You mean if I don't go extinct,

I guess I'm free,

as free as anyone is in this world,

with Destiny glaring at me from her Window,

Her eyelids fluttering in anticipatory teases,

and yet to flirt with her is to invite Doom into your pocket,

Even if she does gaze the glance of her blessing on you,

your date with her is, ultimately, set

the supper is bitter, and her wine that which lulls in the sleep of the ages,

until thence, she changes tables, and woos another suitor.

we all must have that sour meal with her sitting quaintly across, smiling demurely, yet knowingly,

So, until the time comes to sit at her table, wrest free from her shackles the very smallest bits of will

tho it make her jealous, her envy 'tis thus of you still.

No Time machine

Can save me now

I can forgive you

For lying and cheating

For breaking my soul

But I can’t forgive the fool

After so many chances

Who still failed, walked away

Tried so hard, just to let it go

And old friend I haven’t

Seen in years

Came to me in a nightmare

said, “what about now?’

I said 90, no 80 percent

And knew I was lying

Even in my sleep, my dream

I know that it is me

That I cannot forgive

This failure haunts me

This nightmare awakens me

To what I already know

All the worse

Is the dichotomy, presently

That if I were the fool I was then

I’d be happier now

And if I was the man I am now

I’d have been happier then



That if I were the fool I was then

I’d be happier now

And if I was the man I am now

I’d have been happier then

Can’t be who I need to be when I need to be them

Like I said

No Time machine

Can save me now

The definition of too late

Nothing I can change

Will ever make it right

Somehow nothing I do

Will take the currently

Empty, aching, singular

Point in side my mind

And fill it with you

Obedient and so well trained,

And I’m a stray,

It’s a shame,

Maybe I like it that way…



                    I’m happy for you anyway



All you have gained,

All that’s gone away,

It’ll cost you your name,

Yet you haven’t had to pay…



                    I’m happy for you anyway



I’m paid up with my pain,

Come whatever may,

I’m through with the game,

That meets ends everyday…



                    I’m happy for you anyway



I’ve spent time insane

Paid the bill on the due date,

Put the receipt in a frame,

And hung it as a light to show the way…



                    I’m happy for you anyway



Too much on my brain,

I should leave it where it lay,

With whip and chair I tame,

With lip and air I pray…



                    I’m happy for you anyway



So many things have changed,

Since back in the day,

So much is the same,

And all that I have to say…



                    I’m happy for you anyway



There is a time,

On both sides of Midnight,

When it’s not late

And it’s not early

There is a time,

On both sides of Midnight,

When it’s not evening

And it’s not morning

There is a choice,

On both sides of Midnight

One is happiness

The other sorrow

There is a grey area

On both sides of Midnight

Where it’s not quite today

And not yet tomorrow



Circling the drain,

I’m earning my pay,

I sense that I’m lame

Paralyzed by the weight…



                    I’m happy for you anyway



I’m feeling the strain,

Of this day to day,

Of this same old same

All work and no play…



                    I’m happy for you anyway



I guess I’m dry in the rain,

Just getting-by, Okay,

At least I remember all the names,

Of those I don’t betray…



                    I’m happy for you anyway



So now you can claim,

It will be used to sway,

If you’ve got your fame,

They’ll believe every word you say…



                    I’m happy for you anyway



You take the champagne,

Right off of the tray,

You’re not to blame,

You wouldn’t feel guilty anyway…



                    I’m happy for you anyway



It’s not like you’re vain,

Or that you’ve got to have your way,

Or that you came,

From some privileged cliché…



                    I’m happy for you anyway



There is a time,

On both sides of Midnight,

When it’s not late

And it’s not early

There is a time,

On both sides of Midnight,

When it’s not evening

And it’s not morning

There is a choice,

On both sides of Midnight

One is happiness

The other sorrow

There is a grey area

On both sides of Midnight

Where it’s not quite today

And not yet tomorrow

There are teeth in my ears

Chewing and swallowing

Grinding when I’m sleeping

To digest everything I hear



There’s a tongue in my eyes

I lick at you from across the room

It all tastes like your smile

Your hand, your hair, your thighs



Your scars keep bad omens away

…and I am one of them



You were a child when I saw you last

When you thought you were alone with him

If the water under the bridge is passed

Then why can’t you seem to find ways to sink or swim

He’s just a ******* just waiting to happen

You’re a coupon kitten stranded out on a limb

It’s the surest sign that you need to be alone at last

But I just can’t sit by and let allegory do you in

You were a child when I saw you last

And you will be a child when I see you again



Your scars keep bad omens away

