Don’t judge yourself too harshly,
For you are the eyelids that are destined to open.
And the ideas that we stand for,
Can never and will never be dissolved.
You are better pressed to question yourself
And question the signatures that bind your paychecks..
Ponder the source of your presidential paper mache.
We are the threads too loosely stitched,
In the suffocating sweater of our society.
But with our death..
Erupts the vibrations of every thread destined to unravel.
We cannot expect to bind sweaters on the masses
As we flow into the summer of our enlightenment..
The traditions of the winter have become obsolete.
They are the leeches of our bones
And the cracks in our skin,
Dividing us as sand in the wind.
Religion is the smoke that chokes our vision,
Money is the virus that cripples our potential,
And to those who would assassinate us..
Money could never protect you as would loyalty..
Politics could never heal you as would understanding..
Power could never bring you happiness as would love..
And death could never bring peace as would embracing life..
So I ask you to ask yourselves,
Would killing us put a stop to our progress?
Would silencing us keep us from ending your crime?
Wouldn't a flower still bloom even though it was destined to die?
Don’t judge yourself too harshly..
Just ask yourself.. would I?

Dive in my friend!
A wave caresses each valley on your skin,
Filling up your holes with foggy recollections,
A time long forgotten in the weathered banks of your memory.
The illusion of past has deposited sand within your eyes.
At the bottom of the ocean you might remain
Unclog those fallacious fables that have kept
Your arms glued to your sides.
Wipe the sand away!
Like a new breathe each moment..
The past is non-existent,
But merely miles of ink dragged over a circle on crumbling white paper.
Dive in my friend!
To the black hole of scribbled words,
The waterfall of your mind’s momentum
Refilling the barren wasteland with floods of color,
Through expression sings the transparent song of the soul,
In a single note,
In a single moment,
Everlasting ecstasy.
The infinite exist without a need for mouths to speak.
The eternal exist without a need for ears to hear.
For the truth wills itself a way to rest like precious stones
In the deep rivers of our bloodstream,
Just waiting to be stirred and awakened by the passion of love.

I speak in faded blasts of wind
Too dull like screaming to the deaf
Where energy can speak for itself
But you can’t hear me
Even if you put your ears to the street
You can’t hear me
I’m trying to find somehow
What’s keeping me inside my hollowed trunk
The lightning struck it years ago
But I am still with patient silent wanderings
My mind can walk ten miles in a few hours
But my body is a frail forgotten piece of how you left it
Can you teach me how to step again?
I’m gray
Stuck within the space between the light melting into shadow
Where the sun skipped yesterday
When yesterday seems like twenty years
Or possibly a melodramatic spindle spinning
Drawing miles of yarn for me to trip on
Fall inside my mind again
That same spinning cycle
Stuck on a leash
Angry like a chained rabid mutt
And who dares to look a little closer
To see my microscopic love
It’s dancing in the wrinkles of my shirt
Every color longing to be spread across my face

It’s amazing really,
The power of a thought.
Like an invisible typewriter it clicks
On and off it’s seasoned keys.
Like coding our daily existence into
A bubble in our brains.
Thoughts seem to spring
From an unknown source,
In search of the ocean to pour themselves into.
The ocean of our reality.
The waves of memories,
The horizon of future plays in our heads
Like some distant song we have yet to hear.
But what are the depths of this ocean?
the great mysteries of life,
So often pondered,
Yet seldom explored.
Does it take a bold mind for brilliance to swim in it’s currents?
Or perhaps a deep ocean flows and breaks in the minds of all,
Whether we are aware or not.
Are we all within our own ocean?
Or do we all swim in the currents of a giant sea,
Full of turmoil,
Yet pregnant with traversing tranquility.
The collection of our thoughts are sprinkled
Like seasoning time.
Through drops of paint shine the colors of everything we see.
And who is seeing?
Is it you?
Are you, under the mask of “I” or “me,”
All knowing of the possibilities of yourself?
Or is there someone else lurking in the shadows of your mind?
The real observer…

The wind escapes
Through a forgotten lunchbox
Like a child
Leaving their toys in the grass
But I looked closer
They were two dying baby rats
One was still quivering
it pierced my chest
To breathe a rat’s last breath
what did he speak of?
Nothing
Because now he is gone
Like my childhood
Swimming through memories
Of long forgotten promises
Of rotting baby rats

When electricity turns itself loose
to bounce in and out
of the pockets
in the mind

turn on a light
and channel that ****
towards the greater good
of illumination

How does it feel?
To shake off
Last year’s feathers
It’s freeing
It’s being like you’ve
Never thought
The water would taste
The clouds they could open your head
And pour in some
Rain water instead
Wash away your bad thoughts
and put them on paper
and paint them on sides
of city buildings
I haven’t seen you before,
you look like a wind has wiped
the skin off your face
I can’t help but
peel you back
exposing the wires that connect
to your brain and inside
of your spine, they slip into
habitual blind ******