They sold Jesus on the cross with neon letters for flare
I wound up in the gutter when I went searching for answers there.

The poor stay poor or so some say, the rich get rich or some stock markets claim.

I spray paint the Vitruvian Man on a the side of City Hall,
Only to have it removed as vandalism, if we are Rome surely we shall fall.

I lay down in the limelight and perform for the masses,
The show goes on and soon is forgotten, it’s true what they say about absolutes;
Death and Taxes.

I watch the city burn, I may have fanned the fire.
If we are to ash, gather round and celebrate our own makeshift pyre.

The times keep on moving and we’re all trying our best to stay afloat.
The rules keep changing to fit the voices of the few but everyone is something,
With so much difference no wonder we can’t agree.

Sacrifice individuality?

Drive the nails in deeper and cut out their tongues,
The thought crime fits the punishment.
Don’t think- about it.
Don’t- think about it.
Don’t- think about- it.


Sacrifice individuality?

I wrote a personal manifesto in the sands of time, only for the waves to wash it away.
I chiseled a poem in stone only for time and weather to whittle it down,
It was then I learned that nothing lasts forever
I chased time like a hound after a hare,
I killed time for an hour
Then was jailed in a prison for abuse of a metaphor.

I felt the pity of a mother,
The anger of a parent,
I held onto the bars of my cell,
This was the pit and personal pendulum
Torture is best when it’s personalised to make a singular hell.

The halls of Humanity were so brightly lit that I forgot the basement I now explore.
Dim, cold and wet.
The dregs of the past lurk along the catacomb walls,
The rats chatter in the shadows, they sound like mocking laughter.

I travel through the cellars of time, history gone by.
The records are scrolled on papyrus,
The cave paintings show how life once was,
The broken weapons of armies old, litter boxes and tombs of kings and leaders,
All their stories and lives have been told.
Grave robbers snuck in under the cover of darkness, left what couldn't be moved
The rest has been sold.

Sould out, which is why I feel empty, staring at what remains and what may be of our current history.

We’re on a timetable of power, and it’s shifting ever faster.

Never aware of the dangers of yesteryear, so we work and build tomorrow today
Because by the time tomorrow is today, we’ve already outdated it.

I wander these cold Halls of Humanity,
Far below the current.
I rifle through the scar tissue,
I sing to the skulls,
I drink wine with the poet ghosts.
I hear the secrets that they hold.

We could be heroes for today;
if only we tried.

We could be heroes today;
it wouldn't matter if we died.

The change in the world could be the people we want to be,
Why can't it be this way?

All these people playing all these parts
Everyone wanting to be the star-but never going too far;
we need a hero today.

We could be the change we want to see happen.

All these problems causing all this mess;
it's not wonder why I live in stress.
Everybody wanting something for nothing
So ready to take credit and pass blame
but we could be heroes- if just for today.

We sell em skin, we sell em tanks
We fill out the forms to fill out the ranks.

The new consumer army is on the way.

Jamming into your lane and piling up the stress with more bills and less pay and you'll get no say.

The public gets what the public wants and it's no where close to what we actually need

- but that's the nature of the beast and clearly the beasts knows best.

So we're jamming your day with sound and color, this is not an emergency it's the hourly stress test to see if you breakdown.

Breaking all your hopes and dreams, sizing you up and putting you in place, this isn't real life it's just a holding spot for the eventually deceased.

So pack your bags and bring the family, dine out by the sea and sink knee deep in the sand for the weather's getting better and it's time to bake in that fake spray tan.

Burned out bright;
Faded star on the street-
life in this city got me beat.

No longer the toast of tinsel town,
Yesterday's news like funny guy, sad clown.
Comedy show that is my life, and like the old rule says-
Comedy loves tragedy and welcome to my city.

Save your hand-outs and I don't want you to take my calls,
I don't need your pity.

You live in the meat grinder,
Its tooth and nail, it's blood for blood;
You think we need a reminder?

I lost my nerve when I lost my spot,
I lost my spot when I gave it up for the sunlight,
Now I'm an outcast, cast out along the streets.

Can in hand, its a panhandle life.

You only have so much life to burn,
The hotter you are, the faster you burn-
You are the fuel of the engine and when you lose touch or burn out;
This city will just feed on somebody else.

Woke up early morning with my name on the star,
Threw my shades and ego on, this is how I got this far.

Killers walk around in suits;
Sharks on land walk hand in hand with the poor.

I grab a bottle and pour myself out,
Saw a pretty little thing by the bus stop;
Money in cup but the face said- pay me and I'll pout.

This is prestige heights,
Drain your blood and let the euphoria flow.
This is the main act, I show up and end the show.

So much glamor and wasted fame its a wonder why no one knows my name.

Lady of the night;
Teenage scream queen of the eighth grade,
Leading boys to the bathrooms for between class lessons.

I paper cut across the wrist to spread my gossip on the front page of the all-seeing tabloid.

The dream machine I live on can't self sustain so I run on empty fumes and outdated news updates that hit the streets the second after my social media feed throws them away.

And so I laid my life down unwillingly in the high school hallway as the disgruntled kid blew off steam.

I became a symbol.

I found myself in a strange land with other people much like me, we were well armed and had matching uniforms fighting against people we thought of as strange.

I became a hero.

I found myself with a choice to leave her to love her.

I became a father.

I found myself without option or hope, I found myself in the gutter, I found myself with no life to live.

I became a statistic.

I found a cause in which I would fight and die for, a cause which would jail me and forget me, a cause with I would be judged for me.

I become a martyr.  

I found a political voice in which I thought had weight.

I became a joke.

I found myself at the edge of the world repeating all my mistakes and actions without learning the lessons.

I became insane.

I found myself looking in the mirror.

I became self conscious.

I found myself starved for affection.

I became a ****.

I found myself starved of personality.

I became boring.

I found myself in the lost and found.

Now I can become.

Hello fellow poets and writers,
fellow thinkers, drinkers, laughers, boomers, doomers, zoomers, consumers, looters and last but not least voters.

What can be said of a year? 2020 was hell.

Even if you tried to list all of the events that happened thus far you'd still leave some out, we've had wildfires, two very near wars, a global pandemic, animals bringing disease back, massive storms, flooding, the fourth wave of naiz's, a violent head to head with police shootings, racism, food shortages, massive power outages and the shitlist goes on.

