There is but one inside each of us,
The magnificent irony that is you,
The gift of emotion and darkness,
Light and the solemn silence.

In each there is a word never spoken,
The lord of his or her pen stroke,
Like a library of dreams
Disclosed to the insensible mind.

In vain with each passing day
The infinite ache of the lifespan
Becomes an accessible garden
And fountains of immersive memory.

And to die is but to awaken,
We toil in the philosophy of words,
Without strength or direction
Writing sorrowful verse.

Haiku, sonnet, free verse,
Stars, skies, oceans, meadows,
All are symbolic to the perceptions
In the void of the eye's twilight views.

Painfully we probe the depth
And fathom the darkness,
Heaven becomes a metaphor,
Hell seems too real, the Power....

Long before me or you,
The dead poets took the dark
And shown them in the light
In his or her fading dusk.

The gallery of poems,
Impalpably dreaded like life,
And we are the dead whom write
Of life in the setting sun.

Power, which had written this poem,
Disfiguring the poet, perpetually dark,
The word speaks through us,
The curse is to observe as it all passes away.

It took the time,
And a masterful stroke
Is fulfillment;
Memory,
it's Grace in hardship.

I can still remember checking
To see if it really rained purple:
      And I still sang the sadness
Of my heart with a droplet upon my face,
      As if a tear from Heaven.
As a kid he reminded me to surrender
    Not to the popular choice,
But the hard one of just being yourself.
       I don't know much about his life,
But the influence he had in moments
In mine make for a mid spring song
     Breaching the memory of
A memory and a melody forms....
     And yet so many years had I not
Hear him,
    So much time that passed,
My thoughts swayed away to life,
     Prince was just a memory's song,
Yet upon hearing of his passing
My last seemed to pass with him,
      His songs,
The influence,
    Just being himself,
A symbol of melodic substance.
     I will remember him well,
And I hope he is dancing
Somewhere in heavens Purple Rain.

Not too long ago
You made me promise you a new
Love poem every morning.
At night when the stars came by
And the moon shed its light
On your face,
I knew I could not write the poem.
With all that combined in the moment,
I knew you were the poetry.
So I tried to remember
Life empty without you.
All the forgotten faces from my
Earlier years,
And it seemed a dream non existent.
The kind you forget when you suddenly
Wake and the visions fall
Like dust from the shoulder.
For a long time I wrote so many love poems
Without you,
I see now the promise was in the words
I had written so long ago,
The poem is you,
And I dare not write what is already written.

A man is worth what he senses he is,
Awaken eternal
At the spot of the Moment.

God is family,
Not eternal awakenings,
There is nothing
But now.

Meditation without thought
Is blissful balancing,
   Taken with salts grain
Happiness can be attained.

One knows wisdom is silence,
   Righteousness is in action
Preserving the Spoken Word.
All is as one wills under
The format of God's enourmous
Grace.

Reaping knowledge
Is sowing the future,
Youth is not wasted on experience,
Unless insane repetition
Comes about.

All is a poem,
Life is the word within it,
Speak life.

Man, whatever bleakness has named
You, I have never seen your face.

I imagine you rugged and more....
More than I had been for her.

I imagine she sees strength in you like
A stone on a mountaintop: loftily perched.

And your hands that have stolen my embraces,
I imagine them smoother than my calloused
Fingers,

My jealousies grow as you see in this poem,
It kills me, every verse that I imagine you....

Are you like this?
Is this the unimaginable lust she has for you,

Are your ears ringing now,
Do you even acknowledge me as her man?

Tell me, tell me if you held her through death,
Did she cry herself to sleep in your arms?

When you see your destiny,
Is she among the constellations you foretell?

I am sure you are quite the lover,
You who now kiss the woman I had before,

You who hold her in adoration,
Perhaps you know why I wanted to live,

Because you have stolen all good from me,
All the hope I had from this verse,

In petrification of my soul
I confess to you I am a broken man.

What divine intervention will seek you out?
Will karma let you be as happy as I was?

In a myriad of solemn thoughts,
I am at a loss for the wrath I hope vengeance has for you.

But treat her well,
Kiss her methodically and with purpose,

And maybe she will show her angelic eyes
Which promise forever, quietly whispering:

I will be here with you always,
So that when the promise has penetrated you,

The divinity you feel at the comfort of her
Lifetime of promised cherishing,

Maybe she will find something else
In another promise of another soul,

Only this thought eases the heavy bitterness
Left in my procession of days.

