The day unveils
it's beautiful bright self
pulling back the curtain of
twilight’s twinkling.

Dark body undressed in favor
of nature's flavor of greens
that I long to savor
as I repatriate her repainted clouds
that cover a light blue complexion.

Oh, my dear
adorable nephew
let me hear your
heartstrings sing,
let them go on
vibrating in daydreams
all day long.

Let the chorus
of Angelic voices
raise you high
and all your
bad choices
help you
grow up to be
better than me.

Do not be
limited to
what you see
or how you were
taught to believe,
do not let logic
or religion confound
the heart of
compassion
when it is found.

These are not
the best or
worst of times
just moments
passing too fast,
precious seconds
that will not last.

So, what I ask,
is that you
remember how to laugh
and have a blast
in this one short life
you have to live
as I impart
the heart of love
I have to give.

I’m already unmoored.
My heart turns sunward,
as my eyes look onward
towards towering distances.

As glowering visages
scowl inwards,
poisoning their innards
with all that stress,
walling in hate
and dying in that
disgusting place.

Cowards cower
loosing seconds,
minutes and hours
to the anguish of
forgetting how to love.

But I am
the whispering
walker waking in
the early morning
and working on
my poetic warnings.
Even though, my boat
is already untethered
and I have already taken
off in this wild weather.

I say what I can,
give them a piece
of this tired mind,
and leave mankind.

My ship takes sail,
as they let themselves
sink into their own hells.

In fear of death
toxic products
sell themselves.

The landscape becomes
a graveyard of
rusted metal
and worn-out tires
surrounded by
green growth,
gray gravel roads,
and massive
towers with long
cylindrical tubes
that obscure the
heavenly scenery.

Boundaries are cornered by
fields of unfulfilled
corny potential
and metal fences
that gives the pretense
of security.

Twisted tangles of tiny blue flowers
are pursued by the perfect pollinator
as black birds perch precariously
on long stalks of wheat swaying in
the wind till the bird takes off again,

while a sassy sweat bee
keeps stalking me
cuz, I am super sweet.

We cannot get back
to the past
that we once knew
cuz that would undo
all the progress
we've made.

Life's not like
a video game.
We don't get to redo,
no replaying
going through
old levels
that we want to.

So, if it's just one shot
one life that we're given,
one moment to live in
this game we're playing.
Then it's not about winning.
It's not about losing.
It's not about gaining another day.

I won't see you after I die
but you can always stop by
and read what I write.

I begin to end the wind
that whines in my mind,
and unwind the vines of time,
cause I hope to uncurl
the twine and find
a spark of the divine
behind the flesh facade
you have put on
to service everyone,
whilst denying yourself,
the kindness you are trying
to give away every day.

Night after night
laughter just feels right,
cuz it brings with it the light,
that relief of delight.

Cypress lumber wood sign rotting
as it slumbers sitting slightly slanted
on a rocky side road
where hardly anybody else goes,
but I know
there's a history behind
the paint chips and brown board
colored up business sign.
It's just that that history is hard to find
cuz most who would remember it
have left this world far behind.

It's like football,
four yards down
and I took it all off,
balled it up to call your bluff
because you can't touch
or even tag the flag,
red clothing flailing
while we are failing
and finally falling
like dangerous dangling rags.

Now, I am on the line
cause these verses are mine.
I’m not praying but saying,
loving, and staying while
cheating hearts keep straying.

At the end of the field
and it all feels surreal,
stupid sports metaphor,
but who knows
what this crap is for.

I just walk off the grass,
let all those moments elapse,
then flash fast into the past,
sit down to clown,
and play with today,
such a great holiday
because it’s the best present.

Sometimes,
I sit and wonder
is my brain wired
in the wrong way.

I'm working all day
on weird word play,
using premium unleaded
instead of the previously embedded
stinking repeated
cliches no one needed.

Watered down con artists
feed men
outdated whines,
have them *******
diluted delusions
and fractured facts
that don't add
up to good math.

I'm not a beast that beats
better techniques.
I’m the man who eats
whatever he reads
to replete my muse’s muscles
with the protein she needs
along with her emotional greens,
and random natural fruity scenes,

but there are not enough nutrients
to save me from the atrophy of
humanity’s inability to grow and love.

I love rainstorms,
for their percussive
rhythm
that is relaxing,
and freeing
in hearing
and seeing
the soft trickles
these full clouds
are releasing.

I loved rainstorms
when I was younger
with a vengeful glee
cause I got to see
the children
who picked on me
disappointed.
While I was free
to sit and read
anywhere,
they could not go
outside
cause it was
wet out there.

I love a storm
cause my grandpa
would sit
and watch it
for a bit
while I watched him
draw circles on
the pavement
and see raindrops
painting
dark wet shading.

I love rainstorms
because I can
easily fall asleep,
but if I go deep,
they also keep
me safe
by keeping
others at a distance,
making it so
I don’t have to visit
anyone.

As a first-born son
of a terribly angry woman,
a lady of violent outbursts
and verbal degradation,
I love the rain
cause I feel safer
when the lightning
fractures the night sky
than I ever felt
when my mother
was nearby.

I am an overzealous ant
marching forward towards
the winds that block any rewards.

Perhaps it is better that,
like a gnat
I can’t
fathom how miniscule I am,
because contemplating my own
insignificance
would paralyze me,
and in indecisiveness
I would succumb to
a predator’s predilections.
  
Sorry sweety that crap was
the last gasp of an exhausted brain.
Blood pan waiting to expand
as useless feces falls freely
from the top
that is ready to drop
and stop
thinking.

Poetry attempting to
discover ourselves minus
the lies imposed upon us
by others and ourselves
is quite difficult,

because we can’t always be as grand as
the deep blue sea or swirling space clouds
that pirouette in that cosmic mess we call infinity.