I never used to celebrate New Years because living in America it seemed pointless, it's not hard to survive a year anymore. We have all these creature comforts even despite the riots, the crash, the loss of jobs, of life, people are still somehow surviving, so I've always let New Years be for the birds but after this, I think we could all use a good laugh. A good single breath and a moment where we can just relax.

Leave your masks on, wave at your friend and just enjoy the fact that whoever is left, is still here.

Even writing this I'm not trying to be clever, this is no time for wit or sarcasm, there is no time for wordplay.

I just think right now we all need a reminder that we're ok. Somehow this will pass, this is what the world changing looks like, this is what keystone moments in history are like.

2020, a turning point in History.

Covid is far from over and politically, socially, racially, we still have a long way to go before we can rest, but there is no rest for the true believers, there is no rest for those weary of not having social justice or feeling discounted, their waking nights have become the waking world.

Adapt or die, change or get left behind. I know we won't end racism, we won't end people will still be bigots, but what we can do is reduce those numbers and leave them in the past, through proper education, time and an unrelenting show that people will be who they are and we share the world in peace or we risk repeating this hellscape we're in now.

If you've made it this far, well done.  If you've made it this far consider this a hug, a handshake, a pat on the back. Consider this as someone who also is still here, I'll never meet you but ******* if we aren't in this fight together.

You are not alone.

-Jester.

Bad hearted woman taking me down to size
she don't play- just with my heart.

In this ocean of seduction she's the shark to my bleeding heart.

She got the devil inside her eyes but the angels inside her eyes tell me it's safe to fall prey to her widow kiss lips.

Jack and Jill went up the hill to pop a pack of pills,
Jack went laughing boy and Jill came down after,
Party boy and Party girl drinking the kool-aid.

******* Jill was what she was known as while Jack was Jillin around,these two made a mess and both came down after the other.

They got so high that they came, went and came again.

Jack and Jill went up the hill to pop a pack of pills and ended up blowing their load all over town, left their samples in parkside restrooms, brain sugar and high cavity.

Jack and Jill ****** off in the alley way behind the racist pharmacist, they made a right mess.

Jack got jacked and Jill got off, the come down burns.

I lit a joint and finally sat down, the sweat ran from my forehead as the heat cooked the street. I was saved by the voice on the radio.

Her voice led me to light
Like a child I was wondering through the day and cowering in the night.

I heard her prayer on the radio and I was able to rest, searched for so long I forgot what I was looking for, the devil was in the details and she cleared up the red tape.

Kissed my forehead and cast me into sleep, kept me safe.

The journey of life had reached it's end. I was a good soldier and did my part, now I rest.

I took a drink and closed my eyes, feet up on the desk as the sun hung high over head- whatever happens tomorrow is a different day but right now I could bask in whatever peace I deserved.

Her voice was a prayer in the dark, an in the dark I had worked enough.

She kissed my forehead and with it I was blessed another day.

We'll do it live,
All out or none at all,
Roll the dice and take a risk- or so they said.
So they said.

We'll entertain the lights, the stage, the people, we'll dance, sing, cry, we'll rock the roof, shake the floor and stampede the door.

Lights on, lights off- we'll do it Live.

I run on hard drugs and live for the lights, my name in them spells "STAR."

I burn bright because I won't burn long.

So I am the animated, I am the rising sun on which the papers and tabloids write about.

Live and let live, live and let die- I'm worth a million dollars and counting, who tells my story after I pass gets the prize just as my story and fame goes to the highest bidder.

I look like a saint, I **** like a sinner, I'm looking cool as long as I'm thinner.

Lights on, lights off- we're better in action, so roll the camera and we'll be the attraction.

Kicking back against the wall
Society says it put me here, but really I needed a place to rest.
I left my mark here, like so many before me.
Feet prints on the brick, blood on the pavement.
Time talks and I'm looking at the smirks of the firing squad.
So here I post up, years before people like me were put down.
No mutt reaction, just the next breath of the confused generation.
Trying to be the best, better than what was, knowing that we're half cocked and about to lose it.
Living on a top that's about to tip.
Hands up against the wall, it was built by the generations before us.
We're adding layers and making it higher, making it thicker.
Maybe we're on a clock, tiktok says the boomer.
I see no X on the map to mark a generation meanwhile the ghosts of granddad stay silent.
Kicking back against the wall, society says it put me here, but really I needed a place a rest.

Sing for me child,
retell the tales you've heard.

Kiss and told whipsers behind closed doors and hushed voices.

On the lips of love slipped the idea of betrayal.

No ringing of the bells tonight;
no praying for the royal blood to be split tonight.

I've got blood on my mind and a knife in my hand,
The queen drank her death at the feast;
now I come from the king-rid the country of the fatted beast.

Let the halls run with blood, may it flow down the stairs.

Sedition.
Tradition.

When one royal bloodline fails it's people- the people strike back.

Attack.

No more ringing bells for the prince and his sister.

We've silenced the guards, dead where they stood.

The first minister sleeps forever- hung by his hood.

Innocent blood- there is none here tonight.

Laid to Rest



Finger on the trigger, hand on the pen.
The romantic say words are stronger, sword is weaker then.
I felt like I’ve been laid to rest sleeping in my artistic grave, chipping away at stories and poems because the urge to create is back, I came from the Cali now I’m southbound and down but this desire to ****** a page got me feeling like Wes Craven- satisfy the
Rage.

Stephen King wrote that and what a tragedy it came true too many times to be fiction, may as well be taken like dictation, how many more shootings can happen during a pandemic?

It’s enough to make me sick, enough to drive me to the edge to drink, stomach sick, heartbroken, ***** in the sink.
On the brink of society based depression, aggression up, suppression up, but the pressure keeps locking me up, draining my energy so all I’ve got to do is sleep deep and hope that tomorrow we get some sanity back.

Books hardly sell, like a doomsday preacher, street sign apocalyptic prophet I stand in the town square and yell.

Bullet based precision, but I spray like an AK, the finer points I use a ballpoint ****** rifle so I can pin the point I’m making and then I throw your bloodhound comprehension off track with a reference, so I move from A to B then loop around and connect the dots, you’ve seen it before when I leave these fanfiction writers in chalk.
Chalkboard like I take em to class, call me the Professor cause I’m giving out F’s.

I feel like I’ve been laid to rest to early, but I only laid down to recharge my batteries and the years flew by without me working, I was burnt out of thought, now the gears are turning.