For now move forward,
Because I am paralysed,

And to the other man,
The burden of me writing this poem.

So you are
A phosphorescent relic,
A relic that spins together
Nights and mornings alone-
Spinning in the mind like
Perfect spiral in a landscape that
Overflows with your magnetic sphere.

And the orbit
Comes and goes,
From my eyes to a tear,
From a tear to the sky with blue
Waves of current that wallows
Where you were.

Hear me,
Fallen star of my night,
The whirlpool of your hair
In solar winds,
Deafening winds,
Heavy winds,
When your blue sun brings a storm
Whirling in magnetic memories
Hypnotic and joyous.

Speak, speak Pulsar,
When the earth recites your name,
Pulsar, cry for me,
With your esteemed Aura like a lost
Nebula
At the crest of the world,
Searching without finding.

     This is the hour,
Because your dead star
Still burns and makes light,
And it still shines
And someone,
Someone like me must see it.

      Pulsation in my ethereal being,
I believed in dark stars
But don't believe in reading those
I see,
Pulsar you were hope in the light,
And now a radioactive desire
Of my past.

Oh but we tore the night apart,
We constellated passions
And danced upon the penumbra
In the galactic sea.

     Begin again,
We can sail away on the moon,
Turn the world into a playground,
Begin again Pulsar
Within an orchestral sky.

    However you were gone,
A blue giant in a tiny galaxy,
And I was only a firefly,
No, not a firefly,
An ember of a fire that burned
Out a million miles away.
Ressurection of your light,
Wage the gravity towards me,
       And I say Pulsar,
I remember when we were in the same sky.

    You are the infinite memory,
Your lies smell of Heaven and nothing
Else,
And you are a reflection on the horizon
Of the sea,
The glimmer of my yesterday.

      The sky will open
     And the sea shimmers,
       The moon moans,
     Pulsar, sweet memory ,
Magnetosphere of my pain.

You never know what kind of filling
That chocolate ******* you
Pull out the box is,
As long as it's obligated to taste
Like Chocolate in the beginning.


And the aftertaste like a cold lover
Gone into his arms,
Thin blanket on winter's crest
Filled with yellow snow,
Summer's lemonade in brisk
Moonlight when all the world
Is fooled by your glory,

And you can never choose how they love you,
Guess as long as they do is
What matters,
No matter how bitter the ****
Inside really is.

Red running,
A blood flowing
Carrying deliverance,
Return to sender,
Heart beats thumping
What,

Red Running,
Colored sky
And the sun is yawning
In a daily perpetual
Death,

Red Running.

Remember something that ties,
Something that holds
Holds the stilled face
In the cavernous heart,
Like a shirt worn
In a way that it tore
Itself into your mind,
Because they cannot see
Time and the finite body
Cannot contain the soul,
But remember the spirit
Of the displays through flesh,
Because the infernal
Tear that burns
Upon dying cheeks whom
Utter hate and love
With last breaths at the same
Time joy and sorrow complete
Then whispered life,
They cannot wear another
Sleave, adjust another collar,
Wear that shirt in a certain way,

Because the body
Is only action
In a windfall,
And every one grows apart
To syncing the mad pace
Toward death,
Because the earth swallows
All,
Please, please remember
Something that ties,
A memory's drift
The eye of invisible winds.

Woman forms, beastly forms,
Crystallized forms of memory,
Vague but fluid, luminous forms
And a knife at the alter....

Forms of Poet Saints in a mist
Of wandering brilliance,
The beauty and the sorrow
Of bloodstained carnations.

Transcendental harmonies
On lips of Virgins,
Dawn's hesitant light,
Sobbing in the psalms.

Ethereal emotional spirits
Scattered among the tombstones,
Suspended hearts in memory
As a Mystery says goodbye.

And the verse of the light
In the final stanza reveals all
Purity and chastity of the soul,
Saying goodbye to a fellow light.

I walk the Westside of San Anto,
The place I buried so many.

And the dead do speak
As they are in my words,
My very poetry.

Some have gone decent,
Others waved their final colors
With a kerchief ,now rest immortal.

So then I go back for them,
But move forward doing so,
To remember where I am
And where they shall never go.

If I am just a lucky guy
Who made it out alive when so
Many could not,
Then I cannot regret because the
Dead have no memory.

But why go back and visit
The desolation, the addicted
Nocturnal, the names who have
No faces?

Because I cannot reject myself,
The pistol I once lived by,
The nature of air and hope that
Escaped all in the ruins.

