In a cage
Solitary confinement
I stareth out heartbreak hotel
I think Elvis is next to me
In this mirey hell.
I see Marilyn Monroe as well
And Anna Nicole
Their lost misfortunes
Playing at the bar ( 101) of old
They still laugh here and there
As they still canst figure their gone
As for me I'm not them
I'm just a guide spiritually hung...
I pilot them
Back to their old mansion's
I polite them
To fancies of of standup stand-ins
They loveth to heareth me sing
As I see them play and act
No more money shalt they bring
A homesick love map
A broken shack
With broken souls
Wherein mine poetry
They've made their home...

You put the life between your teeth,
the tip of your tongue brushes gently against it,
and draw a breath.
Reaching ******* and pulling it out
you look at the life,
with it's burnt edge and crumpled paper wrapping.

Watching the smoke unfurling slowly,
you contemplate leaving the life like this-
in the safety of your fingers,
away from your ever threatening mouth,
******* out all the life that is your life.

You decide against it
and slide the life back past your lips.
Breathing in, you can't help but smile,
a small,
weak,
tired smile.
You tilt your head back as life fills your lungs,
as it pumps through your veins,
diffuses into your cells.

It's smaller now, feebler.
A few ashes break away from the lit end
and glide downwards,
caught in a gust of wind.
Softly,
you press it against your lips,
dragging on your life.

Always **Empty Inside, Often Unstable
& sometimes Yellow.

~
he who is a little ahead of his time
whose treasures of the words random
romanticism is in the blood, marrow,
his mood is as the autumn clouds

he who has lost his path within path
drowning with dreams, sunk you within dreams  
again holds thousands of lost dreams
fly the colorful kites in the blue sky

he who hide within himself
**** in his naked poetry
In forms humorous,harmonic  
as a portrait of the Vincent's starry night

he is a pilgrim who has lost himself within spirituality  
holds everything with the love  
who is for everybody so everybody is for him
But in fact there is nothing in all his

he who is simple straight as the waterfall
when in complex grew hard stone
who broke rules for building rules,
knows himself within the other life

whose words never be end
again he moves on and on
who laughs in the moonlight
again swept in pain without thinking any gain

who looks the life
as a grain of sand
and see the sign of love
in the footprint of a fossil

he who is a poet -
~

They swarmed the sky at morning's high
the space between shook visions knees
as it seemed to be
the gaussian face of many leaves

Over the vacancy of perplexing heat
the birds foreshadowed their own defeat
and the birds flew in to the tunnel and gave
everything they cherished, the alternate behave

With this phenomenon made distinct
the summon of a God, would be the expected link

And when God came through he questioned their race
Why would you give in to a faster pace? Your life is not tamed
by the effects of others, it's the will to live that creates new fathers
and the will to live that everyone bothers.

It's the will to live that everyone bothers.

Of the many birds that chose a devilish fate,
incinerating themselves in the volcano's slate
one stood by with the natural confusion
of the choices to make beyond the group-and

That morning everything had changed, the troubles in
the world causing everything pain
had put a hold into instinct and a shift into reign
The droplets of life escaping the vain

God:
Beyond instinct there are benefits to the mind
make it strong, until it's hard to find
Others cannot see it, hear it or sense it
But those with will, will surely inherit

Those with will, will surely inherit.

From the softness of her wrist
Bleeds vibrant shades of red
But all she sees is black and white
A beating heart but dead
As tears cascade across her cheek
From kaleidoscopic eyes
Feels not but the paralysis
Sees only greyer skies
So blind to her own beauty
She breathes her final breath
Gone are the watercolours
Now shadowed by her death

The keeper of illumination
Aye, the keeper of the light
Safety first, his fascination
Dusk to evening through the night.

Aye, the keeper of the light,
Every season, every day
Dusk to evening, through the night
He tends the beacon, shows the way.

Every season, every day
Climbs thirteen flights of thirteen stairs
He tends the beacon, shows the way
The Fresnel lantern he prepares.

Climbs thirteen flights of thirteen stairs
Skyward, toward the landing high
The Fresnel lantern he prepares
Lighthouse beacon must not die.

Skyward, toward the landing high
Strike the match, produce the spark
Lighthouse beacon must not die.
Guides ships safely through the dark.

Strike the match, produce the spark
Safety first, his fascination
Guides ships safely through the dark
The keeper of illumination.
Phil Lindsey 6/25/15

He placed wildflowers
    in her hair,**
             *for the last time