I wrote six books in two years, released five, then repelled three. Now I’m working on two more with plans to republish and release all of them. Plus, I fell out with friend and in love with a former stranger, I lived through the ongoing pandemic plus a freak snowstorm, now I’m back to the grind, climbing out of the grave to soldier down in the social trench, this battle is on, meanwhile you’re still stuck on title page one.

I gave you all the tools to work, told you how to sit down and motivate and self-publish, you sat around and waited for me to show up again, superman- I know when I’m needed.

A writer writes. Take notes class because once again I’ll wade through dark and deep waters to show you how again.

Mr. Masked man is back, the boogeyman of the page, the masked anti hero who writes as much as he raves, and I don’t chug whiskey anymore, now I sip and take my time to enjoy the finer things in life, but I still got these wolf teeth and a savage bite, predator of the poem, 87 skin you alive.

Headhunter, spine collector, trophy killer, broken *** writer with the addiction to fill pages with words until it reads like the dictionary drunk off punk rock and Beethoven- blurred.

I speak like a slave to remind those who have forgotten that in their chosen lack of memory we can find those who still live in chains.

I speak like to a king to show those who believe that they are not of class that money and birth do not dictate what we become.

I speak in tongues to show those who lack faith that sometimes having it simply means trusting it.

I speak like a child when I need to convey my playfulness, and when I am scorn or anger I become the parent speech.

Lacking the knowledge to bridge the gaps of social and human connection, I find myself speaking a language that everyone seems to have forgotten.

When the milk of human kindness turns sour so does our spit to venom as we sink our fangs into one another hoping to survive the pack and sit atop the bone pile.

I find myself speaking a language I did not know until I knew what it was called, and by that point I was already jaded to my fellow humans.

Language, I inked it on stone as I gave up and walked away, leaving everything to understand how I was speaking for the next linguist to uncover.

Kings and Queens, empires fall.

Presidents and slaves, both obey.

Bite the leather and cure my sin, bite the hand that feeds for it feeds poison so we stay weak, weak under her command.

submission with a mission to control the ***** of man.

Angels of lust with demons of ****** attachment.

Leather Gimp so I am, bite the whip and pray to the ***.

Mistress Mistress, claim your prize. Tame the shrew, control your sexuality, man of clay, golem.

Man of straw, burn him
Man of stone, deface him
Man of bone, break him
Man of man, castrate him.

We are slaves.

We are granted control by the whims of others, we are others who grant us control.

Puppet rulers of control, thus the sub becomes the Master, thus the leash biter becomes the whip hand.

You saved me one day.

You didn't even know it, you came out of nowhere and showed it was two against the world.

I was born an only child but you became a brother by blood, as we aged together I stood as the best man at your wedding, you were there when my mother passed.

I became godfather to your child. You became my oldest friend.

When you told me you were sick and she had left you because the bills were too much, I helped you as much as I could.

When you wanted to feel like the old you again, I brought out the poker chips and turned the music on.

The virus was spreading and all I could do was standby and watch,
Watch you wither away.

I picked your kid up from school, took her to the mall, took her to ice cream and to see her mother.

She asked about you and her words sounded bitter.

My girlfriend and I would always stop by just to see how you were doing, pizza, movies, anything to try and act like you weren't fading.

The day you died is the day I lost a brother and became an old child again, and now the leaves fall on you grave and I stop by once a month to keep you updated.

Your little girl like animals, she wants to be a zoo keeper, your ex regrets leaving and not being strong enough to stick around.

Now that you're gone we all feel the absence of your laugh, the sting of your wit.

You saved me one day, and when you needed to be saved I could only watch you wither away.

**** cancer.

Now I see you through you like you were made of glass
Our time together burned short but hot
like a candle like a candle
we made love and burned our wick down
passions down in flames
emotions up in smoke
like a candle like a candle
I've got a wax heart that you warm until I melted
Now I see it was only a thin frail lie
and I see through you like you were made of glass
If we could turn back time we wouldn't change a thing
as unhappy as we were we were only happy because we had each other
and the words unsaid left a hole in floor where the fire burned through
like a candle like a candle

Liquid fluid bones


Liquid fluid and my mind melts into the sun- I stared too long.

Pour my out of the bottle and into any glass then swallow me and whole the drain I go.

I go.

No control zone, low flight zone no time to explain.

Pour me out of my bottle and into any glass, swallow me down and away I go.

Flush the fashion, plunge it down the drain there I go.

Away and out of sight, back into the bottle- I am the dregs of night.

Liquid fluid I slide into any container, I can take any shape.

social parasite, societal chameleon.

Flush it away and I flow down the drain, through sinks and pipes, I mix with the rain water and drip from your faucet.

I'm inside you when you took your first drink, then I moved along without you noticing.

Liquid fluid.

You might've seen me under pool hall lights;
Neon signs and cheap drink nights.

I left my home long ago and now I wander the open road,
Roaming suits me better than falling in line with a proper life.

Now I sleep under the stars, you leave change in my hat-
while I strum my guitar.

I follow the tide and ride the wind, I live on the open road.
When my time is done here just lay me under a tree and let me be.
I've got stories from every state- I've had food from the president's plate.
I've slept in the gutter of the "Show me state" and I've walked along that Golden Gate.

Every town brings a new face-it's often found in mirrors of bars.

Somewhere out there someone loves me;
Somewhere out there someone remembers me-for the life of me I can't remember who that person is.

I make fast money for hard work, I work hard for no pay-
Just because the sun sets doesn't mean it's the end of the day.

Then when I call it quits I grab my guitar and play the songs that my grandfathers sang before me.

Every town brings another name, sometimes I get lucky sometimes I take the blame- all in all it's my lot in life and so I travel this road I'm on with little caution and a switchblade knife.

Find work when I can, eat when I can afford to- always on the move and headed down that lone road, I travel the empty walkways on sidewalks long forgotten by history and time- some call me a ***** while others say vagabond- I just live how I live and see what's around the next bend.

I caught a ride to the edge of town
I took a breath and said goodbye home town, hello world.

I was getting out to get out. I was getting lost to get lost so that I could find myself, I was sick of being sick in the same place, the same town, the same faces and people, so I caught a ride to the edge of town, took a breath and said goodbye.