No, I will always return,
And my heart has not the words.

Now what?
Flowers for the dead and walk
The slab of names to rejoice
In what once was?

No, I come home,
The same as you,
As anyone,
Superfluous as this may be,
The return is necessary
If only to find oneself again.

I don't belong here,
Got to get away;
Poet, close your eyes:

The fire at the head of a verse
Takes me where verbs and stars
Collide,
(And the girl whose ancient name
Is fire)
Black rose consoler of sorrows,
My worries ride the sky today,
      Brilliant nocturnal fool
      I can see all the words escape
      A collision with atmosphere,
Flocked with hope
It gathers steam towards
The kiss of the quarter moon;
Your name is HOPE.
   I nail my dreams to sky black
   Bridging the gaps in the abyss,
   I catch a ride with the tail
    Of a comet's tears
   And endure its loneliness like
   A broth of nourishing sacrifice:

     "Take my hand dear poet,
    Your words are embers
     On a midsummer harvest"
    And the world froze beneath
     It's cylindrical tail
      As the wheel of days did not
     Revolve;

I became a solar sorrow,
My dreams burst into sunflowers
In a flame of words
Bursting itself from my soul,
Each night as the world
Becomes too much,
I escape and the poem takes
Me away.

And I am everything
In your aloneness,
Torn sorrows that bloom
In your cadence of tears,
I am grateful
For the pieces left intact....

Grace of a broken moon,
Woman among the Seasons
I see a greyness in Fall
And you are an echo
In the silent forever of my
Frozen sight,
Worthy of the hold
And your mournful touches,
Woman,. I can carry your pain.

It will be ok,
As I see you glimmer among
Dark stars,
The spectrum of your pain
Allows you to run to me,
I am the Spectre in the sad fields,
Grains that remain seeds
And a new beginning
Will leave me to find
Another broken dream.

I stood upon the horizon
As the sun crowned the day,
The people became beautiful,
Each in their own momentary truth:

The sun star rose
And the light mounted the sea,
The livid wound that is man and woman
Became a broken statue in stone
Flawed by time and suffering;
Death in a time of life!

     In the city an ebony man
     Holds the pyramid at the bottom
     Of the scheme, he is unearthed
     By a bullet not colorblind,
     The song of a lost boy from
     The wonderful ghetto explodes
     And a stone is thrown.

The ripples are;
Eyes see, man feels
His heart yearns for better or
Something more, all he can turn
To is less, shadows of history link
Themselves in a chain and drag
Man into himself, there a giant
Mirror hovers over his sky.

    New York, Saudi Arabia, Bangladesh.
    Shadow cover the heart and man
    Becomes a feverish animal
    That swarms himself,
    Proud and lonesome I see below
    His heart  and money uprooted his
    His natural flow
    (Domesticated bipeds acting out like
    Four legged beasts, though sadly
    Man knows it and does what?)

And yet there birthed within himself
Was given a gift so lovely as the forms
That man throbs with hope;
Stretching the heart into the living
hour man can see the light,
Truth comes into being
And fills himself with an ironic
Harmony. Here, now, we will
Never be this beautiful again,
The beauty is heavy with minutes
As each fade into eternity's
Shimmering river.

    Man's thoughts are split,
    They meander, think something
    Wondrous and split again
    Becoming entangled in a
    Delta of endless rivers flowing
    With the actions of ignorance.
    Must the rush of life be lived
    So rushed?

Day after day,
His mind cannot embody the forms,
The hostility grinding at each other,
The mirror inside liquefied
Into hopelessness and the body
Of his body becomes a tree
Of actions, risen out history's
Roots, roots which lay seeds,
Seeds which become his actions.

In the Roundabout
Whether on either océan's
Side,
A circle persists and choice
Is a beast grazing,
Wether or not the soul
Exists
Bringing the toll is
Hardly worthy poetry,
Still the beast turns
And the toll left at home
Brings the Roundabout
One more verse

It's stayed stuck in my eyes,
The vision of you walking home
As the old school buses, sluggish
And scattered yellow passed
You by on the infinite road.

     I wasn't following you, I smile.
You don't know how crystal clear
     I remember you.

From the bottom of my soul
A fresh evocative scent forms,
One I can see ,touch, and hear,
I could smell it even today,
I take it with me everyday
Under the maddened carousel
        Of this life.

I am the same wild guy
     Who brought you to his side years ago,
In those moments we are forever.

Whether I'm out on Military Drive
With my Ruca cruising the street,
I can't stay alive
Without that special meat.