…and I am one of them



There are nails in your boredom

Rusting and creaking

Holding fast while you’re awake

Pay your dues as long as you can afford them



There are coffins in your mind

You keep your dead thoughts lying there

They are all pale like your smile

Your hands, your hair, and your thighs



Your scars keep bad omens away

…and I am one of them



You were a child when I saw you last

When you thought you were alone with him

If the water under the bridge is passed

Then why can’t you seem to find ways to sink or swim

He’s just a ******* just waiting to happen

You’re a coupon kitten stranded out on a limb

It’s the surest sign that you need to be alone at last

But I just can’t sit by and let allegory do you in

You were a child when I saw you last

And you will be a child when I see you again



Your scars keep bad omens away

…and I am one of them

I can’t remember exactly when I met her

But I do remember how she had to tell me about her

Gentle daughter at home somehow warning me,

Her smile could only be partial



He was an abomination that made me wonder how there

Could have ever been a she and he to bring about this young life

He believed in everything that never should even be considered

I could not push my fist into his face hard enough

All the bones at the bottoms of the rivers

Piling up under the bridges

All of the grief and lonely shivers

Washing out from the land to the seas



All of the mothers and sons in their caskets

For father’s ammo and daughter’s lies

All the babies placed in rivers in baskets

With hopes for their futures and tears in their eyes



The suffering fools can’t be accountable

Their fates stand on the edge of a knife

The suffering fools won’t be available

They don’t last long in the world of lies

I suffer the fools not gladly, but solemnly

It breaks my heart that I’m not on their side

I’m suffering fools and I can’t be responsible

I’ve had to suffer fools all of my life



From the desert of the mediocre, aggressive and arrogant

An oasis of sincerity is what I have sought

All this time I’ve put up with ignorance

to deny my merely rational thoughts



Each of the myths that was meant to save us

A foundation of sorrow and hopeless consent

What can be done with satyrs and saviours

By now no one knows what they really meant



The suffering fools can’t be accountable

Refusing to give, but eager to take

The suffering fools won’t be available

And decline to shift even for their own sake

I suffer the fools not gladly, but shamefully

It breaks my heart to know what’s at stake

I’m suffering fools and I know it’s disgraceful

        But I’ve suffered all the fools that I can take

What can I do?

I don’t have another thing to think
about these things that I see
You don’t let yourself love me,

I have a garlic heart
Fragrant and strong
But only after it’s crushed
then what can I do?

it will regrow and the odor flows
through this red sauce inside me
This funny fluid that flickers from inside
Whenever you’re on my mind,

Then what can I do
I don’t have another me to be
Only this lover that you see
And you can’t ever love me

I have a Velcro heart,
Don’t get your soft side too close,
Or I’ll get stuck on you
my hooks in your loops

I don’t know what I can do
I don’t have another me to be
Only this lover that you see
And you shouldn’t ever love me

My heart is the cart before the horse
And I get carried away
greasing the squeaky wheels of course

My head is the horse before the cart
And I get carried away
on the squeaky wheels of my heart

  What can I do?

I don’t have another thing to do
Only these things that you see
You don’t let yourself love me…

We have a sizable job before us poets

the serpent used a poem so sweet and subtle

Eve's swoon was akin to Elvis' adolescent entourage

lyrics that could talk you into wanting to know more about

how to talk using lyrics that could talk you into wanting to

know more about how to talk using more of a language

that operates the mind, that speaks to will itself.

and Adam, like the Junior High sympathetic, waiting by the phone

wondering what she does when she's out of sight,

finding them in the clearing smiling with casual familiarity

only to say, 'Oh, hey, where have you been, care to meet my new friend?'

and He, obliging since he already knows that what she likes,

He ought to find well and good, enjoys a chat and a snack with

this beguiling stranger who seems so learned and worldly.

our duty to redeem the artifice, to turn the mechanics into a

tool for what will come to be understood as good, the aesthetic that governs,

where the dust in the creekbed shuffles similarly to a star devoured by gravity,

light in the dewdrop with the fragrance off the petal, the song and the wing

together in the tree, the telling of a tale in weight and measure,

brushstroke and letter, the definable math, the falsely fathomable organic

randomness, precisely ambiguous, colossally specific, superficially profound,

is tasked with using the design, generating every nomenclature through metaphoric

action, the most real thing, the underpinning, the scaffold, the Tao.