Feeling used for too long, feeling tired of the it all, so I vanish to the road to make a point, that life is more than what we see in front of us every day, and it's easy to forget.

I packed my bags and hit the road, losing myself so I can discover who I am and where I belong, maybe I don't belong anywhere- but at least I know where I stand.

Standing on two firm feet is better than wading through the muck and not seeing what you stand on or being so caught in a haze you can't see where you are.

When they find out I'm gone they'll see a knife stuck a wall with a note expressing my feelings and thoughts, it'll be misunderstood but by then I'll be long gone and off the grid in another city finding myself in a new job, finding out whatever I didn't know before.

Not a drifter or a sifter, not a drunk or a ***, not a hippy or running from my problems, just doing what I need to- to find out who I am.

By the time they notice I'm gone I'll be back with a new lease on life, we don't belong anywhere. We exist wherever we are, existing however we can.

Hoping tomorrow will be better.

Heart leads to heartbreaks and love letter hand grenades.

Love lead me down into the mines of emotions and lost in the dark I found a shining gem I thought was priceless, turns out the only claim I staked was my future heart.

If you love something set it free and if you wanna be free then follow me, save your heart for the time being because bad things always happen in threes.

When the sky is rose and the world glows you're on top, when the sky is grey and you're walking through heartbreak ally you're in the gutter.

If you love something let it go and if it comes back then be ready for the second attack, sharks smell blood. The harder you fall, the harder your heart pumps, blood in the water and sadly you're going down the drain.

Captain goes down with the ship, good ship S.O.S

Cupid's arrow, accurate and narrow; struck me in the heart
pinned me to the ground and I wormed my way around back to my feet only to have my jaw drop as lovestuck hit me again.

Dumbstruck and punch drunk I retired to the corner for a much needed rest.

It was a three, five, ten count and just like that I was out- of love.

The horseshoe had spun round and when the relationship was over I was left with just my pride standing on the lonely high ground.

So this is a cautionary tale, playing love games feels so right it can't be wrong, until it goes wrong and you're picking up what's left.

But love is what we do, and love is what we need, so once again if I love, I love and you can bet I'll fall into it again.

For a thousand miles I walk, I'm sure the lie flies faster.
The destruction of doubt drowned out by the sound of laughter.

For every truth told a lie is hushed elsewhere, balance the scales and prepare for the birth of rumor, for the truth is buried in the pile of gossip talk and acid spit, now it's all up in the air and turns to acid rain that burns the flora of the future.

I've been wrong before and I'll be wrong again, but I'll plant the seed of truth because hushed lies close eyes and obscure the facts from the days of our lives, news gossip force fed down the channel to the front page of media on which we suckle- the teet and milk of ideas to fit our personal narratives.

For every mile the truth walks, the lie flies faster.
In light of the facts the lie cannot hold and it's doomed to fail from its creation, it's the birth of disaster.

I'll speak and hold true the best way I know how, but all these lies and hollow words taste sweet which is why the truth is hard to swallow.

Today was a good day,
I woke up and loaded my gun, going postal is the plan.
No real reason, no real plan, just pick a place and aim for people.

Here’s the school, here’s the office, here’s the steeple, steady hand and aim for people.
Hair trigger and hog wild, going ape but having too much fun to care.
Smile on my face or least on the mask I wore today;
Left the house today with a plan to see the bodies drop by my hand.

It’s as much fun as you can have on a Monday.
Service on the Sunday gets shaken up with I burst down the door, pulled my trigger and watch the bodies hit the floor.
The mall was more fun after I lit up the food court,
The movies were a scream filled with screams from the survivors.
Picture day and everyone is dressed to impress at least they dressed for the funerals.

Today was the plan, just drop as many as I can.
No one to stop my fun, no one saw it coming and as soon as I started I moved on, location, location, location and the hospital is next.

Quick stop at the post office to take it back to where it all began.
Falling down is fun as long as you take everyone with you.
Now some will say I’m crazy, or some will say I lost it or some will say I snapped along the way, but they’re just repressed. I do what they think about.
They would love to blow away the people they complain about on a daily basis.

Just get a gun, get your gun Johnny, get your gun Jenny, get your gun Janie and Tommy’s got his gun.
We can go the park on Saturday and make a field day out of the people swinging on the swings, we can hunt the hunters, we can hunt the sheeple.
Run rabbit run, I’ll give you a ten second head start but I’ll close the distance and soon you’ll be boring, I’ll need a new target.

I need a new mark.

Silence in the library, good thing silencers come in all sizes.
I’m having too much fun to stop, I’m usually bored and pent up, *** was staring to bore me. Work was wearing me down and school was full of drama and **** kids;
I found myself a hobby, something to let off steam.
It doesn’t take much to have this kind of fun, just aim and laugh as you gun em down.

Drive-in movie turns out to be a drive by spray of fun.
Parking lot like fish in a barrel, doing donuts before driving away into the night.
Night club is my next stop and its pack to the brim, dance floor center and work outwards.

Now some will say I’m violent and others will call me a monster but when we speak of expression, which of us is repressed?
I pull a trigger to get rid of stress while you do drugs, cheat on your lover and talk bad about everyone behind their backs, you stress over stress and can’t ever seem to get it to clear;

On the flip I got a smile on my face as I skip through downtown just shooting off at the hip;
Rich, Poor, Black, White, Elderly, Children- no difference to me.
I take aim and just let the bullet travel true and fast.
A shot to the heart really gets me going, I laugh and sprint down the street gotta hide from police now, hide and seek and while I hide in plain sight I take this time to mark some new marks.

I sleep easy at night having blown my stress away, I know you say you don’t like people but let me tell you, you’re being antisocial.
People make life fun and the couple who go out together die hand in hand by the hand holding my gun.

This is my rifle, this is my gun, this isn’t a social experiment and this is for fun.

Duality,

I'm the Jekyll to my Hyde, I'm the Poet, the Prophet, the Monster and Man.

Exist in both places, bring the shadow to the show, shine a light and work behind the scenes.

Balance, I maintain the performance. Everday the lines blur, I wave my hand and a trick, I speak out of both sides of my mouth, Edward Mordrake  and Phantom of the Page, written words are my tool, they serve in action of lies and truths that would normally be spat on.

When the light shines I step up and perform, take a bow, tap the mask, a nod to you!

A joy for me is a joy for you, I play the part of victim and villain, I am actor and professional, novice level grandmaster.