I'm talking bout early morn,
Looking for a place for some comida,
When you need that taco like food ****,
You need it in your Vida.

Yeah, you have buevo ranchero,
Or maybe some bean and cheese,
But I need me some vaquero
To fill my Mexican needs.

So make me a taco,
Make it chorizo and egg,
I'm just a typical vato,
Cmon, please don't make me beg!

And now you know about my favorite dish,
Eating Mexican is like a granted wish.

I retreat prompted by a certain
Charm for older things
Into my mechanized city:
A scene of 1920's buildings
Awaiting seeker of history.

    I sit by a grand oak
    With a book in hand
    And find a storage dimension
    Of Pecan and Ashe trees
    Whistling to Poplars in certain
    Winds between the River and the
    Town that runs through it.

Here in a walk with the River
I want to rest my soul
A destroy all other thoughts
Of complacent voices.

      An old cantina was placed
      At her heart, inside a Catholic
      Crucifix with Christ watches
      Over the patrons as they drink
      A merry round with old friends.

A profound feeling in the city,
I gaze at the Old Mission
Of the Heart, I remember her well,
The Alamo lights up my city
And perhaps my whole world.

     There is a tower of many Americas
     Compelling the watchers,
     Its as if the mercy of her heights
     Allows you to fly in the air
     Seeing certain histories from there.

I enjoy her charm,
San Anto at her heart
Is a maiden of loyal charms,
All resignation is set aside
As old voices speak to you,
And they  seem to say,
"Welcome, welcome old friends"

These old sidewalks
Are still being poured,
Uncemented in my mind's
Evicted memory,
   Still as I walk them
With regards to the past,
When everything is changed,
    I loosened the locks on
Memoires that fall off the side
Of cliffs onto
Some ravine no one will recognise as once up so high.
    Here on the street,
With knuckles clamped
As if another Street fight might occur,
Though the innards of
My seasoned being
Archive the rotation
Of memory's grip,
    Such a daunting thing
To be grateful for all
The pain,
    I imagine ducking from
Grazing bullets,
  Eating laying down in the living
Room, privately
     To my self,
The self takes refuge here.
    A silent thing that creeps
Up
When times seem bad,
    One cam remember the worst,
And that 12 year old
Would smile,
Laydown and have some
Dinner shaking his head
With a humble smile.
    I think it's OK
To walk the worst
When things are bad,
   It's being like an old soul
Waving at a new born,
Experience is funny
Like that.

The streets come alive when so many
Sleep softly into their dreams.
      The newer L.E.D. street lights pierce
The secrets on the Old 90.
    The women that the sun does not touch
Is aglow in the moonlit pavements,
Because she is a nocturnal,
     To be seen by those who cannot see
The bright sun, she shares herself
With the secrets, only known to those
That never stay.
    
       And to better fit into the list,
To better know the secret is to become
Something other than what is expected,
      A desertion of your standardised
Places, where scars can be hidden,
Everyone can dress as royalty,
     This is more common and natural,
Becoming the creature we all seem to
Leave behind.
     And here there are lovers,
Beckoningly fighting one another
For a chance at one night,
An embrace in the eternal momentary.

    And the thirst is deep,
The desire is a window to the stellar
Places, a deep freedom in the nocturnal,
        An occasion set for nightly meetings
Of souls with shadows that seem to chase,
       Street people on the Western venture,
An exchange of souls at home in the night.

Take a ride with me,
Give me your ear, your eyes;
Like stellar days of old,
I will tell no lies.

     You see my days weren't complicated,
When the rivers ran red,
    It was a bullet or the money,
Family gotta stay fed.

Your silent gestures cannot fathom
What was my everyday,
Like the hardened hollows of my soul,
I took my gun to the park to play.

    This was my life
From my chest into these words,
    Every link in the chain,
I am tied down by haunted verbs.

  Kindle old fires
And set your daily a blaze,
I survived with deep wounds,
   To the past I am a slave.

Give me my homiez,
All dead and gone,
Give a sip of that Henny,
I'll drip some on the lawn.

  This is me,
Just an old ****,
I'll remember the tombstones,
On bent knee I the marble a hug.

Today I am whipped
Among all the sorrows,
But being a survivor
Give me hope for all the tomorrows.

The westside,
Like a weary night *****,
No coming back, no coming back,
I can't take no more.....

Pick out a casket
And don't remember my name,
Anonymous me,
A Dedpoet who carried the blame.

