Do not seek me
beneath the willow tree
that once bequeathed
her leaves generously,
the browning birthed from earth
that used to be a beautiful green sheen.

She is gone recently
and I am still grieving
the loss made by those thieving
loggers.

You may look in old books,
and find my essence in
the sentences therein,
such sweet blessings
that sang my mind into being.

But do not search the loud
obnoxious crowds
of crowing fools
who act like tools.
I will not be one among
them.

While they are sleeping,
I am awake dreaming,
and thinking;
Elusive to this abusive world.
So, you might as well
go find yourselves,
cause I prefer
to be an introvert.

She is a lost wisp of a lover’s wish,
a forgotten whisper that lingers on
his cracked dry lips
in the desert heated hazy distance,
that one foolish man dreams of.

A serene scene set in-between
fantastic fantasies of cosmic entities
and domestic tranquility.

A tranquil bay reflecting white light rays
while one heart falters, falling before
he could help the whole human race.

As her echo dies in space
the rest of this human mess
is left to witness
his heartbreaking losses
as hope departs
his beautiful heart
and he is struck dumb
succumbing to
the numbing view
of a flowerless reality.

I’ve been to the dark.
I’ve swam in that river,
seen the cold and aching,
sit stare and quiver.

I’ve looked into
the eyes of a man
more suited to slither,
and watched good women
tell him to come hither.

I’ve been in the shadows.
I’ve heard hatred speaking,
fat faces stretched in rage
with slick saliva leaking,

and all the light
that I used to believe in,
becomes my last shreds
of hope, finally, up and leaving.

Now, I walk into the end,
write the world’s last chapter,
cause this isn’t a Disney movie
and there’s no happily ever afters.

When I go back to the night
that we all sprang from,
I’ll be grateful for the ending
of my personal hell kingdom.

If I came across
the pain of loss
and the grievous
wounds you are wearing,

saw the stain fall and flow
on the floor and go slow
like marching ants
across the off-white tiles,

I would try to
get down and
invite you
back into this life,

but even I know
sometimes the night
is far more appealing
than the light.

Sometimes,
even a hundred
good reasons to stay
can’t overcome the one
that makes you want to run away.

Gemini burns bright tonight,
sees a powerful light
piercing our gentle lives.

Twins skies scorched
by ice fire,
torched
by a devastating desire
to not expire.

Turquois to orange blazes
that guide us through
these strange mazes;

with sad glances
one twin fades
as the other one faces
grief,
and a similar onset
of eternal sleep.

Gemini falls quiet,
and her children blush
with the final flush,
then sees sweet shades
slip slowly away
from our face
and like ashes
we all fall down.

The director,
stage setter
for this actor;

What matters
is the placard
that they place there
to mark a space
for time to air
a multi-verse
of unanswered prayers.

Axe dropped,
action stopped,
“Cut!”
I hear,
because we are
being very clear
that every movement
is staged,
played for some purpose.

Perhaps to breaks us
of the meaning we love
to make out of chaos
or maybe the design
to help us find
the opposite
of chaotic.

Razor shifts,
cutting through the mist
of madness
as we paint this
world with a stained plaid dress
that turns from two shades
to darker wet reds.

What a mess this **** is.
I say we edit it at the end.

Its work time and I am
earning my pay
by seeing the day
fade quickly away,
while I am forced to
stay glued to
the CCTV
I watch for security.

Camera distortions
of strange changing proportions
shift from shades of blue
to blobs of green,

as my fatigued brain is sprained
trying to come up with
some sort of quiet game.

I listen to the cooling system.
I listen to the elevator.
I listen to the world outside
wishing that it was so much later.

The best artistry enraptures its creator in a fugue of furious activity that is almost beyond his/her control. They are overcome with inspiration and must follow it. It is the unconscious mind ripping and taring at the fabric of the creators mind, and it is is the closest thing to ecstasy I know.