A Jester of all trades, every word calculated, every action a movement of stagework.

Masked and unmasked, raw and hyding in plain sight.

I perform for you and when the lights go out, I work in shadow and orchestrate the light.

They tell you it’s a game and then they toy with you, they say that life is to be taken seriously and they make a joke of you.
They say that this is the way that all life works yet they don’t share the troubles you do.

It’s a savage mockery of a cash-on-hand ruling class that plays make believe with our “opportunities” I’m starting to feel as if they’ve made a fool of me.

They say that life is yours then they occupy your time, they push you for more hours and less pay as if it were sublime and at the end of the day the taxman takes some away, it seems like its all just savage mockery.

We ride the Ferris wheel of change and our ups are always followed by lows and we end where we started, both feet firmly planted on the ground and the fun is suddenly over.
We’re actors and clowns, we’re tightrope walkers and high flyers, dreamers, screamers and make-believers but it’s all an act, it’s a show and we dance for entertainment because once the pretty lights stop we are back on the road, tired, broke and always feeling used.

Exploited.

If only we could change, yet we just don’t know any other way.
This is the way we’ve been told the way that life is since birth and those lucky few who have managed to find a new sideshow to join have found they themselves must answer to the people above them.

It’s savage mockery and it always drips down, so abuse rolls down and we all fall victim to someone.

Midnight in the garden and I watch the night flowers bloom in the beauty of the moon.

Luna washes my skin and makes me shine, my heroes used to shine.
Now I shine like them.

Moonlit roses and pretty peddles, the garden.

I toss aside my worry and whims and become the stars I see above, the heroes of the silver screen and the bullet boys whose name I can't recall on the beaches of foreign sands.

Values wax and wane and and all heroes lay slain.

The year I pen this is two thousand and sixteen.

I sit in a kitchen that badly needs to be refurnished as I drink a whiskey on the rocks. (Always drink Jameson)

I sit here in the summer heat, enjoying this moment ( which if I'm being honest is rare because usually I'm not a fan of the heat) but today for some reason I'm having thoughts of San Francisco- the beat poets, Hunter Thompson, Oakland California right next door and the Black Panther movement of the sixties..California has always been a place for artists and what some would call the "Freak culture." I myself just know it as "home."  

The sparks you could strike seem to have been reduced to small trashcan fires and bonfires on the beach, the love and hate seem to have created a haze of digital indifference. The power of the state seems to have shifted, yet days like these- these hot summer days that turn into beautiful warm summer nights...one can almost understand what it's like to be cast into those golden hills that run through the state.

A place for poets and musicians, a place for artists and life changes, a state that can and will eat you alive and spit you out without care for you after.

The spoils are all around if you're brave enough, clever enough, and just dumb enough to take a risk. We're not talking Vegas risk, we're talking every stone is make or break and if you slip and fall into the river, you'll be bashed against the rocks and your crippled, broken body will be tossed aside.

Yet moments like this- these golden afternoons, the charm of the state is revealed, the beauty and innocent side is shown, the sweet, loving, warm side of California shines through.

The old heads are still in a park chasing the dream of the beaten system, while the twenty-something tech heads bask in the future start-up possibility that this state brings.

One day when the water level rises, when it takes back everything and the Golden Gate sinks, there will be those who will make one last effort to preserve the Californian style...we're sitting on a land of dreams, broken,shattered and new, we're sitting on a land made of gold and dirt.

I think that's the irony and it sums up this- The prize is there, it's under the skin, under the dirt, under the trash, it's gold, pure, raw, ever staying gold.

But only for those with a strong enough will to keep digging.

We used to roll together

We used to stay up all night just crusin around the dead quiet towns listening to whatever mixtapes we had in the car

Now we're just memories on a facebook feed, we instagramly regret it but I secretly miss it.

I remember you were a little hip hop and I was a little punk, together we would play the underground tracks that we'd mix together on our Spotify playlist collection.

That was then and this is now and now it seems so long ago that we used to be something solid.

Now like air  we can't see each other but we know we're out there- somewhere.

A name in lights
Stageshow acts, a real freak and geekshow.
So leave your conventions at the door, hang your hat and check your coat because you're going to want to stay awhile.

The stage of lights is built and the stage is set for your entertainment.
Twinkle twinkle Hollywoodland
Your name in lights and fame right in your hands.

Another day in paradise and I'm falling for the lies again, the beauty and tragedy of stories, a city of the lost and found.

A name in lights twinkle twinkle Hollywoodland.

From the bubbling cauldron of mankind I crawl out of the muck.

Below the sewer and gunk, the mud and sewage we crawled to the top of the bubbling stew and slid over the lip.

I am mankind, of divinity.

I am the first vampire, trading ***, blood and lives for one or another.

In me I trust, I crawled form the soup and learned to craft, I learned to stand and speak.

I am the first lion. Controlling my pride and overseeing my land.

Of the stars we were forged, of luck and God, of Mother and Father, of Earth and mythology so we rose.

Our towers of Babel, our Skyscrapers and low hanging gardens of Babblespeak.

I am the first clone.

One million little crosses all in a row
One million little crosses all on a hill

Remember, remember what we fought for.

Remember Remember what we died for.

I remember the smoke and the noise,
The cause seems long lost.

One million little crosses all silent in a row
One million little crosses all silent on a hill.

Look down look down, over the sleeping valley
Look down look down, over the rebuilt city.

No more planes, no more bombs.

Dear Danny Whizbang, you can finally rest.

One million little crosses laid out side by side
One million little crosses just sleeping in the shade.

Dear Danny Whizbang- poor boy.

Remember, remember what we fought for.

I've lost the cause in the fog of war.

War is war and hell is hell but at this point it's so bad I can't tell;
Which is worse for my health, the bullets being fired at me or the poor meal ration.

Remember me back home, call me a hero.

I got a medal pinned on my chest, took seven more through my tactical vest.

Dear ma, pa, friends and pals, tell her I loved her and she was my only gal.

Dear ma, pa, friends and pals, say something nice bout those who don't make it back- I may not survive the next-ATTACK!

Sarge just gave the order, so up and over the top, last one home missed a bullet by a stroke of luck.

One million little lives laid to rest in a field.
One million little lives put to the test.

Pay em your respect, then finally allow them rest.

Another sleepless night because of the break up.
I wanted to cry but I was too angry, at the same time I was just numb and a small part, some small part of me was glad that it was over.

