Unable to cast off the cloak of the day,
the slide of satin and pillows, no respite.
Sleep is no haven-

In the dark, they swell my heart.
In the murk, the memories of others clang about
ringing, shouting.
skull echoing to capacity.

it ebbs and flows-
the small brooks of tears
I
scoop them up in my basket
throat full of osmosis emotions
specks carried home like fleas on
a host beast

You take me there too-
flash your refusal and fear
through my sleeping mind
dream bits splayed, smeared, crossed.
richocheting through my inner ear

turned to the wall, I
send out a prayer that
I will see all of you
after the night.
whole, living, safe
with open eyes
bursting with
rage, hope and strength.

But who knows the morning?

Discordant
yet innately harmonious
a cacophony of noise
shrouding my body
the harsh
empowering light
battering from above

the oppressive
heat and humidity
caressing my body as I walk

Barefoot on the open gravel

Shouts are heard
from countless merchants
from the shops and bazaars
the honking of horns
the ringing of bells
from bikes
and motor rickshas

people bustle around
performing a dizzying range of tasks
yet all working
to a common goal
to survive

Yet amidst the chaos
Children run through the streets
weaving between countless giants
to sate their desire for fun
and exercise their fragile innocence

unmarred by the horrors of the world.

India...
A beautiful mess
of livelihood and dreams of success
a true cultural experience for the senses
While it may not seem the most appealing at first
I don't know how else to stress
an amazing experience for all who enter nonetheless

Diving into the depths of the mystic ocean. The cold starts to seep in and yet you feel warm. You are warmed by the currents and the electricity running though your body. You feel like a part of nature a part that you felt has been missing for too long. Underwater you find the clarity of life, you are immersed in life. It's surreal, the type of things people write about and the things you never thought you would experience. You see life and death with each blink. Thoughts race though your head like the fish avoiding your bubbles. You feel connected to yourself and disconnected from the distractions of the world. You begin to know fear when your under.

Flashing c o l o r s, and ongoing music it hits me in the face like a wave of static electricity.

The ecstacy strikes my taste buds like sugar and neuro toxins dancing on my tongue.

The smell is foul of puke and *****. Teens are raving,
while the music is playing. Grinding against one another like a mortar and pestle.

Watching an influenced man try to get with a vulnerable women.
Taking advantage of every drop off alcohol that goes into the women’s veins,

there is no blood left, just firewater.

Intoxicated, lying on the floor, blacked out from all the dope.

She finds herself bare in a bed with a man twice her age.

She wimpers to herself saying “I’ll never drink again.”
As she practices her teetotalism,

at a fast pace she grows weary of blood flowing,
and vision clear. She once was a party girl, but that night has saved the day.

the end of the world isn't ending like it ended for the dinosaurs.
not ending from a comet or massive global warming
but hate and the demons from hell pulling at the ankles of innocence.
we think its something environmental or ecological
but is the human soul organic?
has hate become an easy action and violence an easy reaction?
when we destroy ourselves with bombs , poison and words
what will the future generations think
when text books share horror stories
and the final lesson is you can be the end.

An October night
of 1823 in
a town of England

In the darkness of ev’ning
a man was hit with a pipe.

He was dragged away,
to a shack far from the town
to meet his vermis.

The man laid on a table
with ankles and wrists strangled.

Slowly, he awoke
frightened that the room was not
the one he dozed in.

“Where am I?” he asked confused
by ev’rything around him.

“Somewhere,” came a smooth
voice from the shadows behind
a large contraption.

A trail of gears showed the path
towards the straps on his limbs.

The voice spoke again,
“Do you know Miss Dianna?
Do not lie, Gustav.”

Gustav recognized the voice,
he replied nervously, “No.”

The machine started
pulling slowly on his limbs.
“Ah! Okay, yes, yes!”

The clicking of the gears slowed
but the straps still tugged his limbs.

“What did I tell you?”
the voice mockingly asked him.
“Who is she, to you?”

“I-umm,” The straps pulled again.
“I won’t be patient Gustav.”

“Ok! She was a
beautiful woman, that I
had an affair with.”

The ropes did not stop, the voice
said, “The truth can be painful.”

Gustav’s body ached,
his arms and legs began to
pull from their sockets.

“I believe this is yours,” and
across the floor, slid a watch.

It was pure gold. “ I
found it in my bed, with my
*****, ******, dead wife!"

Before he was torn apart
Gustav uttered, “She liked it.”

You were my doctor when I was sick.
You told me everything will be ok.
You gave me kisses to make the pain go away.
You gave me comfort only a mother can supply.
You made me better.

My turn,

I want to make you feel better.
I tell you things will be ok.
I'll give you a kiss to make the pain go away.
I will give you comfort only a daughter can supply.
I will make you feel better.

we stroll the orchard
where grapes prune
and apples dutch
the burgeoning ****
of our memories...

we remain shimmering in true dusk. there
on the cusp of inscrutable lust and the chaste rabies
of a sliver of first bone
with tornado lips
and cotton
random.

we cajole our misfortune,
and rise at noon; without laughing -
we ****** our hags from the raven
that feathered our cap.
we elapse with the dead
in the basement of our rendering.
a little ahead of ourselves
or dead, no matter what.
the orchard glooms a demise
in the calm tourettes
of our syndrome...

both alone in the teeming all-spark
of our glorious sundering...
our Mondays say less than
our Present Day -
and a yarn of plight and sunstroke
gropes at the  barb
of our bee stung
innocence

we chide the withering
for all the Withering -
and all the good
it does....

besides.

we wrath glide the plum

then have at Life.