The snap-crackle-pop of the Medi-Cali T.H.C.
left me wheezing.
Then dragons and cerebral effigies
come at me with their teasing.

It’s pleasing to say the least,
I’m the man from which came the beast.
Rocking and trolling the northern hemisphere
peeping for a mortal feast.

And peeking through the one sided mirror
was a man who we would never know.
The time that we all lost it
would be the only time that he would ever show.
And you and I.
Well for you and I, it’s safe to say
that the terms are all we know.

A pedigree of me to me
and synonyms for charity.
What a tragic spell I’m barfing on,
next time I'll try the cherry tree.

The reflection of stars dusts your pupils.
Photons of quantum light are what I see
when look into your eyes.
I find that pretty amazing.
The distance of our gazing
flowing off into infinity.
With a trinity of futures
our souls are always glowing.
But the hypostases with you
are the only ones worth knowing.

*I bless the day I met you,
I bless the universe for making you,
and I worship you to the very core
of every atom in your body.

The crystal was perfectly aligned.
It exposed an image of the day I left seamlessly.
But it also echoed the future,
the design of tomorrow.
I wouldn’t follow my wildest dreams,
but I couldn’t say the misuse was improbable.
To the next phase in my elegant maneuver,
I gather the strength from my abysmal insides.
Wide open were the gates of hell.
I withheld.
Then continued,
as the outline of forever,
forever guided me.  
Time was traveled.
And as passing eras bettered my intellectual design,
I redefined the reality of Sir Hawkins.
Time travel.
So true.
My speed was increasing,
as was my very corpus.
And as it did,
so I transcended.
Amended  such as our legitimate antiquity
of the dickity desire.
The feeling of an outwordly choir
singing you to sleep while injecting you
with futuristic methyl-amphetamines.
I dreamt of better things,
but too late.
For I've descended into tomorrow,
and the decisions of the borrowed souls
will cease to follow.

Crashing atoms of astonishing substance.
That is the nature of our existence,
bouncing about the constancy of physics.
Tied to each other by means
of unexplainable phenomena.
The drama unfolding stubbornly
into a war of races.
One with no one racing.
But when the folks of the future look back on me
they wouldn’t have a foreboding demeanor.
It is so easy to be so arrogant.
My progenies will learn what ?
I bet that when I die,
I’ll be reborn into an alien form.
At least for now,
that’s my objective.

A gentle breeze of warmth pushes pleasant,
freakishly normal, but a smack on the water
builds waves that grow older and stronger.
You feel it all soft behind your eyes.

But there is always something missing
that on more cigarette can't fix.
There is always one bird flying
who just can't find the right sticks

to stand on, to launch from, to rise and
fight the world, so he glided circles
as Lady Hurricane approached.
He flew tired, then he flew more.

I opened the door to our house in Connecticut
in the red mist after Sandy and looked up, and
watched him ramble.  "The Hawk in the Hurricane."
There he was circling, as if to prove his strength.

And when those boys and girls were murdered in Newtown,
just down the road,
I thought of him
like he was a good thing.  
Brave enough to stand and be a bad omen.  
A crucifix with wings.

Innocent boys and girls are gone now.  
Turned into a show we watch on TV.  
But that is natural to life in this century,
so there's policy and argument
and my eyes turn back
to my own
endless circle
with an end.

Happiness makes a subtle appearance as just a humble breath,
a deli sandwich, as sun that peaks around the old windows.  
And sees me,
invites a squint,
rises,
sets,
and then comes back.

You miss people
When they are gone
When they are so gone that
You can't believe it
After they've been away so long that the photographs that you
Have of them start
To feel intangible
When you start to
Think you made
Them up in your head that
They never laid in your bed...