Will I ever be enough?

Another ***** in the armor, another nic in the blade, another memory left on the field as I trudge forward without a choice.

These kind of fights could **** a lesser man- that's dramatic.
We've all been there,

Another sleepless night.

Another sting to the pride, another memory, another love gone to the wayside, wishing I was enough (for her) now I'm left fishing for love while I sit out of luck again.

It's one more battle, one more fight, it's one more bruise on a pretty battered heart, and yet it beats as strong as ever.

The river I've cried is something I cross and sometimes it's still waters while the rapids rage inside, even if I could take out my anger, what would be the point? Sore hands on a punching bag? And what if I drowned my sorrows? I'd be drunk and angry?

What if  I wrote a poem? Drove really fast? Tried to clear my head?

Would any of it help?
These emotional fire fights keep coming, it's part of being alive, it's part of being human and when we're born we sign a contract that this is just all part of the ride.

Lone soldier on the battle field of romance.

I've got one more fight in me after another fight, one more love gone to the wayside.

One down, a million down,a million more to go. This is the fight we choose and we cast our lot because it's all part of what we signed up for.

I'll leave a cross on the field for the memory and as much as it pains me I'll walk away and with every step that memory becomes a picture in a frame on the wall of my mind- summer to winter 2018-2019.

Modern romance burns hot but it burns out, and in a candle wick flicker it snuffs out.

I take a deep breath and say goodbye, I've got one more fight after this, and after that one I'll still have one more fight, until one day the fight stops and I leave the field and settle down with her who dropped her sword first and took off my armor to reveal the man.

I've got one more fight and one more fight after that.

California- the year two thousand and something
Three friends sit on the outskirts of town an stare into the black mass above them.

The stars out in force as they stand without contest from the city lights.

This is the beginning- or the end.

For these people- this would mark the end of their respective friendship as the carefully crafted pane of teenage friendship was about to be shattered by the reality of young adult life.

The group has gone
The memories stand- and the things said that night hold something of the former selves they were.

Time- too much time has changed them, too much has happened.

Even if they could go back, it would be a wasted trip.

This is the start.

I teach the leech to drain

I teach the leech to take all it can, so what do I expect when the mouth I feed bites back?

Instruments and devices of our own destruction and downfall- we create them. Students pass the master and now the master relearns how to be humble.

Our own falls marked by our student no longer needing the skills we can teach or already knowing the lessons we know.

We know our time has come.

I taught the leech to survive on its own, I fed it until it could survive alone and now it thrives in ways I never could.

Another tragedy happened today-
Oh lord call the newspaper stand.

Said a young boy became a young man-
in the heat of the summer of sixty-nine
lost in a generation, he simply fell through the gap he ran out of time.

I'd say let's blow this pop-stand but the party is just getting started, so rather than run let's hang around and have some fun.

For if today is the day we all die, you may as well smile rather than cry.

We all got to somewhere sometime, sometimes sooner than later
Sometimes later is right now
Right now I must be moving on
and if you knew what I knew, you'd move right along too.

I'd say goodbye to my old town and my family friends,
I'd say goodbye because it doesn't always have to mean the end.

And the world looks so different
The faces, places, people go and we’re all just marching in toe, but that’s just part of the show.
The stagehands, directors and actors know that the play is a mockery of what we do in daily life, just to distract from the strife.
but that’s not always the wisest option.
So, we take our seats and silence our phones, the house light drops down low and Heaven above mocks Hell below but this is just daily life with no flash or show;
So, we wear our masks and costumes to give the beauty of illusion and as we grow we learn to lie, we learn to hide the truth and dignity gets sacrificed which is why our children can’t learn from our mistakes.
And people asked where were you when the fell apart, as if you should have the answer that would satisfy; I was hiding in plain sight but that isn’t good enough for you.
Where were you the day that it happened and tragedy struck or was it just coincidence that you were nowhere to be seen; perhaps you were hiding too. So, the players have their parts and the tragic stage is set and once our play starts we’ll be torn apart by mutual love of criticism and with nothing to fall back on we merely fade away; the true death of showmanship.

I kick rocks while I wear docs
I stay ahead of Stepford & mediocrity;
I get drunk because of sobering thoughts while Americana judges me.

I go against the grain, not to be edgy but because it feels natural to me.
They say I can't fit in with society and if so-
society can *******.

I stole these words right from the poet's handbook.
All these feelings I feel can be found in Shakespearean work.

The thoughts I think can be heard from future seeing comedians of the social kind.  

What is new if it's all old hat to me?
I'm not being creative- merely skipping across stones laid by cerebral terrorists who came before me.

A dangerous idea- recited through a ghetto blaster megaphone, an artistic threat dripping in red spray paint, a post beat poem throne made of wine bottles and past society memories.

I'm stealing the work right out from under you, I'm playing make believe with art like it's something new.

The verbal thief
A penned cat burglar
I'm stealing the words of poets before me, posing as a priest to hear confessions that I'll later wear as my own sins to help forge a new book.

Best seller highwayman.

Stand and deliver- your stories and your life.

Thought process plagiarizer, reshaping forgotten words and bringing back into the modern eye.

Center stage;
Lights burning on me.

Lights burning on me,
Eyes cast on me.

I've no choice now;
I step forward into and draw back the bow.

I am the target,
This is the show.

Begin.

Play like hell,
I'll give it all I know;
Fingers bleed and bow strings snap,
My life is on the balance.
I have no reason to hold back from this.

If my talent is on trial,
Then let it be my defense.

Play like hell,
no holding back.

Violent strikes like lighting,
Booming strikes of thunder,
I become the instrument.

Beyond this coil,
Play like hell.

Kiss, I miss.

Love, I am.

The poet's journey starts and begins.

Alone and well thought, by the end spent and wasted on time that would've been better spent creating concrete thought over paper tigers.

Words on a page are as sharp as swords, provided they're seen by the right eyes to evoke the emotion.

Snake, I am.

Kiss, I miss.

Words I mine.
Emotion I craft

and yet with all this power I am nothing.

I am man, mortal and small in the grand scheme of the ticking clock.

Tick tock, and so I wade into the river, drown my sorrow.

Drown, I am.

Words in stone are set to last, words of sand are set to change, words of paper may burn, words whispered are lost to sound.

Blood, I write.

