had not lost faith
In these childish things,
I’d pray to the gods
For better luck.

Is this what death is?
I do not move;
I do not stand;
I can not see;
Nor hear, nor taste.
There is only physical sensation.

There is no color,
Not even black or white;
Just space, but maybe not.
What vastness could there be,
In reality or fantasy?
So this place must not exist.

But what was that?
The bump upon my leg.
Could it be another life?
Or is it just simply a touch?
Is anything else alive here?
Can I prove that I am?

What if I am just
Another sensation in the sea ?
Brushing against other "feels”
What if I am just a wind,
A feeling upon a larger thing?
Just a random impulse on some plane.

Can I prove that I am?
What if I am not?
Does it matter at all?
Touch is all there is.
Should I ponder upon these?
Or should I just blend in?

I never sleep well;
Thumping, banging, hammering
Ringing in my head.

Pointless little thoughts,
Rubbing themselves on my brain,
Teasing my conscious.

Dreams float on the wind,
Going in my ears, then out,
Leaving mystic clouds.

Like happy songbirds
Singing on a summer’s day,
They call out my name.

Plain curiosity cries
For fulfillment in the dark,
Making child wander.

Wild dogs, cats and trees
Scratching at the door in play,
Bidding me outside .

There’s a party there,
In the land of the sleepless.
One that’s still awake.

With lights and music.
Ever-flowing drinks and food
Keeps them satisfied.

I can’t go to sleep,
And waste eight hours of life.
I stay up again.

Listening to night,
As it slowly turns to day.
The party runs on.

I can write haikus
Without the least bit trouble,
And with quite some skill.

Couplets are not too hard either for me
They are energetic and flow easy.

It’s not very difficult at all
To bring laughs big and small
With limericks clever
But the reader never
Sees past his mental wall.

Cause everyone wants to see free verse.
***** blank verse and sonnets;
They are much too ancient to give a **** about.

But personally,
I like to write patterns
And pictures,
And various forms galore.
I measure each stanza
With mathematical perfection
And streamlined beauty.
It was with ultimate mechanical accuracy
That I wrote my pieces,
But it seems no one cares to read
poems like that anymore.

So cut rhyme scheme
And syllable counting
And rhythm
And tempo
And iambic meter
And metaphor
And reason
And purpose
And stanzas
And lines
And words

Scratch it all out
Until even a hung-over
Shaking hand
Can write “poetry

Crawling upon the ground,
Black specks like train cars
Fall in line
One by one
Carrying their loads
Of prisoners,
Supplies,
And food.
To feed a thousand mouths,
To support the machine.
Carrying gifts,
And wonders from far lands
To bring before the queen.
The train moves on,
Stretching over vast
Miniscule plains.

Like a conveyer belt,
The black lines
Run their circuits,
Picking up pieces,
And carrying them back .
Day in,
And Day out
Until,
One of them says
“Enough!
I won’t be worm meat
Any more.
I won’t go out in the open
To meet my doom,
To work for the good of others.
I will go out and make my life
Elsewhere.”

A thousand eyes,
Each with a thousand pupils
All turn to look at the
Ignorant
Idealist
From a million perspectives.
Nothing is said,
Just a multitude of blank stares
Until the loner
Mutters a quick
“sorry”,
And joins back in line,
Just as things have always been.

A scuffed black mastiff entered stage left
Grumbling, growling, it pulled on its chain
It wretched and snarled, screaming for release
But it was beaten back by faceless master
It looked upon the watchers with eye of hell
Blood dripped from fresh made cuts and welts
There would be vengeance, the creature thought
As with hate, it looked toward the west

In stage right was a victim of a vicious world
A slave, a prisoner, beaten to the verge of death
A man once noble and just, forced into action
To protect all he had, he stole the bread
To prevent starvation, he fought authority
And now he was sentenced to humiliating decay
He would become the star of a roman play
That would be the last scene he’d perform

An order was given and the hound released
The dog was allowed to fill itself on the feast
Like death rising from below, the mastiff struck
Sinking razors into sweet warm muscled flesh
With back on the ground, the slave did not fight
And the mutt was confused by such a stance
Expecting a fight from his opponent, it waited
It waited with suspicion of the imminent strike

But the last flailing lashes would not fall
The transgressor would not fight one of his own
He saw in the beast, the same eyes as his son
And he understood the frustration of the beaten
The slave would not blame the simple dog
For his own faults, and the evils of the master
And the dog lessened the brutal assault it laid
Knowing that the one on the ground was friend
With dignity, they rose from the dirt together

The senators pondered as they looked on
The reason for the bond seemingly impossible
The lord infuriated ranted to his guards
Over such a refusal to die for the empire
The poor, the hungry, the oppressed rose
They fought back, chanting “We know why”
Why the man went to sleep with the dogs
He went to bed to be rid of the fleas

There’s a piano in the corner;
It’s lonely tonight.
It thinks that it’s worthless,
Sitting there without a player,
And it’s one joy in the world,
Making notes flow
Through open ears and minds,
Making the people dance,
And be merry,
But the music won’t come.

It sits there in the home,
Waiting for a master,
To play through its scales,
To run his hand over its keys,
To make it feel warm,
And precious,
And cherished as is.
But the master is gone,
Leaving it to grow dust.

The master left long ago,
Jumping the train to Chicago
To go where the real talent lies,
Where other pianos play,
Nicer tones and smoother melodies,
Where he can make a new life,
Among the stars and the bars,
Leaving behind all the old.

So the piano sits there,
And out of sympathy,
I go to it,
And play a few notes.
Not like the master would,
But still better than none,
And it says a happy
“Thank you”,
As I run my fingers down the keys

There’s a solid blue pen,
As blue as Zankynthos caves,
As a calm mediterranean sea,
As the eyes of the creature
That stares back at me.
Translucent blue plastic skin
With simple white insides.
A grip that’s too large,
And shiny silver details.

Made a dime a dozen
In foreign lands far away;
Crammed with its twins
A hundred pens, all the same;
More than anyone wants,
Sent by boat on blue seas
The same color as the pens,
To be left out on store shelves,
To be judged by passersby.

Finally, it was bought
To sign laws and bills,
Letters and documents,
And secrets and gossips.
Meant for one purpose,
To be under the domain
Of one human master.

But this pen belongs
In another man’s hand