I take a cigarette break to the beach at 2AM every time i'm on the graveyard shift. The whole atmosphere of being at the edge of a continent with an endless body of water living and breathing in front of you is emotional. When the sea is calm and the tide is low it feel like you can relax, listen to the tide rippling off the rocks and it soothes the soul. When the tide is high and the sea is rough you realize the pure power of the ocean. I imagine the lives previously taken by the merciless sea, engulfing ships and crashing into mountains and piers, cities, lighthouses, residences, and boat yards. Unforgiving, and yet, majestic she is responsible for more life than we can fathom. A whole different part of our world we have such minimal access to. I look out into her endless brilliance as the wind warns me of her presence. Blasting the smell of salt onto my skin, as i take long breathes with ease. The ocean is wise, she has been here much longer then i have and has experienced loss, life, tragedy, war, ******, and survival. Nobody's around at 2AM, just me and her. Every night she gives me the same feeling, like a women you love but cant control, a free spirit, wild for her own pleasure, thirsty for love and affection but resilient to the idea of being confined. For you can not control the one who manipulates you. I am being manipulated by the sea. As i exhale my last puff i walk back inside to work. "Ill see you tomorrow".

1
Tommy’s little, sure, but he’s
getting to that age
when he understands a little more
picking up things as his parents
take him shopping;
and hearing and seeing things
at home, in the backyard
and in the streets

2
but today poor Tommy
is caught in class
he’s about to explode
and he’s controlled it the last hour

“Please, miss,” he has the *****
to say it after all
“I need go ****!”

“You’re not going,”
says the pedantic Miss,
“until you use in a complete sentence
the proper English word
for your urge:
URINATE”

Poor Tommy –
he’s got the *****, but does
he have the brains?

Tommy thinks hard for a while -
one hand on his head
one hand on his pants
and then he blurts out:
*“YOU ARE AN EIGHT
and Mrs Smith next door
who sunbathes naked in her courtyard
LOOKS LIKE A TEN. Now, can I go?”

Death once spoke to me through a streetlight that solely flickered rushing red.
Along with the drops of acid dancing within the outlines of a thread.
One pedal to accelerate an already accelerated mind,
One pedal to reverse a raucous reaction,
Mirrors plugged to my beating flesh, pulsating time,
Wheels swirling off it's axis, succumbing to the lost traction.
Closing eyelid after eyelid, fate selected a pedal,
Roaring of both synapses and electricity,
Swerving across the bumps of light that model,
Leaving stones to break like my bones, collapsing entirely, goes my entity.

Water crept into my lungs.
Water replaced my tears.
Water ****** my blood.

He said to me, "You'll smell a smell you've never smelled before,
and sense a sensation worth dying for."
So with one last cell, and with one last breath,
I smelled and sensed the defiled Death.

It's freezing in your bedroom
And I just wanna dream this bright day
straight into its darker face
I'm all wrapped up in your limbs
But I'm still shaking
You've got your hands on my thighs
I wish I could feel the warm
blood that drips all down the insides of them
But I'm ignoring every
sign that you slip in through my lips
You're pleading for my
attention at the ****** of your affection
You keep digging your
nails into my shoulder blades
I know what you're thinking
Maybe a little pain will bring
my eyes up to meet yours
But I'm still looking down at your hips
And I could feel you starting to melt
Into the empty stream of my apathy
You're whispering every poetic word
you ever thought you heard straight
into my ear drums
I'm still not listening
An other night home alone
Lying next to each other
But hardly together
I shut the lights out an hour ago
But your skins still crawling
You're nestling me in the bend of your elbows
But I'm just trying to sleep
I wanna pray to your eyelashes every night
Like you do to mine
But I just don't believe in you
I don't believe in anything
And I'll still kneel for you
But that doesn't mean anything
It's all still so much nothing

The choir girls on rooftops sing
songs of thanksgiving in
harmonious gleam
while the children dance
in vibrant gyrations
underneath the olive trees.

A fire burns while people cheer and chant,
and folk songs flutter like ash.
The sparks fly as burnt wood collapses
and the king takes his throne.

He addresses his court
with eager voice
that echoes across the fields
and all eyes and ears are keenly fixed
on his majesty.

He speaks:
"My people, my friends,
my enemies, my lovers -
from all lands far and wide -
will you open your eyes
and see your live like this?

There is no bloodshed or death
and I can see your lungs expand with each breath.

Now, please fill your cups
with the strongest of wines
and let music ring
with the loudest of chiming.
Let peace fill your souls
and love cloud your minds.

Lay down your swords,
pax et concordia
for love is the strongest of wards."