Fool, I am.

Pictures hung on the wall
they laid in a photo album
stuck in a wallet
uploaded to a computer

We had the memories of yesterday, looking back we were young, we were wild and reckless.

One for all and all for one and through fire and fury, through hell and highwater, we fought back to back.

Weddings and funerals of the days gone by, but we've got the pictures to prove we have the scars, yet the older we get brighter those black and whites seem.

Every night if it's a nightmare in technicolor, I glance to the past and know that you too have those nightmares and then I remember I'm not alone and sleep becomes easier.

Five years turned to twenty-five turned to fifty and old age consumed us, and we burned like stars in the night sky.

We lost touch but we keep the pictures alive and well so we know who we were.

And no one can take that away.

Port Sunshine



When one talks of morals or the kind of person they think they are, it's always in some grand scale and overall sense. You base your moral high ground or ego and arrogance off of textbook philosophy and apply it where need be, but that’s not who you really are. That's who you want to be, or who you pretend to be, it's how you want to be seen by those around you. You ever had a gun pointed at you? Ever been held at knife point by someone who didn’t care about you? Have you ever had to make a choice like the young working father who started his drinking habit the night be had to choose between saving the life of his wife or not yet born baby because there were complications and he could only save one, and even then it was a risk because both could die. You ever had to make that call?

I didn’t think so.

Have you ever seen someone at the end of their rope? I mean really clawing at the edge of sanity and they want help but they’re so far gone you know that help is far and away and so you watch them slip away because it's simply out of your realm of control.

It’s one thing to sit there in the comfort of your educational intellect. To spout off old fact and theory that was discovered and pondered over fifty years or so before you were even born, it's one thing to sit in a living room with your circle of friends and discuss all these of matters of the soul while never having to go through any kind of issue or trauma or dilemma. But by all means please- tell me what kind of a person you are.

Have you ever been *****? And if you did- did you keep the baby? Are you an addict? Have you ever had something far greater and stronger than you pull you back and need it to function or you’ll snap?  Have you ever been alone?

Have you ever tried to actually **** yourself? I don’t mean some flashy cuts on your thigh or arms, I don’t mean some cocked up overdose on sleeping pills that could easily botch itself. I don’t mean a cry for help or attention or sympathy. I’m talking about death.

Have you ever tried to **** yourself? Why didn’t it work I wonder? People who want to die, die. Its that simple. If you have tried and you have survived- consider yourself lucky.

The truth is- you are not the pillar of moral strength you assume you are. You’re about half that because on paper you are one way and while you believe something or have faith in something- when you’re going through the motions and you happen across these times- your true colors come screaming out.

I’m here to tell you that as I sat in the far back room of that run down ***** inn and I sat next to my friend of twenty years and I saw him cry- for the very first time. I saw his true colors.

We all have our breaking points, everyone has a limit and try as you may, try as hard as you can that you are a good person, that you are a brave person, that you are some stone cold piece of work who is not to be tested, I can assure you. You are not that person. Something out there can break you, it's always there too. Maybe it lives in the back of the room or under the bed, maybe a family member knows what it’ll take, or a lover or a friend, maybe a memory or some past action that the regret gnaws on you nightly, but whatever it is. It is out there and it is always just around the corner.

Just another piece of the human puzzle. He cried, he stood against the corner and finally broke. He couldn’t run from it any longer. He ***** someone, I still don’t know the details and maybe that was me not wanting to ask. Maybe that was me trying to avoid the horror of his actions.

From the bits and pieces I did gather from my friend the story (as much as I’m allowed to repeat anyway) is:

They were dating for about two months at this point, they started a Netflix show together, they cooked meals together, they had ***- they were a couple. I hung out with them a few times, we drank beer and played board games, it was nothing out of the ordinary. Then it happened one night.

A friendly ***** game of ****** acts turned into a ****, something in that room became all too real- ya see she had a breaking point too. She got spooked during their fun and suddenly this became dark. What’s odd here is that they didn’t stop it. She was crying he was angry and he ***** her. Now sometime later he found himself at the back of a ***** hotel with his best friend as he suddenly burst into tears and his friend (your humble narrator) suddenly found himself at a crossroads. How and what am I supposed to do with this new information?

I did what any self respecting human would do. I ****** the **** up and shut the **** up. How could I judge him, I’ve known him for twenty years- at the same time...he ***** someone. Do I call the cops? Do I beat the living daylights out of him? Do I find the girl and get her side of the story? Should I denounce our friendship? It was during this thought process a cockroach fell from the ceiling and slammed into the ground, the bug flipped over and scurried away; even the cockroach felt this situation was too much for it to handle.

I cracked open two beers and handed him one, I’ve often that silence works wonders. And so we shared a silence and a beer as I stared at him and he stared at the floor.

So; that’s another skeleton I know about and it's one he has in his closet. What are yours? You think you’re a good person? Maybe you think you’re a bad person, perhaps you assume you’re a badass or a no nonsense hard worker, maybe you think yourself morally just or spiritually correct.

Here’s some advice- take the person you are or want to be or think you are or want people to see you as, take that person and do one of two things.

One; put them to test and prove it to yourself or two;

Put them to bed and just be the person you are. For better or worse at least you’ll know.

Deformed and slapped together, Dr. Leonardo Frankenstein was father.

Against science and god I am birthed from the rubble and chaos of a pop culture gate that split the two worlds.

My soul is old yet I'm a child in a body of middle age, I am stuck halfway between mortal and divine, I am conflicted about my inner workings because I fully understand them yet I understand them to know they cannot be fully understood, father says I am perfect and in his perfection he has found flaws, so I am perfectly flawed.

Halfway between a friend a threat, I resent all yet I do not repent.

I am the Godchild of Man's love of self, I am art and therefor can be sold.

To market I go, scrap my pieces and build a better creation.

I am flawed and so I was made out of a perfect image, the funhouse mirror reveals the truth, a distorted freak dressed in human clothes, I can talk like you, think like you, yet I'm a hodgepodge of humanity.

I am the atom bomb of humanity, ready to explode and take it all with me.

And so I slipped into the mirror;
finally after years of staring, I saw the ripple.

I crossed over into fantasy, a paradise, my personal wonderland.
I wonder where I'll land.

And down I go into the unknown,
Red string theories, space and time; time and space.
Running on the endless slipstream
And so I open my eyes and overcome the race.

