I am so happy to announce the publication of my new book, It's Just a Hop, Skip, and a Jump to the Madhouse, available on Amazon.  I also read my poetry on my youtube channel.
Thanks to everyone for this great site.

you make me feel like a person

Under siege
Piano keys
Assaulted by staccato breeze
Across the ice, voices plead
And from contorting accents,
Legato’s free
Sadness and some misery
Then pauses in between
2 beats, 4 beats,
CRASH CRASH CRASH
Below, my finger starts a clash
But quickly it goes slow once more
Higher, where the angles soar
Harmony seamlessly flows together
Before the clouds cover light
And the air thickens
Suspense trickles down my bones
And exalts itself from the rule of the instrument
To run away into the audience’s ears
Which leaves the silence, and joyous tears
Bravo, Bravo! I hear them cheer.

This is not an exit
That what Brett Ellis said
In restaurant of conspirators
As the victims freely bled
The blood just keeps on pumping
Though they were slain
Months and years ago
For reasons half forgotten
Pushed down so far below
In the back alley
Or on Wall Street
The disconnection
Is the same
To remove what is not desirable
And make them take the blame.

When a black sheet has been
thrown over the moon
and a million lazy stars
have fallen from view
I hear the wind has
grown tired of traveling
I hear the sound of mandolins
crying in the mountains
I hear the rattle of
gypsy wheels
I hear the heavy hearts
of horses upon the
restless roads of
broken poetry ...
Clay.M

these poems here
tethered to me
by some unknown
uncontrollable force
I didn’t ask for this
I didn’t ask for any of this
all I wanted to do was to play
with the women and the music
and maybe even my kids every now and then
not knowing, not caring,
not believing, not searching
for a higher purpose
for a greater meaning
for an elixir of divinity
but they have arrived
in different variances
& mass quantities
I didn’t ask for this
now it is here
I can’t stop
I won’t stop
until it kills me
until it kills something inside of me
until there is nothing left
except
these poems here.