We all have old scars
And sometimes the grey
Of Autumn brings them out
Just a little more when we feel
That cold air rush through
And the sun dips below the clouds
(These are seasonal scars that
Bloom like flowers in spring)
What before was a smile
Is now an agonizing memory
Almost tied in the heart and
The veins must run like
Knots bleeding out the pain
And when we experienced it
We yelled:
THIS HURTS TOO MUCH!
They say that's how you know
It was real, the pain,
And with time the scars turn
Into something else,
Like flowers in the spring.

The words so deep
They reach about like a lightning storm
That reveals the nature
Of our joyous sorrows.

This is the poet that escapes
From dull crevices and fixed niches
Into a sky adorned with metaphor
And fantastical illusions.
It's a gathering of Weeping Willows
And under are flowers of death
And dark romancing light.

It is like the march of an invisible
Parade bustling down the day,
Each one thoroughly entertaining
With the prestige of words written
On their invisible skulls.
      The hunger that ends but is
Never satisfied,
A miracle backwards,
A solitary confinement with the universe.

And in the middle of sorrow and joy
Is love
Between two bodies,
The romance,
The fall,
Something that brings about melancholic grace
To a fallen angel
At the cusp of mercy of mortality.
The pen and the poet
Bid farewell daily to this world
And everyday reinvent it
With audascious hope....

Poetic reality, oh miserable happiness:
The sea of stars in the eyes of a poet.

I planted a garden,
Like the ones I used
To run over in my youth,
I figured at this age
That i liked plants.
It took some time
To put it out there,
The fact that I like plants.
I wondered why it
Took me so long to
Realize such a giving
Hobby.
And the garden
I ran across with no
Thought was my Mother's.
How she was toiling
And watching so small,
Her smile stilled in my thoughts.
Her hands full of maternal
Earth, and a hug that
I seem to remember in
Slow motion.
I'm older now,
Enough to know she planted
Those seeds so many years ago.

Observed by ears
    An unfolding vertical orchestra,
Smelled by my eyes
      I touched the aroma in her hair,
Like the nakedness of gentle air
      As fingers run through your name:
    
      Speak of the instant
And I can sense you even in dreams,
      The infinite moment
With you is a canticle of senses.

I prayed daily
Into the notes taken from
The trapped soul:

Take me as I am
And who I become
Is ours,
I know no moon that has
Not endured your
Friendships
And alone was always a choice.

I speak poetic
Into the flesh that I cannot
But dream away....
I flow into the river's edge
And the rocks wither
As moments
Whisper eternal,
Life is a word
The love a Sonnet
And the poet lives the poem.

The animal
Which inside sleeps
But calls, beckons.
A forth right to fire
Burning in the blindest rage
And calling it man.

All that is not light
Sketches shadows:
The secrets within them,
Pleasurable vices.

Into the darkness
With its stealthy silence:
Woman of the black veils,
The thief in the night,
The murmur of the stray.

All that is light
Flees from the shadows:
The list in the *****,
The fire in the passion,
The fragrance of foreign flesh.

The nocturnal man
Seeks the midnight touch:
All that is desire
Anointed on my body,
The taste of her skin.

And the dreams
Of men happen in bliss:
The scar of the lover,
The crevices of her body,
The feverish pace of lust.

Everything that is dark
Flows in the shadows:
My light is the night,
The stars a guide,
The death of my desires,
The kiss of the veil upon my lips.

Inventing the day,
Circular possessions,
All I own cannot be touched,

Everything lost in a fire,
Blazing nocturnal,
The slab of marble becomes
A tin marker,

Watching with stillness
As fleshes mesh with time,
     A poet remains:
The spherical elimination
   Casting lights on dark
I find my axis
      I find myself the epitome
And the footsteps
      In the puddles resound
In my minds echoes;
My body is a transparent verse,
        Night unfolds , I
Can see myself again.

      Listen to me as you listen
To the water,
     I am the unhindered thunder,
The shadow in the light's
     Ignorant glow,

      From my footsteps rise the
Steam,
I am still The DedPoet,
    As you sleep in your bed
I invent my new homes:
   Nightly I bocome a
Poem of The Nocturne.

If only the world weren't so big,
All these souls would pass by my
Door:

And through my window cruising
I see a magnolia flowered sorrow,
The kind with moon beam eyes
And darkens your heart when you
See it;

Why is she in pain,
All alone in the grey.....
She has a wall surrounding her
Until the last day of hope
And a turbulent river encircling her.