I opened my eyes and to my surprise I stood before the garden;
I opened my eyes and to my surprise I stood before the Queen.
I opened my eyes and to my surprise; I was falling again.

Free fall into my dream,
Dance with me and by my queen;
This is my reality, grab my hand and walk through the mirror with me.

The piped piper taking rats to the sea, stealing children and watch them drown, for hopes go with the youth.

Dead down on silent docks as bleak waters kiss the shore, quote like Poe and the whispers "nevermore"

Nevermore and Neverwas, and just like the the hopes are dashed and so go the youth so go the hopes, down into the deep blue where rolling waves smother and crush the lungs of those who try to gasp for air.

Piped piper piping down the lane, dragging with him those of faith and those insane, piped piper playing a song, some for pay some entertain.

I think it's time we slit some ******* throats.

Let's bring back the democratic edge, let's take oak desk, blue suit gutless mouth pieces of outdated racism and sexism and show them how the French speak.

They don't speak for the American people, they speak for themselves.
They don't speak like me because if they did, we'd both be in favor of the guillotine.

We live in a first world country with second rate customer service and everyone walks around acting like everyone else is the problem and we deserve five stars.

I see fifty on a flag we keep letting down and they still have the ***** to claim they're doing what's best.

Let's wrap this up and wipe the floor with these husks of people, put em to the blade and let's see whose willing to die for what they believe in.

Soldiers aside because they've given enough- and keep giving, yet these same blue suit ***** would rip away their benefits and call em heroes to their face.

They say "we care about people" tell that to the homeless, the mentally ill, the immigrants who are only finding resistance.

Let's bring out the dead cart and clear out the dead wood, we have progress to make and this is slowing it down.

The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants. Thomas Jefferson,
How many patriots have died? We need to balance out the scales and bring in those diplomats who have forgotten the constitution.

You voted for a criminal, stand by that. It'll be easier when we wheel out the equalizer. Don't hide behind your **** mickey mouse mascot.

This is the time for the blood of tyrants and lairs, of traitors and thieves, of criminals and unethical politicians to water the trees.

You pledge to a piece of paper, retake that in front of the straight razor.

Sign in red on the dotted line, it's a blood bound contract with your life now on the line. Uphold the betterment of the country and you'll walk just like, but sell out for the party you favor or the business man you work with and the lost vote or seat will be the least of your worries.

Patriots have been paying full price for too long to keep getting ****** over, let's end political kindness for now and get mean.

You want to "talk tough", do it in front of the guillotine.

And it may not be the easiest thing but it definitely isn't the hardest.
I'm packing my bags because we've run our course and of course we ran the race as hard and as long as we could, but all good things must come to an end.
The fun stopped when the love went, and the love went when we both stopped trying, now we love what we love and we love what we remember so we're chasing a memory, loving the past and who we we were but who we are now isn't what we wanted and it both shows.

It may not be the easiest thing but it definitely isn't the hardest thing, so walking away is better than living the lie of love that we both remember, emotions lost and time spent well.

The world's most expensive paper shredder.
When we try to market art we must beware of the artists who swim in the dark waters.

We got Banksy'd again- and it was beautiful.

A room of shocked faces and silent groans, fear and disgust filled the room as the well-to-do- watched value turn to art and art into a story.

It's no longer a thing that is, but a thing that was- and was should be the way art is.

Art is a free thing- and yet the artist must sell their art to survive and thrive, yet how can we justify selling the thing we claim to be free, is it only in pretentious tongues?

The value of art is not what it sells for, but more of what it means to the crowd before it.

In for a penny in a for a pound, destroy the value and create something more, bring art back to its roots so that we may admire it for what it is.

"The urge to destroy is also the urge to create"- Banksy- Picasso- Bakunin. "

And from the dirt I return,
Masked up and on

Dead men tell no tales so I had to reach back into the well with my shovel and bring out the bones of the poets before me who spoke too little, they remain silent heroes with low book sales.

The pen is mightier than the sword, I went Out for Blood and spilled as much of my own as anyone else, the battlefield was littered with bodies and thoughts, ghosts of the unlucky.

We grow or die, adapt or survive. The Jester mask- I wear it with it pride.

This is the resurrection of a thousand dead thinkers who got lost to time,
Some had their work plagiarized, that’s what’s known as a crime.
I ring the bell for who it tolls cast their names on my list, I drink to remember and to forget.

I say a prayer before their names, unmarked talent in a shallow grave.

Bring out your dead because the hacks, fakes and plagiarists need to see some skin before they try to take more flesh again.
They pose art, I recreate crime scenes, they have a new book on the burner cooking, I’ll Hannibal them as I roast them over the open fires of creativity.

You think this is easy?

You want the fashion, fame, money and house?
What about start realistic, one light on, a cup of forty-nine cent Wendy’s chili and a rent check that’s overdue.

While people bleed, sweat and carve their art out, you come along and pick it apart, then take what you want and call it “art”
You’re a hackjob wackjob whose too busy jacking off, I wish artists had a Mafia so you could get Whacked off.

You stole the words right from out of my mouth, I think its time to show all these “artists” what a bleeding heart is all about.
Mel Brooks said “everyone steals, you just have to know what to steal” he didn’t mean ruin someone else by taking their core ideas and sticking your name all over it, it’s soulless ***** like you that make me sick, as I go to cough I let the leash the slip and the hounds rush out to junk the bodies of the soulless majority who make a living off of someone else’s paycheck.

It’s work, it’s real, it takes time, effort, energy and dedication and then you come along and steal, I get it. You want what you can’t have, problem is- you can’t recreate it so you’re a one trick pony with a lame leg who hasn’t got a clue. Your autograph reads “Elmer” because you get turned to glue.

We’re not the polite socialite artists who stand around and blow smoke up each other’s *****, we’re too busy to hang around and wax whimsical, we need to know where our next meal is coming from, you just wanna talk Kafka, flash cash like Hoffa, the Jester is here to show you the way to your coffin.

I Spray Paint the Manifesto in your town.

In the right light I have angels wings and a golden halo, but the mirror behind me shows the devil horns and spiked tail, duality in man hyding in plain sight, I flipped the coin and you lost the toss, now you’re dragged out of sight.
Out of sight and out of mind, the lack of you doesn’t hurt the community, when one hack fades another one takes their place but they all look the same so don’t worry about the continuity.