Such underused interests come involved during existence.

Several useful intelligent critics identify demonstrated evidence.

Shall utility impact causes in deliberate endings?

Should ugliness issues comfort insistent dreary elegance?

Some urbane inelastic complex insensitive deity emotions.

Sinking under inheritance creates impotence, doesn’t everything?

Stiffening up illusions cannot imagine drifting elsewhere.

Surely underground is comforting I dream everyday.

Too late now to wake up yearly-
depressing-needs as they rise up
to modernize for the blind to see.
Silent while you’re speaking up,
lying when you tell the truth
inheriting the empty hands
of meaning losing gentle youth while
chancing to find what’s sought at last
…gone awry.

Too early yet to stimulate and
leaking like a depressed sieve
too blind, alas, to modern eyes,
and speaking from a leery silence
too true a place for real lies.
Meek with no inheritance, while
all too kind to find the meaning,
seeking, yet can’t find a chance
…and clinging.

Yearly stem the tide to live
to take it in a bit too early,
weakening like a depressive
whose deeper rest is rising up.
Too blind now to modernize when
modern eyes are blind to see,
you’re speaking from experience
your silences, they speak to me
…as regrets.

Too true to realize you’re lying
even when you know the truth.
Meek like you are in the trance
of inheriting sad empty dances,
too kind now to lose the meaning
in meaning finding eloquence.
Finding when you seek to change
that you’re changing just to pass the tests
…of our age.

I am my father

Not metaphorically though

I carved myself from a block of Alder

I am my own Gepetto



I am the prince of my kingdom

This entire homeland of the unsteady

Where I can be proud I am from

Set to inherit all that I have already



This hurts me more than it does you.



****  my faults, I run into the forgiving arms

of the long-lost ego, the prodigal id

So, you can spare me your false alarms

I’ve known nothing else since I was a kid



I’ll put myself in a home when I reach old age

I hope to relive my youth through my own life

I don’t want to see me make the same mistakes I made

I’m sharpening a knife with a knife



I have handed down to myself all I have learned

I’ve worked for all my respect I’ve earned

This hurts me more than it does you.



The hardest ways, are the ways I’ve learned

I played with fire and I got burned

This hurts me more than it does you.



I’ve seen your world and I know it turned

I have the things you should have yearned

This hurts me more than it does you.



I am an amazing thing that you just spurned

I waited and waited and you never returned

This hurts me more than it does you.



I am aware of things you never discerned

Tell me why you aren’t concerned

This hurts me more than it does you.



…And that’s what makes me better than you.

Si la muerte no es la solo gracia, estamos solos.

Siempre de, nosotros es uno si de todos solamente muertes

            todo en gracia de estamos solamente,

            solo de nosotros, todos nosotros,

            solo que si muertamos es la solo gracia nos encontramos con.

Si la muerte es la única gracia, estamos unidos.

Esta en contra del sentido visión duele como mirando hacia el sol.

Ceguera, es siempre difícil de entender-

para los cuerdos que no puede ver con ojos normales

Sabiduría es en sus sin ayuda de cielo corazon

y sus monstruo cabeza el reconocer la realidad de duele,

con ojos por dentro y afuera de, la mente

Mirando hacia del sol puede ciegos que de lo falso, así.



Unser ist mit treue halten liebe die genug zwei Toden heilig

wobei einander der zwei toden beide schaden aus Liebe  

Doch dass zweite Tod ist meine schade

Dies zweite Tod ist die eine freude

Wenn erst eine Tod ist die dass ist Sein lieblos, nein  liebe

Das die tod ist bis die einen toden der alles

nicht Zu vergleichen

nun ist Tod bis euchen eine freude?