Ah, but her steps are like the dove's,
Tranquil,
For gentlemen's sake I have to offer my
Hand holding hers like fragile balloon
Set off in the air, getting too close
To the sun and the continuity of the light,
So bright, it might burst in my hand.

She only needs some money,
I tell her to get in,
I'll buy her a meal.
She enters with grief,
The kind like in this poem,
But from her gentle eyes
The nocturnal sense is born
And the stars with her eyes.
I am taken,
What sweetness in her voice,
She asks me for a lemonade
As something familiar to herself,
The longing she has missed.

Why doesn't she get off the streets,
What holds her here?
I see the shake in her arm,
The tiredness of her body,
But she does not want to be saved.

I know her goodness
Had more than a conversation within,
That a life wished for better dreams
Haunts like dawn and dusk,
Touching her like a ghost.

"I need my fix"

I giver her ten dollars.
What horrid reality she lives in,
She walks away,
Turns back and offers a sentiment,
" I needed this meal, and
Thanks for just being nice"

Her hope is barefoot and barren,
Who will save her life?
I only know soon I will
Be a voice, an echo in her soul.

Standing ***** under the sun,
Not unlike a Mother tree
And the eager bird
With branches that sway
As if a maestro for the wind
And more free than said bird.

Familiar with family
And independence as though
A miracle uplifting with arms
Wide open tearing down barriers
While tightroping the abyss.

Mistress of the enchantment,
Absolute in her walk,
A lovely vessel of humanity,
A rose infinitely budding,
The soil of the earth.

Forgotten strengths,
Healing the world with actions,
Wiping tears and setting the
Child's dream,
Clear as the light in her eyes.

She is the Andromeda
Of the love story,
The story is of her love,
The divinity which filters
Men from boys.

Caress of the world,
That which causes flight
Or the love that eases pain
From the fall,
Redeemer of lives.

She roars without sound,
Navigator of skies unseen,
Weaving the songs of life,
The wondrous simplicity.

She is more than the rib,
Under the sun
She is Goddess in the children's eyes.

The women stilled
In a shopping mall when
A sale made them go
As far away home,
     They mutter at the dresses
And cannot decide where
Green sweat earned
Will go,
And a closet abyss will ****
It out of existence, where.the day went, a husband wonders
About the next day.

Horrors of the sick,
Like duck soup
With water from its pond,
A singular observation
From a man stolen,
A woman under no
Man.

Only your presence is real:

I can see your shoulder, left,
Exposed.
You eat a peach folded on the couch,
The summer it began
As a diaphanous drop
Of wine spilled under
Your lips,
Through you the transparency
Of the world,
Under motionless present
Your timeless gaze,

A quiver of light,
Your naked shoulder.

The foam of your body
As the wave hits my shores,
Living waters,
I swear the world is your substance,
You hear my footsteps
Throbbing in the shadows,
      The silken flattery
Of your smile,
The hour glass of your figure,
Suspended between us
I kiss you,
The rain does not wet you
Because you are a flame,
     Your lips taste of wine;

Our bodies stretch the dawn
Uprooting the world.

Should the sky fall,
That is to say that you feel a crisis,
Just saying,
Grab a star and put it in your
Pocket, hold on to your continent
As it drifts,
Drain the ocean to the deserts
And gather unprecedented cactus flowers.

Should sky fall
Learn the world as it all falls by,
I mean it's just a thought,
Take the time to shed copper tears
And rain the wounds over
The heights that fall,
How much would be left of a splintered
Moon, planets whizzing by,
And yet here you are still
In your pity!

Gather the energy
Among the falling birds,
The comets with animals scurrying
About claiming new territory,
See! They make the best of their
Sorrow!

Lower your sorrows,
I tell you now,
The song of your sad poetry,
The rumors of the Earth's demise,
Calm your skies,
If it is night, look up out the window,
Count the hopeful stars,
And - I'm just saying-
If they are falling,
Catch them!
Then all your wishes and hopes
Are finally coming true!

Where are you poet?
You poetess?
I search and become everything:

A pen of the sun's fire
Writing on a slab of jade,
I come face to face with all poets,
The roots of their soul dividing
Themselves dissolving into words
Writing the passionate fire sitting
On pillars of clouds,
A thousand moons surrounding them
Each like some serpent god,
They write the darkness like
Guardians of the night,
A stallar vertigo into the words,
They become like flowers
Of the Resurrection and in a lightning
Flash I am on a terrace of gold
Watching over a field of flora
And the storm's of April's pains
Comes to them each as a moon
In the sorrowing takes each word
And swallows them into verses,
They are the testament of wounds.

