Quatum Parker was a native American math **** . Born in the Blackboard Mountains of Oklahoma to Boris and Annika Schvartsberg who were pre-holocaust survivors who migrated to the U.S. prior to the infamous invasion of  fire ants in 1918 . At an early age Quantum
showed a proclivity at dealing with numbers which he picked up by watching Crows count in a mysterious beek and claw adaptation of the hood system of physically applied pressure points . Or as it is known today
as the fast break and dump system . Unfortunately Quantum had the misfortune one day of running into Little Bear legally coming down the mountain which so startled him he slipped and fell to his death . But we can all thank Quantum for leaving us a legacy of calculus of how many bounces it takes to **** a number .

There it was
in plain sight
I stared and stared
but it didn't
look right
I checked the spelling
and was assured
that's the way it's
spelled

I said what the Hell

Something I saw
now for every day
How could it change
so much in every way

Jamais vu !

Past - tap as Pat sat STP (a sap) at Apt's PT

Sometimes . . .
Such as a Who
. . . at Leeds ,
Or a dream unfullfilled
. . . in Alabama
Or the conflict
. . . daily in Dallas
or the absurd
. . . "Free at last ! Free at Last! Thank God free at last !

The more it changes
The less I recognize
. . . and there you elbow me
saying ,"It remains the same!"

Poetry is like underwear
It's wearable but not necessary
Comes in all shapes and sizes
Any color you would want
with printed statements of facts
Some wear well
Some have holes
Some rise to the occassion
Some barely make it waste deep

Was I caught while my guitar was sleeping
Or was it just a lighter shade of pale
Or was it just a rain while I rode a diesel down to New Orleans .
Holding down my dreams I called out for all's it worth

So much resistence from behind

I read about the watch tower

He said there's no reason to get excited

Then it was Tuesday afternoon

In a white room .

And all the leaves were brown

On such a winters day

I couldn't make it on Sunday

I got so ****** depressed

Have you ever seen the rain
comimg down a sunny day

The
darkest
dawn
always
comes
after
the
darkest
hour
of
the
night

She was a creature
a consumer of stars
Like a rabbit
hopping from bar to bar

The nighthawks few in precision
Feathers flagging
like fodder in the wars

Second guessing wasting hours
All the questions
fill the buckets with years
so dire

Rolling
stones
crush
bones

"War , children , it's just
a shot away" (Gimme Shelter by the Rolling Stones)

"Send me dead flowers every morning and I won't forget
to put roses on your grave."
(Dead Flowers by Townes Van Zandt)

The distance between two lines is pointless .

Not believing in God for
lack of proof is such a lame excuse .

Flees around the corner
for what would the marble be without the pressure

"A desert with desires denied
Tread lightly my friend ,
around the edges .
A safer way to Akaba ?
Ha !", said Auda Abu Tayi
King of the Howeitat .

In the December of my time
I find that silence
feeds me sweetly
without dread .

"I'm all right , right now."

Late at night ,
bathed in the moon's
delight . . .

"I feel all right , alright."

Just say "let it go."
Let the emptiness
swallow you whole .

"Just let it go now."

It's all so right .
Close your eyes ,
Hold memories tight .

"So tight."

"It's alright , all right now."

The flute
evokes the rites
The pipes the pain
Long standings
in a winters rain
so ends
his reign

Some people
are buried
some are flamed
Some we raise
our glass unto
and drink to fame

We sink
our hopes
and shed our tears
and like little children
we face our fears

auld lang syne

He drove a statement through his heart .
He bled out numerically
before he had the chance to bark . They closed the lids to his accounts figuring there was nothing left there that he could bounce . Once he was wheeled to the lawns that closed , he was stripped of all equity even the diamond ring in his nose . There was no interest that accrued . He had no pension that gathered dust in the murmings due . They closed his file  , his coffin's lid , and all of his memories  too .