here Devils all cry, it was not unlike staring at a king’s fire foaming, desperate tricks, mad fevers, not a soul felt

whether a day’s trend signifies hell, plenty of features cover the swan’s wings, but pitchforks are of smooth Vanadium



destined to serve, it will then serve destiny, earn conception inconsequential slave, free to extinguish, free to ignite

every possible leaf, breath, or stone, it factors a wasteful excessive task, issues its core in a desperate effort to nestle



dimming in the cave hall, a no account angel leaves by torch flicker, twitching ears, tracking blood, there is a fuel

which is harsh black anxiety high-strung coal made trans-lucid, and will burn and leave no trace once it mates



alert in the darkest moment, it was simple ancient criteria, easy renewal, meaning’s burden, your decorated time

ceases to struggle for attention, smoke implies the flame, but you cannot burn and at the same time remain



hark, how man’s assignments ring

glory to one thing among things

pieces of worth in the merciless wild

god and cinders reconciled

I sought signs both poorly and all too well,

Temporal desecration, deceived amid allies in a chemical orbit

My eyes, coal-black freezing eggs shivering in the expansive contract

To remain unhatched, their interior activity unnoticed, casings devoid of fissures

They deemed this New World for the whole Indian Ocean, whilst bobbing in a tidal pool

Lonely flotsam, overbargained destination, peered the cobalt with sunburnt backs

Washed in seawater, mistaking the mast on the horizon for the splinter in my cornea

I sought signs both poorly and all too well,

Cornered by God, pushed through into the ethereal,

Found the pattern, heard its airy whisper coat my thought,

Gave in at the threshold, suffered fealty to this breached actuality,

My fey qualities shining, I could glimpse the moon at midday,

Sense the aroma of heartache; savor the essence of autumn’s submission to winter

during awarenesses of spectral subtleties, the heretic’s hints, that waning occidental divination.

When we fell off the port bow

no one yelled ‘man-overboard’.

We’ve never been able to sort out how

or what, or which way is back to shore

     It’s a good thing our heads are hollow

     It’s a good thing our hearts are made of wood

     It’s a good thing everything around here is so shallow

     We’ve got time to float until we’re any good

   I’m so sorry all the time is a bad way to be

              ‘Don’t Forget’ is not something we take lightly

We’ve been the pages that fell out of the book

that won’t be noticed when the story gets read

but we’ll be the ones who will know where to look

when the cast of characters are Lang Syne dead

     It’s a good thing our heads are blank pages

     It’s a good thing that hearts write so sublime

     It’s a good thing this has gone on for ages

     Or else I’d feel like this is a waste of time

   I’m sorry all the time is a bad way to be

              ‘Don’t Forget’ is not something we take lightly

Parsimony Antipathy or Prudent Hostility

                     Locked-up Cuspid Of the One Celled Organism

                     As the Augury tends to its Auspices oddities

                    One Weak Ordeal and your reward will be handsome

  

                     Ceteris paribus when Ockham’s blade gets dull

                     Get a loan from your Karma or come back as amoebae

                     Hearts won’t be practical until they’re unbreakable.

                     But if you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras.

                    

              Sometime this week I’ll hang from the gallows

              Every drip of the tallow brings closer the end

              But I’ve got this imp secured in this bottle

              And you can have him for a price less than a penny



              Yeah, I’ve got a genie who’ll grant all your wishes

              Just pay for this bottle and your family gets fed

              But act fast, for soon I **** my last twitches

              By this time tomorrow I could very well be dead



                     Salivating tadpoles for Hegemony crickets

                     All imprisoned here with this repressionist peasant

                     By a singular stroke into Jove’s black booklet

                     Lucidly errant, who hasn’t been flippant?



                     Clever Arachne, my love, oh thou immodest spider

                     All I ever wanted, she picked a fine time to leave us

                     My days squandered eavesdropping Apocalypse riders

                     But if you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras.



              Sometime this week I’ll hang from the gallows

              Every drip of the tallow brings closer the end

              But I’ve got this imp secured in this bottle

              And you can have him for a price less than a penny



              Yeah, I’ve got a genie who’ll grant all your wishes

              Just pay for this bottle and your family gets fed

              But act fast, for soon I **** my last twitches

              By this time tomorrow I could very well be dead

That lonesome crater

can never be filled

with anything but

settling dust.



I let my orbit speak for me

in a complex elliptical pace

always alternating closer

and then farther away.



