I am in love,
With your
Darkness.

You seduced me,
With your mystery.

Everywhere I look I see your face.  
Grandiose,
yet humble.
Old as time.
Luminous freckles,
Stretch proud,
On the infinity
Of your body.

You inspire me,
And humble me.
I am enchanted
By your
Lullaby  
Of silence.

I know  there's some that fear you,
Stricken by the omnipresence.
I feel sympathetic,
For the ages
Of misconceptions.
Whispered in your name.

I am staggered
To my atoms.  
By your honesty.
Your projection,
Naked and dark,
Bare and bountiful,
Beautiful.

And I know one day Ill join you,
Up in your excellence.

Sometimes I think,
That my insomnia,
Is because
I'm so
Excited to
Be Alive.

I think
If I drift off,
For just
One second:
The world
Will stop turning,
Trees will stop breathing,
Tides won't turn,
Peace could happen,
And worst of all you might stop loving me.

Selfies,
I can smell the desperation,
from here.
odors  of worry;
rippling anxities of uncertainity.
two dimensional,
instantaneous impressions,
pixelated presentations,
and
Teenage frustrations.

up tilted camera.
held against the light,
Illuminating eyes ,
and eradicating spots.
that looks like a good one.
Vicarious representation;
of how good
one could look,
fallible and hopeful.

big bosomed dame
showcasing blessed cleavage,
pulsating the adolescent
bulges.
delivered to
metal passenger,
thereafter shown
among peers.
networked to unknown.
Friends who'd never
met eye,
or
touched skin,
or
even spoke.  

self conscious
cropping of images.
fat and fearful.
wasted hours,
dying for love.
False dream of
captivating the messes with her selfie.

The very ugliness
of impressions.
Oh, how shallow we've became.
The denial
of the impact of aesthetics.
laughable,
torrents of judgement
Skinny,
fat,
ugly,
behold their desperate eyes behind the selfie.

America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twentyseven cents January
        17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go **** yourself with your atom bomb.
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I
        need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not
        the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back
        it's sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical
        joke?
I'm trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday
        somebody goes on trial for ******.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid
        I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses
        in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle
        Max after he came over from Russia.

I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let your emotional life be run by
        Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner
        candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Business-
        men are serious. Movie producers are serious.
        Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.

Asia is rising against me.
I haven't got a chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of
        marijuana millions of genitals an unpublishable
        private literature that goes 1400 miles an hour
        and twenty-five-thousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of
        underprivileged who live in my flowerpots
        under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers
        is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that
        I'm a Catholic.
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly
        mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as
        individual as his automobiles more so they're
        all different sexes.
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500
        down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Com-
        munist Cell meetings they sold us garbanzos a
        handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the
        speeches were free everybody was angelic and
        sentimental about the workers it was all so sin-
        cere you have no idea what a good thing the
        party was in 1835 Scott Nearing was a grand
        old man a real mensch Mother Bloor made me
        cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody
        must have been a spy.
America you don't really want to go to war.
America it's them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen.
        And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia's power
        mad. She wants to take our cars from out our
        garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Readers'
        Digest. Her wants our auto plants in Siberia.
        Him big bureaucracy running our fillingsta-
        tions.
That no good. Ugh. Him make Indians learn read.
        Him need ******* *******. Hah. Her make us
        all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in
        the television set.
America is this correct?
I'd better get right down to the job.
It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes
        in precision parts factories, I'm nearsighted and
        psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.

                                Berkeley, January 17, 1956

For who can say life is not but a dream.
When you sleep does your mind often know that you're not awake?
Something that your brain can't distinguish between,
is it reality or dreamlike serene?

For who can say that death is not but a dream.
Free'd from mortal coil, the body may wither but the mind may transcend separated from the body. Time is only conceptualized and regimented. Time is of course intangible. There has only ever been one time, the now everything is happening on one scale, at one time, always.

Empty, like all living beings. composed of nothing.
All that lie behind those thin human shells, and interact as if aesthetics are taken for granted. However, all is perceived and compiled of atoms and molecules, particles. Nothing lies truly there except for perception, look aside of the boundaries and reevaluate the conception.

Living, stagnant cogs of the world with fear of rejection.
Are you a dreamer? there isn't too many of us around anymore.
Life, is a waking dream and you walk down its path, but must challenge it and not give in, therefore life is a walking exam.
Aristotle spoke of knowing something because he knows he knew nothing. I know nothing, we all know nothing, knowledge is found therein.

Faking your way through everything, who's going to call who's bluff. Invisible boundaries, ones greatest enemy must surely be themselves,
for instance all those living their lives painting imaginary walls to lock their dreams in. Told something that isn't just on a daily basis by media no you shouldn't  and no you can't. Hypnosis of the masses, bow down to the monopoly and put priority to the meaningless monetary.

Living lives chained to sheets of paper, always chasing, never ever asking why? do you need that, but will you die? Confused and lost sight of the real. pursuit of Happiness, Knowledge, Creativity, Love, Possibilities of above.

Break out the invisible shackles, leap out from under the internal prison and run, never stop till you reach the top of the mountain and scream. We are free and the time is now, there has never been a greater time to be alive. The world is our oyster lets soar and leap to the pinnacle of our greatness.

We can all achieve our potential, your life on a canvas, paint your masterpiece.