We are what we think,             are we not what we see, 
  hanging-tight to that which is thought        to be known.
   Remember the span of time before a       Christmas when it is
     spend, spend, spent.    Now home, cooking, but not happily.
      How many, hopeless, long for the clean-up and swallow
        quick, choosing a later *******-of-the-mind
           rather than a mastication in the now.

The happy full of bliss, fooling self and others, 
  the sad grief hidden.                     Grieving a earlier time when all
    felt good only all being false memory.  Nostalgia. Vagueness,
      holding a bad hand, bluffing in dark glasses.  Chips all-in                                      

The trees that fill the Amazon toppling,     animals and humans
  scatter like roaches missing the boat.           Wishing to the last,
    to conquer the earth. Hoping to be the longest living the life
      of riley, imagining a greatness, a false feeling, a well meaning,
        fooling dream.

The motel rented, a mattress, home to blood-******* ticks,
  hitch-hiking home to invest in an I who believe to be blessed to
    travel. Who's the sucker? Who is the free-bird hanging in the air?
      God clothes in love sublime, feeding those bits of spirit eaten
        with chop sticks and plum sauce, the meal sliding down the
          Cross to be met with intestinal fortitude. (if only)
            Wits in terminal tumultuous slavery.
            
I am Blue, I am not so new, I am the 'egg-man', I am me, I am you
striving to come-together over what to do.       I offer to the poor
   deciding who is worthy and them do I bless with coinage or
     paper taking no receipt for taxing relief. Taking no time or
       courage to meet that one God put in my path, in my face.

No time is the right time. No time hung on the pale-blue wall.
  No time clung to the wrist. No time on the bed-side table.
    No time in the machine that queues robotically.
      Compressed time, an eternal 'now' passed over, missed.
        A sad time in want of a glad time. A bad time's visitation in a
          hallow human shell. Cold. Cold and lonely in Winter's dark.

A home-run hit clear out of Fenway Park, bouncing off the
  windshield of the car you had earlier parked. Looted life, stolen
    goods? Goods!        What good are goods if they be more weight
      that  can be carried.

Parading down the narrow street twilling a baton,
  knee action bending, a goose-stepping military follows.
    For the love of a
     God I live in, free me from this charade. Hold up that Holy day,
       when all creation lay at my feet. Dominion missed,
         an ego with a twisting, a devil in those mathematical details.
           Pressed hard in the cranium, controlling a baton, stared upon
             by shivering parents and children rushing,
               gathering candies thrown from floats
          
Insects who would have one day rule the world become food for
animals with a human mind and a weaken soul. Feasting. Recipe's
   abound, bugs for breakfast, bugs for lunch, Haggis eaten in dark
    Wintery five o'clock nights. Insects prepared in the most curious
      ways.

Cockroaches, bedbugs and me.

In the world of farming
the cow ain't holy
but holy cow the abuse is real

While working on a farm
shoveling ****, herding cows
across the highway my eyes were opened

The farmer, my friend
o so abused the poor beasts
I keep my mouth shut

Now wishing I hadn't been a party to
I know my friends farm was small
What the large producers do is criminal

We all must be fed    but
there must exist a godly way
who wants the **** and the slaughter

Who wants to have this continue
will we every grow?    perhaps not
only change I'm going to see will be in me

you wouldn’t understand
I know
your world doesn’t work like this
but they’re telling me
they’re telling me repeatedly
keep on
lovely star
keep on

In the Hood where there used to be Fuzzy Dice
Now dangles a ***** mask that wasn't been washed
Since Fall of 2019, one where a couple of scrubs would suffice
The emergence of practice rounds of the Authoritarian's awash

Blessed are the peacemakers is the Christ-like cry
Stopping-up guns and ***** bombs: Here's Mud in Your Eye
So many people fed-up with the slease
So many of them angry to immense degrees

I wish this all a free hallucination that
I've have tapped into, it saves money on mushrooms
All I what is some food and shelter, my wife and my cat
Keep me fit and full while the end of this world forebodingly looms

She had that
octopus smile,
always reaching for
something.
I was her small
fish; her handmaid.
I lived in her nebulous
world for far too long.
Inky confusion...

There's a reason for
your treason, said the
old man to the shark,
but Hem forgot, a beast
is a beast, they do
beastly things.
We all have to eat.

I'm done being the
meal.
It's your Ocean,
I'm just trying to
swim in it.

You're an oyster,
and I want your
pearl,
but I won't drown
for it.

She wakes up
to the morning choir;
lets the dream soak
like tears in the wet pillow.

She sings the praises
of her mother’s beauty,
which she saw deteriorate
in her mother’s decline,
in the final stage
from her mother's life.

She once lay in my arms
with flowers in her hair;
the smell of spring
in the breath
of the petals,
but in her eyes
the stain
of impending death.

Don't just don't stand too close,
what do you figure man!

Don't you know there is a pandemic!

I guess as far as you are concerned Big Government
will help you, don't you know, they will or will not.

Banking the house for winter
so the pipes don't freeze.

North, North America is o so cold
come winter... and the slush and the salt
ruining your car and your clothes.

I'd like a formidable climate,
a place to hang my hat.
Some place so awesome
you just want to plant your roots.

She was a west coast girl,
an artist and a beauty

She pulled up stakes
and headed east.

Didn't stop until
she could smell the Atlantic.

The vibe she emanated
was one of love and joy.

But there were other vibes in the air this Halloween night.

She took a ride to a party in the sticks,
someone from her apartment complex.

Found half-naked on the side of a dirt road,
it sounds like a horror film and I wish it was.

Things will never return to normal or her family.
Every Halloween, a sick memory, an awful chill.