you make my legs

                             fill with lust

                                                         and some sundance

                                     chemical I cannot

                                                               ­           explain. you make

                                                   me feel like your

        pupils are the sun

                               and the sun has

                                                               ­                       little in respect

                                          to you aside from

                    attribution to the

                                                               ­  very existence of

                                                               ­                                         the girl I love.

                                                          you make me feel

                                like free chai tea

                                                   lattes, even if this

                                                               ­        analogy was used by

                                                               ­                           an ex of mine to

                                                               ­                                           describe how she

                                                               ­                                                           felt about me I

                                                               ­                                                                 ­        feel it's still

                                                               ­                                                                 ­                     valid in context.

                                   you make me dance

                        like thunder in a

                                          snowstorm and link

                          arms with my lack

                                                      of a bedside table

                and ring as true as

                                           my ears to the ashen

                                                               ­        corner-lounge love-drug-all-this-please.

                                      

                       ­             I love you,
                                    I love you,
                                    
                           ­         I love you,


                                    I love you.



                                                         ­          holy sweet good *******,


                                                   you sweet,

                                                   sweet soul,
                                                    

          ­                                         not even

                                                          novel­s
                                                  
                                                                ­  could properly explain

                                                       how my universe swells into serotonin heartbeats
                                                      ­                    whenever
                                    ­                                       you're
                                                          ­                wherever
                                        ­                                    with

                                                               ­              me.

Some call me a genius.
Some call me insane.
My friends say I'm a tragedy.
My parents say I'm just a little eccentric.
Tell me what you think.
I am nothing but a puppet.
Being handled and tossed around.
After awhile I'm just set aside.
I'm diverting at first, almost enjoyable, but, in the end, a bitter pill to all.
I apperceive no need to breath.
I have to necessitate my lungs to swell with air, then to shrivel, and epitomize the essence of life.
That's where my eloquence comes from, or it's the insanity. I'm not sure.
In my frigid, obscured, irrecoverable mind, insanity is eloquence, eloquence is tragedy, and tragedy is beauty.
I exist for the darkest of romances, the most distorted of lives.
It brings me what's closest to a sense of your "well-being".
I hate, therefore, I love.
So if I love hate, then, I love circles.
That's what my love is, a circle.
The grasps of reality, though persistent, quickly overwrought and became transient to me not very recently, but not too long ago.
I will abruptly tear down and rip to shreds any mark of social normality in or around me.
Now, will you decide whether I live or die?
Or shall I for you?

I saw her light fading
Through veiled window shades
That unbelievable glow
Kills everything else the Earth made
I don't know where she came from
Heaven, Hell or in-between
All I know is that what she does
Is shock me, thrill me, rope me up and **** me

The genesis of such a creature
Is a mystery to me
Did she crawl out of a hole
And sprout like a flower?
Or was she always there
Will she always be as beautiful as she is now?
I know something like that
Is in the eye of the ******
But how could you refuse to admit
That this thing is special?
That it's not normal?
That you've never seen such witchcraft?

Everyday I'm fighting that face in the mirror
with my emotions never getting clearer
Looking at a face
that I cannot see
a face that isn't me
A face I call my
own?
A face I do not condone
I look in to my eyes
I despise what I see
these eyes are not me
I stare at that smile
A smile that can tell
some stories for a while
That smile isn't me
That smile is what people see
They see
That face
That isn't
*Me

We are all young
at some point in our lives
and we are all older at another point
in our lives and we all go through
that time in between
and some are what they buy
and what they are sold
as some just exist while doing
nothing in their lives
except growing old.

Some succeed at whatever they do
because Daddy's money will
see them through
as some fail at everything they touch
while there are those who don't
ever do too much
as they just sit there and don't really care
if they ever win or lose
because they never get
to choose.

Some of us go through life
happy all of the time
while others just frown because
they get tired of being the clown
and being held down
because of the way they look
or because they can't
read a book.

Some are born with strength
and speed and can usually
take the lead in whatever
they try to do while others
just sit around and cry
and wonder why nothing ever
comes their way
as they keep thinking
maybe someday.

Each generation is different
but in realty the same as they each
try to make a name for themselves
but in the end we are all so much the same
as we all try to play the same game
of survival with nothing changing
except the tools which we have to use,
the time, the place and the face
of those caught up
in the race.

The one constant is love
with the only thing changing
is how much one is prepared to give
and how much one
is willing to receive and of course
how much you let yourself
believe in as you realize
that everything is different
but nothing  changes.                                             Jon York        2013

Your satellite couldn't save us-
the burn from the radiation
leaves us stinging
like wounded soldiers
from a world war,
a battle
between
you
and
your
satellite.

A battle of miscommunication
lost in translation while hoping
for things to be right-

You're a
lost astronaut
in the night
looking for a reason
for flight
blaming things
that don't feel right
while disappearing from sight-
You're a broken satellite.