I stand above my bed
And examine the damage.
Blankets this way and that
Pillows all over
Sheets tangled up around themselves.
Proof of something that
Only hours ago
Left this place empty.
I take in the rubble
And breathe deeply.
I lower myself down to those
Tangled sheets
And backwards bedspreads
And fill my lungs with you.
I pull them up around me
And close my eyes
And wish for this place to be
The same kind of battleground
Again tomorrow.

The pen romances
The blanks of paper
Inking a love-bite
To be read
And deciphered
By generations
To come
A tale of love
Is writing
As one heart pours
And another reads
To derive
An ode.

Before guns wore make-up,
We used to put pennies in our socks
So we’d always walk on the root of all evil.

Now Wall Street angels frolic through satellite clouds borrowed
from youths educated by universities of smoke and plastic bags.
                  
(The tears of a child are homage to the waning gods)
For in a day not far away,
Over the painted moon of the Morning Son,
The sun will rise wearing the finest war scars money can buy.

And the screams of humanity will be heard from Venus,
Forgetting that the reciprocal of   L-I-V-E   itself  is     E-V-I-L
And perhaps death is the life meant to be lived.

My secret thoughts reside
in the backyard of my existence
where darkness cries out in shivers
clear to my bones.  
I wake up to find them
packed neatly on shelves in my mind
and wish I could just crawl away,
be left alone.

They come from my emotions,
dressed in sadness
with no intention of ever  comforting
what they transform.
There are days
when they make a decision
to rearrange the places I stand
until I am left without hope,
forlorn.

My secret thoughts are the lyrics of my being
which bid my heart
to walk on a white canvas
of the purest snow.
Oh the damage
that could be done
if I spoke them aloud,
my true feelings revealed
with these eyes full of woe.

I cannot bend or I'll break
so I hide on these shelves
in my mind,
packed neatly away
from all that challenges
my tree of life,
such as falling leaves.
My secret thoughts control
how my tongue refrains
from speech,
So my true feelings,
you will.....
never see.