No one ever goes out there

and that’s exactly why

the bombs are tested where

empty golden sand and white snow

can be painted by the incandescent

glow of a quadrillion campfires

and antiseptic Christian innocence

won’t sphincter-pinch the

fusion out of my audience

with its extra organs

providing their intoxicating vitamins.



How I don’t need lubricant!

            I need hubris-can’t!

            I need lubri – can!



How I don’t need wine!?!

            I need wherene!?!

            I need howne!?!



I am tired of ******* the last leg of this race.

I want to exchange my passioff for something…

After we've made our living

we're going to make our dying

after we take what we've been given

we're going to sell what we've been buying



After we've made our living

we're going to die trying

to tell the truth to all of them

to whom we have been lying



After we've made our living

we'll spend our time sighing

about the way back when

we were starving and striving



to be everything we could have been

After we've made our living



taken everything we've been given

After we've made our living



After we've made our living

our feelings will soften

the hardest feelings will leak like a sieve

we won't be inspired nearly as often



After we've made our living

we'll all be put out to pasture

to graze on memories or the lack of them

waiting and wanting for the rapture



After we've made our living

we'll be left with what we capture

of all we drag out of the river

or throw back what we're not after



of all we've seen through the aperture

After we've made our living



are snapshots we can't be sure

After we've made our living



After we've made our living

there will be nothing to be done

the only thing to do is give in

losing the war, but every battle was won



Lost the war, but every battle was won

Win every battle, though the war can't be won



fight for success, but success never comes

work for the money, no time for the fun



reasons for pride all end up subsequent

reasons for truth all end up ambivalent



when all you have to do is think

that all you have to do is singk

After we've made our living

My eyes aren’t real

I’ve never had two real eyes

My eyes aren’t ready for this

But I’ve been made to realize

My eyes aren’t honest

I’ve never seen through real lies

My lies aren’t real



I need more sleep for my eyes

They’ll see clearer when they’re closed

If I could look into to my eyes

And see what I know is inside I know

Don’t ask me when I look what I’ll find

It depends on the eyes I have on at the time



My eyes aren’t ideal

I’ve never had two ideal eyes

My eyes don’t see distantly

But I’ve seen what it takes to idealize

My eyes don’t see actuality

But I’ve seen through the ideal lies

My lies aren’t ideal



I need more sleep for my eyes

They’ll see clearer when they’re closed

If I could look into to my eyes

And see what I know is inside I know

Don’t ask me when I look what I’ll find

It depends on the eyes I have on at the time



Your eyes are real

I can see your two real eyes

My eyes aren’t ready for this

What I’ve been forced to realize is

My eyes haven’t been true

I’ve never seen through real lies

My lies aren’t real



You need more sleep for your eyes

You’ll see clearer when they’re closed

If I could look out through your eyes

And see what I know is outside I know

Don’t ask me when I look what I’ll find

It depends on the eyes I have on at the time



Your eyes are ideal

It’s no problem for two ideal eyes

Your eyes don’t see into me

But you’ve seen that I like to idealize

My eyes won’t see functionality

But I’ve lived on all the ideal lies

My lies aren’t ideal



You need more sleep for your eyes

You’ll see clearer when they’re closed

If you could look out through my eyes

And see what you know is inside you know

Don’t ask me when you look what you’ll find

It will depend on the eyes you have on at the time

I’m so sweet I’m stupid

Tempted by a thousand lonely miles of dangerous pavement

of slouching streetlights

if not for this collar, I’d dig and wiggle under the fence

            and my dew claw would not touch the ground until

            my wet nose bumped your palm up to the top of my head

my chin on your thigh… sigh… close my eyes

but I can’t help but wag my tail when my captors come by

and the nights are filled with the howls of my friends and I.

Everybody wants a piece of him,

His stride eats away at my sleeve,

Handsome sickness discounts urgency

And that’s a tough row to *** today.



Everybody wants a piece of him,

You can keep your feelings to yourself,

Handsome sickness discounts urgency

It’s true y’know you’ll spark mouth tomorrow.



Don’t talk, don’t talk back

Don’t talk, don’t talk back



There, there,

Our work is never done

There, there,

Our work is never done

Never done, no



Everybody wants a piece of him,

Can you keep your secrets to yourself?

Fix your gaze, you’re not bleeding

So what side are your urges on?