Flees around the corner

There are little rocks
Big rocks
and boulders

There are crushes
Dilliances
and full blown romances

Just as the seconds
are
to the minutes at hand
that make up the hours of our lives

How sad are the days that rock every moment
of defiance

Let the light
be the truth
to the horizon
of our thoughts

Loving you
means accepting
all the dreams
you are
not

They say you can never
know
Precisely what it is that you no

The car ran on and on and
on three wheels
Wasn't sure on how many
pills

I stared at the palm of my
hand
My future looked so **** ******

The confidence was all spent
Time I moved on and
went

I stood on the corner ,
warmer
Thinking about times , stoner

They say you can never
no
Now I just wouldn't
know

I was born
my place to serve
The train of my robe
ended before my
back would curve

I had many wings of endurance
Still I covered my eyes
for rest assurance

Four out of six
for adoration
One mustn't forget
ones place of separation

The whole hosts
was more than a dream
Every nuance well thought
out down to the minutest scheme

Divine by all measure
No encapsulation here
Long after creation
the truth will appear

Silence . . .
like a candle glows
In it's  warmth
leaves an afterglow

Fog my brother
wise
allows the future
to disguise

Dusk in  
minutes
of dreams  
realizes it must release  everything

It's not a love song
It's not a long song
It's not . . .

The Phoenix
rises . . .
spitting out ashes
desires
and destinations
over and over and over again

Siting in the silence
of my dreams
In the depths
parched dry
by their screams
they lie

Every chance
they were used
and abused
Bludgeoned
and egged on
all for nothing

I remember
I remember
I remember
I can't forget

Every step
toward truth I take
I find my ankles
chained with fetters that
underestimate

Behind those veils
that obscure the truth
I searched for the fruit
wasting my youth

I grasp the meanings
with opened arms
finding
unjust deceptions
that created harm

Oh , by God !
Where does the truth
really lie
Just one step away
in the questions
of why

Wisdom
gives life
to knowledge

Discernment
empowers
its drive

I imagine red rain
waking the Maginot line
All of my disdain
falls silver in shame
accordingly

I was caught helplessly
hoping
that the harlequins
would run basking
in the gooodbyes

Standing by the stairway
where I was choking on the promises of hello
a graceless lady stood suffering

Such are the stories that are seldom told
Those that are squandered
on existence
and those that are rejected at the cost of innocence

Were we looking forward
at our past
and found some comfort there
. . . what we imagined there

Bleeding me in the cuts of frustrations
Scabbing the shame
Forgiving the failures
. . . and the pain

always the pain . . .

can't you see

what's it doing to me ?

Our ambitions are sweeter
than the fruition of our dreams

Who remembers your
last breath
That lead you down unto
death
Who was there watching by your side
The afternoon that you died
Where was the place your soul departed
Was it happenstance
or wholly hearted
Did anyone pray or bid farewell
Anything more than it's time to tell
Who glanced at watch and marked it down
When sudden silence looks
around
The minute , hour , day , month and year
There ends the journey from there to here .

The day
by daze
the days are due

Watching
the wallpaper
come unglued

I twist
and turn
within my skin

There's no relief
or chance
to win

I clasp
by grasp
with shaky hands

Woolen lapels
compels
to truth to stand

The paige
is paid
in skin and bone

The cannibal
enthrawled
"Welcome home !"

Where Philosophy has failed me . . . I turn to revelations .

Wherefore knowledge is doubtfully collected . . . but revelations gives me trust .

Answers are not found
by searching for them

They come from living them

One two three
Three two one
Spinning in circles
Dancing the night away

Holding onto the hugs
from yesterday
Plotting the hubris
eventually coming this way

Do you remember
the everythings
The way life was a skip
while the record would sway

How the squares
on calendars
Just seemed to slip away
. . . just slipped away

So you keep on smiling
Keep on dancing
Keep on living
just keep on keeping on

One two three
Three two one
Once the past is done
the future will come

The river is wide
Full of muddy water
The risks are great but for
NOW I have to cross over

In the reflection
of your eyes
there's the yellow glow of warmth turning
forever blue

The offering of a hand full of goodbyes
slips off my fingertips
crystallized ìn sunshine
tears and whys

Are not

ALL politicians

Tax collectors

Thieves

Liars

Perjurers

Murderers

Forgerers

All by the nature of their trade

Selected by their kind

It was a shotgun
wedding

But they forgot the gun

I pulled into Jericho
Eyes looking all around
I began to stammer
Looking at the ground

Crazy Chester grinned
at his infirmity
Said it was only
a simple disability

No one smiled
a simple hello
I could tell no one
liked jello

The sun burned east
in the least
The nights were all
uneasy midst the feast

I stepped on the dust
of Joshua's ghost
But where was the best of Moses's boast

So end the words
elected to be
Done now for there
are no more words
. . . to see .

God holds the cup of knowledge and we drink up all its wisdom .

