Cursed by technology
Born to be a prodigy
Roamed the earth to become well versed in ecology.
Broke the dirt with the farm hand’s anthology

Made a stony hearth from the girth of this broken land’s economy.
Pitched my yurt where the man can’t bother me.

On top of luscious greens,
In the field of dreams,
No more do I pull the weeds of society.

All my proceeds grow seeds
I don’t need deeds just look at these feats
Grab an ear of corn if you haven’t heard of me.

Burn what you don’t need,
An idea of greed, the illusion of necessity.

Brought to you by bold thieves
Who trade lives but don’t sleep
Hold banquets but don’t eat
Grow food but don’t feed.

Ripped from your roots.

Dropped on the streets
in the sweltering heat.
Drying like souls of the ******,
every last one of us lost lambs.

What they want for me, it’s not a part of me

I won’t take place in the injustice that’s been bought for me.
But what I brought for me is a hypothesis,
Tranquility so deep a Buddhist monk couldn’t offer me
More than what my coffers could proffer me.

I’m not crazy but I have started the uncoupling

That’s got me to this mental brink,
Out of this poisonous sink,
No longer do I drink- from this sea of doubt
Where the irradiated mind has its teeth pulled out.

I put my knowledge of “earthology” into this horse and plow
I raise sow in the north for truffles of course
Sell them for hundreds of dollars an ounce to chefs in New York

I make herbal oils richer than kings from thorny things and rosy beings
Contemplating the meaning of life while looking at my fig-leaves

And I will pick the fruit and share it with you
Confuse me not with a more treacherous youth
Whom only seeks to toxify you with some new indoctrinated truth
Give you some of their lead paint proof, glyphosate too.

Their cell phone hooks filling your time with
Facebook looks,
And a MySpace laze
With honeycomb glaze
There in your man-made maze
Where you don’t speak for days.

I have seen the ways good people choose bad things to happen due the deceit
Of the industry they’re tapping’
Where is the Chaplain?
He’s got this book , and his grubby hands are in the pocket of the fat man
Who takes the holy waters and turns them to black sand.

Tossing grains in the air it’s unclear “whether” we can breathe it in
With no name and no face one rigged rat race,

We look for those Rebels M.I.A.

I am resilient today
I've yet to right a wrong,
Write poem,
Sight a note,
Convey in pros,
Hope for hope,
Join the stream,
Bathe in logos,
Come close to host the thoughts of all;
Boast? I don't think so.
What's not achieved Isn't real?
Really?
I cannot convey the souls that reside this body,
This mind,
Chimed,
From which end of the chimera?
The poem intoned,
Vocal aspects of the crone.
Cyclically saying,
I am resilient.

I have flowers in my throat.
The rich and fertile caverns of my chest support a ebullient host nematocera, of which, breed in my abdomen, gnawing at my innards.

Swarms of adults congragate in my mind, the competition is fierce.

Attitudes of altrusim: a moist mire, slowing my step.

Try to say, anything, but that.

I'd rather attract the nausa of rhopalocera.
Their light hearted and short-lived whimsy. A far cry from this violent mob. Oh but the sob of emptiness when they all die at once.

A welcome boon, that, maybe we'll come to bloom. Clumsy and crooked, I was never able to make a play when all I'm pitched is a doorsa.

Emphatic yes.
Mechanical gestures attempt to arrest form,
Bind in possession a moment no longer.
A willful lash,
Resistance necessary,
Violent response to denied consent.
Constant memories.
Accountability never lost,
Never assumed initially.
Mantles are places,
For trophies,......



Remember to buy flame retardant.

Disintegration,
Once quite lovingly animated,
Anticipation, pain.
Unprovoked “retaliation”.

Fairness: a fool’s gambit.
Compromise: what’s yours is mine……
left,
Just left.
That is all there is.

Silver sheen and gossamer glow,
christen the sky vibrance.
Lend neither to fear nor shadow,
Guide all wanderers without diffidence

Crisp and sweet, night air falls.
Without A cloud chill sets in.
The stars begin their siren calls,
Street lamps answer in chagrin.

The earth did stir and call to wake!
In darkness all birth did take place.
In there of we find the tools to make,
Solitude: Our sacred space.

Pine’s grace the Sky,
holding hands with Night.
Listening to passers by,
Boughs Swaying in delight

A person makes their way home
By way of walk.
With talk of tomes,
hemlock and bedrock.

Flintlock, eyes.
Eloquence with brevity,
Causing sighs.
Thank you, Natalie

Lives are funny things,
They’re held together by shoe strings.
By where we go and who we meet.
Marked by muddy boot prints of leisurely jaunts,
Straining climbs, and high adventure.
Where tongues wag in thoughtful reminiscence of sunny days and rainy nights,
Of puddles and delight;
Worn leather speaks of distance,
Endurance,
And the importance of taking things in stride.
Though less outspoken and often underfoot,
The sole is planted firmly in the heart of discovery.

Morning sky: confluence of grays.  
Juxtaposition
Arbitrary hearts: blithe and lambent.