The mastered mind of the satanic deception
Satan greatest commodity for most human weaknesses.
*** sells! it destroy it distributes ,
a high volume of deception and wickedness
Where the gateway of strength emerges freely
as the soul of men unfold tremendously.

Literally and figuratively correct,
its label sensuality and prngr*phy
of the billion dollars *** industries:
A non-replaceable piece of the humans dignity
this humiliation of the world cast a gloom:
God never intended for it to be this way:

lust is selfish, an emotional force for some to endure:
Meaningful *** is a better option
if we can find it here on earth

From the invasion of the animal kingdom
to the big screen of Hollywood,
***, lies, and video tapes sells , it promotes:
Take back our strength of the self,
from the craves of the satanic passion and desires
It would one day end forever,
what have we contribute to this world?

Lust is selfish, an emotional force
Love is a better option!
when you look for the answer
the answer is yours
and yours alone!

the boy leaned his head back
and proclaimed the clouds looked like
a dog in a pond

when in his three years had he seen
a dog in a pond? who taught him you could see
anything in the heavens?  

trees spouting marshmallow blossoms  
white angels in a kangaroo choir, dragons
breathing scarlet fire   

who would tell him he saw but vapor
and light? who could make his hound drown
by ******* dry such a beautiful blue?

In the time before the distance
there was a woman I dearly loved

Her eyes they
shined while we
stood in a moonlit alcove
making love

She told me of the
bad places she had
come from once before

She said you'll
find my nightmares
will scream from  
the dark to the dawn

She told me
not one could ever hold her
she needed to be free

She said guilt
is what you
give yourself for
doing exactly what you please

I thought about my wife
I thought about my children
I thought about my past
I thought about my future

She said
which misery do you prefer

she said
come on upstairs
I'll meet you there

We were stuck on the street
neither of us
had the key

I looked at her
She looked at me
Neither of us knew
what to believe

She wound up
with the other guy
moved me along so smoothly
I didn't even know how she did it

I ended up
stuck in Reno
in the crummy apartment
by the river
trout fishing every afternoon
my children on the phone

She sang me a nightmare
song
She showed me exactly where I  belonged

If you are out on
the avenue and you
see her there
tell her
after all these years
I probably still
care
At least when the moon and mood
are blue
and I'm thinking about
my past and future too
thinking about my fate
in the time before the distance.

Unicorns talk from the pillows that lay upon the bed. Butterflies come off of the wall paper and tea parties are the in thing. There is a villain and a hero and always a happy ending. Fantasy is everyday and rainbows are fun to slide down. The world is full of imagination and wonder as the ordinary becomes extraordinary. All dreams are possible if you only see the world through the eyes of a child.

Memo, memos on the wall: I remember them all
That led up to this day of diversification
My way of life is about to be changed:
What about us, and how about them

What about homeland security?
  Are we safe from hate?
it's happening all over again: strange judgement call.

It’s cloudy and dreary Wednesday morning: a city mourns
Or is it torn?

It seems like the country refuses, to pay the piper once again
So, his magical flute would lead the children down a path of darkness,
Our hearts are in despair, how we can leave our worries aside:
Rats, they had fought the dogs, and yes they have known to **** the cats

A lesson to be learned from an old believable nursery rhyme
Who hired the Pied piper, must pay paid the man on time.
In country in which we live is more divided than ever.
You’ve made your bed, now lie in it. America

The lost congregate
a lodestone of despair
draws them together
all that could be said
to make things better
sleek shallow lies
dry crumbling mortar
howling chaos beckons
beyond walls of order
at the unhinged door
a legion of wolves
refusing to be tamed
snarling and ripping
at what little remains

Not the lone glory of an orange
basking in Depression’s dusk—
its fluted bowl of purple glass

Nor the fall ways of amber
Leaves burned by roadside
curling smoke’s sun-lit sash

Not tree-lined streets
rabid leaves’ raspy voices
whirling giddy in the wind—

...in none of these

But in the moments I filled with fixing
a lamp shade
painting this place
to a stern perfection

...I thought of you
ordering the tyranny of me
the glass of me
the concrete conscience
I must be right!  Mustn’t I?

The religion of our lives
Driving through Sundays with Polkas blaring
feeding the ducks
and a roast at noon
Waffles and TV later
Lassie and You Asked For It
Wiping my mouth on a Sunday sleeve

I asked for it, alright

He came and went
to the smell of Ice Blue Aqua Velva

He came and went larger than life and first on the scene
to hurricanes, fires, muggings, and races
and of course—THE SHOP!
in an amazing array of uniforms and vehicles
Ambulances, wreckers, pickups, and police cars

He was terrifying! Wonderful!

We would love at a pained distance

His cabinet in the cellar was always locked
But now, just suppose—

if a kid were to haul on its handles...
supposedly—the sheet metal would heave and roar
with the thunder of him!

And those late nights
those harsh ****** lights
lidded hundred watt cones
in the spotlight of THERE
where I wasn’t
in the odor of oils too noxious to dare
beyond the girlish shadows—

he cleaned his guns

I waited and watched where everything seemed
to be
What...?
It seems—he just pushed her against a wall!
I step from girlhood
with my two-cents worth
and it seems I will not be Queen for a Day!

I take my vows!
I swear I will not scrape wax
from the corner of the kitchen floor with a knife!

I have waited.  I have watched
the routines of his mornings
He’s brushing his teeth; he’s combing his hair
he’s tying his shoes while he chats with the cat
I can tell you the creak of the stairs
and the sound of his footsteps rounding the house

...the routine of his return at supper
the routine of anger
My routine of being late—
and as good as dead
squeezing behind—
HIS CHAIR
Praying he wouldn’t notice the mud
Praying for the epiphany of his good mood
when the TV and me--

wouldn’t be blamed for the downfall of the nation

I want you
But you don't want me
It wasn't easy knowing that I hurt you
I'm still not over you
I messed around
with the guy you hated
Just to get your attention
I wanted you*
So when you wanted to be friends
I was happy
But then I fell more in love with you
Everytime I talk you it hurts me
And as much as it hurts me to say this....
we can't be friends anymore*
Our friendship is making it harder
to move on