And still even more,
All are alone in the abyss they all share,
One man stands tall and says,
"Alone with everybody!"
He smiles as each poet places themselves
In a whirlpool of time,
They find a moment invisible
And make it a mirror,
It reflects forevermore the broken
Images of their past, they piece
Themselves upon a verse of shadows,
A verse is born and a piece of them
Stays in the past.

Suddenly there are those who live,
They are reborn from the womb!
They see daylight in the sorrows
And find happiness in clusters,
A perfect memory where the man
Loved the woman, her touch is like
An immortal fire burning into the focus,
His touch is a cascade of rose petals
On her naked body......

The young poets gather,
The defeat the circular days,
Fantastically naive and flamboyant,
Their moments flare like a sun's
Lost kisses on  magnetosphere's outer
Skin,
The procession of new pain
Fills the paper as they write an ancient
Language unbeknownst to them,
Their blood to papyrus, Sanskrit's
Unified language.

I see the poet's in their middle years,
Strong flavors mixed with heavy grief,
The clandar Is splattered in blood
While their dream sails away in paper boats
Sinking in the sea of forgotten hope,
They sculpt words of deep guts
That penetrate my spirit,
Time becomes a race against their pens,
Their fire blue into the jade
And life is lived on a string of theorise,
They become enlivened in the children,
Enormous mouthfuls of hope
Arisen from soils of regret,
And the perfect words ripen
Like a midsummer's harvest,
They spontaneously eat the fruit
Of life's labors and digest words
With seeds for the planting of more.

I turn my face in my search and see
The years turn golden,
These are the poets with life full
In experience and they write like
Youth writes, but written already
With eyes of indecipherable experience,
Their wounds are closed but written
In fresh blood, I could not understand!
They burn and are not consumed,
Their words are eternal in
Endless galleries of Picasso like
Verses, the words penetrate
Leaving me hopeful and confused.
I wonder if I would ever write
The light and the darkened like
They that balance both....

I find all poets in the middle of forever,
I see their walls of frightful memory,
Their home for tomorrow's bloom,
The self knowledge turning in
On itself and becoming wisdom,
They drown themselves in clarity,
Cling to audacious hope,
Remembering the nocturnal nightmare
Of the past, they are endlessly broken,
Always fixing themselves in words.
And I wrote a poem for them in
My mind:
    
        Poets, you little gods,
        The fire of life in your pen,
        You write the existence
        Forevermore on a slab of jade;
        
       I see the souls and angels
       Reading a book of every poem,
       I see God reading to understand
       His strange and wondrous creation
       Called the poet.

Sleep now, my daughters of fire,
I have removed the teeth from
The flowers, in your dream there
Will he a crystalline home
At the bottom of the sea.

Your hair like morning dew,
Glistening like constellations,
I have prepared your bed
With sheets of earth and a quilt
Of smooth butterfly wings.

Sleep now, my daughters of fire,
I will watch your dreams from here,
I will be the star you follow home,
You will play in a sea as blue
As the day sky as fish wink at you
Both in a meadow of coral meadows
Riding the sea horses to visit golden fish.

A heavenly body will watch over you,
Sleep now daughters of fire,
The night dove has come to sing
You to sleep, a celestial dream awaits
You, and when you return,
A father will be just as grateful.

Grand,
This day, unfolding like a fable,
And the kiss felt ten fold.

Grand,
This tiny life or big universe,
This little man or some other perception,
Living in the now.

The tile is cold at my feet,
I swallow the sun that swallows me in,
Shimmering light through the curtains,
Bright
             Renewal
                        Of the form.

Grand,
I am just me, this life
Into the great big world.

I want to tell everybody,
But I have no control,
Infinite smallness of my grandiosity.

So I f up so I fell in love, and to the man who hasn't lived in the embryonic state, the mother's womb and the ***** of chance life, take heed the warning this s** hurts. But I make do because I live and I am grateful for the pain, every tear that sheds the glory of a ******* who fell in love with another man's woman. And oh I didn't know, I know that I still don't know that I will never know that love can be a pain in the ***, but I'm still here every breath no matter how boring or wimpy or even the label here comes the sad guy Maybe, I still took the chance and got my *** kicked by her husband, but I'll never forget the time we had when I stared at her everyday across from where she served me my plate in the mornings at my favorite Taco House, I'll say it again I'm a ******* sue me I fell in love

The night is dead,
       A million cells dispersed
Into the atomic universes.