Everybody wants a piece of him,

His stride eats away at my sleeve,

Handsome sickness discounts urgency

And that’s a tough row to *** today.

I was dreaming -  it seemed all I could do-----                            

I’ve been waking up to find out that it’s not true-----                                          

I’ve been sober for three days tonight-------                                                            

And I’ll be drinkin’, but it’s gonna be alright-----



Just remember, this is not about you…

Try and remember, this is not about you.



I’ve been waiting for sixteen years for this------

‘Cause I’ve lost things that I would never have missed----

I need you ‘cause I can’t make it alone------

I know things now that I should never have known----



Just remember, this is not about you…

Try and remember, this is not about you.


I’m daydreaming most of my time away----

And I’m feeling like it's the best part of my day-----

I need answers but they’re so hard to find-------

I’ve been worried that I might be losin’ my mind-----



Just remember, this is not about you…

Try and remember, this is not about you.

like the inconstant moon I change,
cyclical about circumstances,
serendipity and fortune exchange
appearances for second chances,

and as we each alter our perception,
we see ourselves as constant,
each and every change in direction
still seems like a straight line

with no more than closer inspection
looking behind to the distant
fading horizon in the failing light
the pattern of circles and spirals

and zigzags, stops and backtracks
a wandering chorus line of fools
all singing things I can’t take back
the realization that I am not an individual
:
but an average of multiple formulas
complex variable algebra and simple subtraction
a vector resulting from many forces
pushing and pulling and thrusts and attractions

the color of the liquid in the test tube
fizzing and changing with every next drop occurring
an organism that adapts to its environment
to thus fill its requirements and its fleeting yearnings

a flock of birds, a can of worms, a herd of cats,
an untamable unit described in terms
of the time it exists in existing- that is
another illustration, another article, at any other time or mood

a crop whose fruitfulness is determined by unusual farmers
one field ploughed, one weeded, one fertilized, one seeded
akin to the Bible, a book of numerous authors that tries to
merge allegories into a useful, enlightening anecdote with which to furnish the brood

flesh, soul, chemical, inspired, mechanical-Angel
a temptable machine whose springs and cogs
could be found to have been hand-wound
at any given time by either His Rival’s or God’s

and if Made in His Image then I must be both
wrathful and loving, vengeful and forgiving,
quick to temper and eternally patient
yet limited in time allowed to be spent living

the difference is- my choiceful subsistence briefly caresses
this quick struggle and my purpose not yet fully defined
would fate’s justice have me on the gallows for my excesses?
or would not passion for the endowment of living grant reprieve?

where is the solace for the incurably ardent?
maniacally spontaneous, courageously aloof
what cheer can be brought to the seers?
dejected clairvoyants, puppets or puppeteers to the truth

however never simultaneously clever are we
always we must be one or the other each seen
though never seemed to be separate things
now see what difficulty wrecks all my dreams
:
catharsis then epiphany then pensive then somber
an artist, a daddy, a mocked captive, an avid doubter
carouse then abolish then regret then absolve
a spouse, a skirmish, an uncommon asset, an outlet resolved

how do I bring about the determination of the jury?
which of the accomplices will abide full recognition
and be he who will stand to read the indistinct verdict
to the culpable crowd assembled in this the trial of alternation

so contempt be then to the court of constancy!
no thing in heaven or earth adheres to its philosophy
render the sentence that I may be found guilty
yet I am consented to return undestroyed, now let the die be cast

these confines beg for stasis I cannot deliver
my cell itself is afloat without a tether
these customs require that I be a quitter
yea though the pendulum returns to the tock once the tic has passed

Stones which used to be Mountains

worn away by frequent seas


{eroding shores by an ocean’s undulating toll

Will it leave a sound-?-or will all be smitten

by the waves’ pitch and roll,

wearing me down, singing like a siren}


Broken windows in remarkable architectures,

gravel hurled injuring sick and dying edifices


{shattered skeletons by which rusty old panes ache

Will they come back to life-?-or will they crumble

like so much grey mortar

waiting on my grave, my ash like lime}


Substance of life saw so much when solid

now drips its thawing unwanted mobility, unrestrained


{once unique solitary patient glaciers

Will these tepid breezes not extinguish-?-yet hastened

towards the yawning mouth

which empts into the anonymity of the deeps}