Red prints are scattered everywhere,
On the wheels of industry,
The ballots of democracy,
On the clothes we wear.
We left them on initials,
At ATM's and One-armed Bandits,
In stone, I'l leave mine chiseled.
I saw them on the beggers's cup,
He wasn't asking for so much,
When I looked back, I saw my tracks,
Outlined in red retreat.
The message is on the road maps,
The vericose veins of land,
The arthritic grip on sanity
Is dripping red demands.
Dark rooms of photography,
Invisible ink and trickery
To get you to sign,
On the dotted line,
In red.

Got back successfully,
From weeks of ecstasy;
Coming down from a high,
Still not measuring up.
My hill is daunting,
The valleys so low;
I watch my step
From backsliding below.
I know there's reason
Where the light's up this road.
I'm still plodding
Where I need to go.

He watches the world pass by
as streetlights periodically flood
the inside of his cab with the orange
glow of the buzzing arc sodium bulbs.

Everything is painted lines
on wet asphalt and the streaks
that tiny beads of water make
as rain splatters the windshield.

Tones of exhaust and the RPM
of the engine vibrate within him
as the tachometer races back and
forth between each changing gear.

When he isn't busy working the clutch
he likes to steer with his knees, and
reaches his hands outward, stretching
the sore muscles of his arms and neck.

The night is bountiful with subtle gifts
of empty highways and a full moon
in a cloudless sky that hovers above
the horizon like an absconded balloon.

Sometimes life makes sense and it's
times like this that he can begin to
add everything up into a simple sum
of sensory input, emotion, & memory.

Sometimes life is a singularity to each
within their own mind, and other
times it seems a broad umbrella that
covers us all equally with similarities.

Sometimes life is as easy as keeping
on trucking down an empty road in
the middle of the night. He does his
best to remember this.

Is it that in some quiet moment
We think of death, leaving our love ones
Even our enemies, seeing them missing us

There and then we think of the will
Our assets, or debts our obituary
Or last will and testimony

To add or plus and minus we
Divided our love into groups
Should I let the neighbor have the dog?

Or set the pouch free: to pondered its love
Knowingly,  he was the only immortal
Who truly love others unconditionally?
Bit and pieces of the truth in an instant

I'm from where bedtime stories
are gun shots in the streets
I'm from where my history is
darker than underneath your sheets
where theirs billion dollar lottery's
homeless people and starving kids
without any shoes on their feetsss
Ignorance allow me to speak freely
cuz u can't cry 4 help in a world that is empty
leave da hood I promise you'll think clearly
cause half of us won't make it past 23
born into a system of oppression so unfairly  
where you can pay me by the hour 7.50
but can't pay me enough to come early
I'am from the concrete jungle you call city
I guarantee any place that u see me
will feel up way past legal capacity
too bad I'm from where success is just a theory
where you can mob,steal,**** & never feel guilty
but when judgment day comes who will really

Never stop smiling,
even if it's through
gritted teeth.

A picture of a blazing inferno,
flames frozen in time,
is as I burn for you,
forever this house on fire.

If ever the wood should
wither to ash and ember,  
I would bathe in the soot,
I would burn to remember.

Sunday, 10:30AM

I'm trying to resurrect my peace that now looks like a love deformed by your empty promises.