The day is a burning desert
with no rain to ease the pain
or even soften our tension.

No animals out and about
but one broken bird
that can no longer chirp.
It just lays on the side
of our overheated highway
as it flutters and tries
to survive this
summertime drought.

Hot mud turns to dry dust
which I choke and cough up
while the black top parking lot
scorches my bare feet
cause I was trying to see
how tough I could be
but ended up blistered in defeat.

I am exhausted,
If I had the water to,
I would weep,
but this week has defeated
the better parts of my hopeful heart
that I once believed
I would always find a way to beat
this scorching summer heat.

Red is the furious
results of parental frustration.
Flesh risen in the form of welts
while lava tears burn my face
leaving more streaks of strained skin,
and eyes reddened,
exhausted with the pain of living.

Blue is the transparent coolness,
soft reflection of turquoise style,
like the little painted baubles,
portraits of a pure azure sky,
with the streak of daytime fantasies
as superman flies by
high above the field of
blue flowers that I love.

Green is the scene,
not that money scheme,
but life growing
forest colors showing
broccoli tops
in the distance,
locked away
in my
nighttime existence
I miss this
shade of life.

White is an infinite void
of nothing.
Even though, I know
it is a culmination
of all the colors of
that beautiful rainbow.

Black is stunning
and dreadfully
seems to signal.
the end of all things.

Jesus is
a tool of the system,
a pathetic work
of plagiarized fiction
with a ****** birth
and resurrection.

He is a perpetuator,
part player
in a trinity
that serves
the patriarchy
you claim to despise.

You say that
you are woke
to the lies
and oppression
but your obsession
with this
religious opioid addiction
leaves you open
to all kinds of
manipulation.

This Jesus justification
has got to stop,
take those bible glasses off
and see the truth
don’t be a recruit
and brainwash our youth
to serve the state
that exploits you
by claiming they serve
god’s point of view.

Join me
and be free
to see
the world differently.
Share your perceptions
freely
so, we can grow steadily
not seeking solace
in the stultifying scriptures
but painting our own pictures
that point us all
to better possibilities.

I got thirty-nine,

thirty-nine years
of accumulating
and losing stuff,

of gaining
and dropping
muscle
and fat,
from eating
tons of
unhealthy crap
and trying to
get my good
health back,

of issues
remembered,
imagined,
and forgotten,

of ill gained
goods,
and
misbegotten
misfortune,

of frustration
to the point of
boiling eggs
on my forehead,

of losing
hopeful illusions
that I once acquired,

of letting go
of those desires
that inspire
stupidity,
while hopefully
stripping
the unwanted clay
and revealing the face
of someone
I have been
struggling
to become.

Tis, an age of knightly lore,
of greasy and grizzled
wealthy nobles
that seem to signal
some sick cycle
of destruction
that they are
desirous for.

Battle born ballistic,
armament physics
of pain causing missions,
missing all mercy
because of their
Machiavelli
machinations;

Mud slickened and sweaty
armor wearing
super smelly
fellowship of fools,
discourteous tools
who ravage
and pillage
poor peasants.

Inflamed by such infractions
I chafe under the yoke
of violence and oppression,
whilst searching other actions
for the slightest scent or sight of
of human decency,

but hope is less then
a liminal sensation,
and there seems to be
no cessation of
humanity’s violent tendencies

Are we a line of compounding causal factors
that culminate in some important event,

or a series of reoccurring happenstances
that play out like an epileptic dance
of rapid synaptic chaos?

Do our minds play us, making madness
into predetermined patterns of a purposeful
existence,

or is there more meaning
to what we are seeing
like a lovely underlying cosmic equation
that unifies all that we spy
and all that our limited senses
cannot perceive?

It is a color explosion,
a silent cacophony
bursting forth from
the forest green
and grass growing
with summer’s sweet
slickened shimmering,

Life unfolding and flowing,
enveloping all that is seen
in a majestic scene
of nature reclaiming
former shades of
seasonal glory.

I am cowered in awe
and mute in my sorrow
for the many morrows
that will bring
less joyful coloring.

It is a mass of marvelous memories,
many moments blurred together
in a rainbow of tastes and
family connections,
untouchable
by time’s unfair removal,
but still there for my perusal.

It is a bitter pink, orange
with a sweet sugary
delicious coating
on my half of
the breakfast I loved,
a great grapefruit
smothered in brown sugar.

It a brown liquid
I shouldn’t have been
even drinking
with white swirls
of milkiness
lightening
the shade of it.

It is an early morning
spent riding with
my aunt and grandma
as they delivered
newspapers.

It is walking two dogs
long since departed,

memories sadly distorted
by a tinge of nostalgia
and the melancholia
of lost family members.

My dear I fear
you ask to much
for madness
to be
replaced by love,

that this story sees
eyes of adoration
fly freely towards
the safe haven
of sandy soft shores,

that the broken flesh
which lay beneath
a lacy flowing dress
be healed by
the affection of
some random guy,

that old romantic stories,
fairytale fantasies
perfectly fit
the state of reality
and happily ever after
should be met with
joy and laughter
instead of skepticism,

that one day
my heart will not betray
hopeful aspirations
for the preordered
obsession
of being love’s
dedicated
possessor and
possession.