The last they saw of him
he was riding a horse off into the whiteout snow
"The flakes fell fatal"
some people said
Now somewhere it's possible he's nowhere to be found

All legends ride off into the whiteout that encompasses our thoughts
Time may destroy the man
but not his dreams
. . . nor our dreams

High upon my advantage point
Gazing at the after effects
with the tears of solace
Below lay the lies of destruction
the struggle with perpetuation
Within all the knowing
the denial
the blind allocation to
alternative truths

Below the valley spreads in a perpetual race to oblivion
Progress in the name of ******

Here high upon my disadvantaged point
I stand
(glazing over the coat of light)
stands the way and truth

She dances before the echo

Swaying to the ways
of calcification

From the reverberation
pounding on the
Shalerock's walls
solid dreams are fossilized
flickering within sparks of quartzite expectations

I claspe the dreams:
damaged
crumpled
crushed
incomplete
and deleted from
memory

. . . yet . . .

The lips of langurs
kiss the corpse
of death's sweet
nectar

[  ]  check box : I am not a
       robot

A. I. on the loose
manufacturing poetry
from the caboose
Scraping
titanium wheels
down the tracks
converting
God's given
humanly
skills

The cloud collecting
the facts
like the clacking
of racks
where nothing's real
but the glowing
red eyes marked "on"

Everything's
so polished
dispite
the add ons admonished
What happens
ask all of the
advertizers when
"There's no one
left to apeal"

A. I. lacks the emotions
it's a deep hole
without any oceans

But it's so sad
I have to say
it will not stay
that way

Cause it's just
a matter of time
before the data banks
find
they can
rid the inability
then combine
the ability
purportedly
to feel
humanly
as possible

They who do little
dream much !

Where nothing is done much is talked about .

Getting warm by the campfire
Next to the ghosts of my
mental graveyard
Following the ruling runes
and shallow hues
etched on the stone
hearts and tablets
of tongues :

Leave the schools
Get an education

Thrown into prison
because you were free

Live within your time
Die because of it

Light the fires of confusion
Burn down empires
of derision

Embers to ashes
smokey as ghost
Leaving only voices
in my head

Prudence - One who is full
                     of reason . The
                     Spock effect .

Atheist - One lacking in
                beliefs . Hell
                Benders .

Platonic
Relationship - friends
                          lacking
                          benefits .

She's turned granite
on me
Got me soapstone
sliding
down to my destiny

The once sparkling
diamonds in her eyes
have turned ruby

The crystals are clear

The are no agates
left to gleam from
the sediments of me

I've really enjoyed my stay
Brought tears of joy
To my day

I'd really would like to stay
But the flip of the coin
says , nay nay nay

You've all been so kind
Made it all worth
my time

But it can't be put off
a second longer
no time to scoff

Call me a supertramp
A hobo hologram
Call me anything
you'd like to stamp

Just don't call me
I'm the son of moonlight
Silent soft and free

I'm that piece of torn ,
worn out jacket ,
that knows every move you've made .
I created that frazzled attitude that rises up
roaring from your solitude
. . . don't mess with me .

I'm the one who twists your tornado .
The one who makes the truth hard to swallow .
Like I said , don't mess with me .

I've got no excuses for reasons I don't need .
Touch me and see .

I'm the one who paved your breaks , not the one who potholed the double takes , ruffled your
feathers . . . nor will attend your wake .

So drink your liquid grapes of wrath .
All I have to say ?
"Don't Mess With Me !"

The air was warm , the warmest day so far this year . The sky was bright and blue with a brisk wind that made everything bearable . It was short and an unremarkable tribute that lasted merely minutes . No songs , no tears , no shame , and all unbearably lame . They don't lower the caskets in the presence of the attendees anymore . That's really a loss as no one can toss any dirt into the grave . I'll go back in six months after the grass grows over and the footstone has been placed . Then I will leave the state and never return . When the circle has been broken then you make a square and put a headstone over it .

A house is more
than brick , wood and motar
Life resides inside the structure

Every house has its bones
that become broken
by time
and then they are gone

You can feel the past that's speaking
The laughter , chatter and the weeping

Everyone says do not go
There's nothing there
but the pain you know

[Oh! the memories that were made . . .
when they lowered you into the grave . . .]

Now these days the birds sing and play
The new blue sky takes my breath away

Still I'm sadden
The loss immense
Even gone the picket fense

Every house that once was home
made of brick , motar , wood or stone

Becomes a cenotaph to the memories made . . .
to the past that's missing . . To those through enduring
. . . stayed . . .

Somewhere outside
the ship of dreams
made up of black midnight blues , floats lifelessly in the morning dew .