   (Pieces of me)

She turns over,
       Takes the smoke out my hand.....
    Puff,
Ahhhhhhhh,
    " You can leave now"

Everything is nothing,
    And in the mathematical juggernaut
Of life making life,
     One in a million will make it,
I will die 999,000 times:

And it is 65,000,000
Years ago,
A single asteroid with an asterisk
Kills all life to set free life,
       I am a root carnal
Subjective interlude of the lustrous desire,
     The **** of my *****
With no humanity,
    Come and go,
One night standing
    On a galactic precipice of infinite
Possibility,
      But what separates the animal
Is heartbreaking,
Because the animalistic nature
Takes me to the moon
And I am just a man,
      I leave behind what?

" Nice meeting you"

A fatherless angel 9 months into
Forevermore.

The mouthful of universe
    Sprang from a universal tongue,
Armed with the Words in a corridor
    Of birth before the abstract divinity,
The benevolent assault of creation
    In the circular currents away from
No place and no where
     The whiteness bound into the sun,
Lonely tears birth the oceans
   And with a finger provoked eruption
      Of earthly space,
He sings the solar song,
     The words with roots in invisible
Trees, the yellow surf of dusks,
    In the beginning was a dream
Forming the constellation of life......

The body is a bridge
Which navigates the living waters,
The soul is the air you don't see,
The flesh, a cage of the moment:

People,pain, hearts, lovers;
Tales of the enriching experience
Like fire buried in the mirror
Weaving embers in different skies.
The moment turns solid
And the dream disperses through
The awakening's spread hand,
The apparition is real and the memory
Is finite inside the caged soul.
Wondering if  time is real
In a foliage of misconception,
Amidst sullen realities
Charred by light in the unpredictable eye...
I believe in the soul.

The soul whispers to the heart
In pulse beats of clarity,
The rivers flow it's ashen silt
To where the river begins,
Faith enters me absolved in
Absolution of the world,
Worlds collide as the soul battles
For the appeasement of immortality:

The soul is a pilgrimage
In the dazzlement of the flesh.

I am absent from your reality,
Deep into the words
There waiting for myself to reappear.
In other things i imagine myself,
Away travelling in the universe
Of my mind,
Some places that i have never been
Are waiting for me to get there,
The depths of myself.

Im here in these words
In bits and pieces
That wanted me to turn into language
So i could express them,
The trees and the skies and
The world around that does
Bot speak but says more than
Anyone man.

I fall deeply
Away from flesh
And my spirit puts on the words
That the world cannot speak.

I speak not for myself
But that which language was invented
For,
That we might put into words
Such unspeakable beauty.

An angel stares into the sky
In the form of a little girl
Born mentally ill,
          The sky which is the
Inner eye of God scatters the spectacle;
        The people ignorant and blind
Pass the little girl, homeless.

All you readers:
Inside your safe worlds
The little girl almost becomes
Visible, only for a moment.

Like Crystal prizms
Under the dying light,
Saying goodbyes
To the one I love.

Like a whirlpool
Of boulders spiraling
On to my heart,
The weight of your
Presences.

Like fountains
Nesting in the sand,
Your kiss
Just too far away.

I'm caught in
Your metaphoric
Fallen star,
Like a shadow
Existing because of light,
I'm not hurting
Baby,
The pain is how know
It is real!

Passionate night
Regret the sun,
And I am my DNA
A father 99.99
Question is will I keep it
100?

To the North, a broken dream remembers,
To the South, lost memories,
To the East, what will never be,
To the west, a rain of embers.

To the North, fallen angels crying
To the South, tears of sorrows,
To the east, not looking for tomorrow,
To the West, hopes are dying.

Maybe the direction, or the pain,
Might trace the place
Of my tears of rain;

A spinning compass eats me inside,
Looking for myself,
Nowhere left to hide.

When one was never two
And the reverse doubled
Becomes positive,
I remember links to an
Abandon page
And the effluent nature
Of the voice,
Spoken at odds at the edge
Of yesterday.

Where have we gone,
The soul is A tired old man
Forever told in a web of time,
Take this away,
Numb the years gone cold
In a river one ends
And begins in the sky's
Tearful rejoice.

That I took a deep breath
And found a complicated
Sigh;
I often wonder of the
Two existences,
When life can smile
At death's birth.

I felt the blade cutting
Tje mirrors eye,
She was cold like a fevers
Body,
Brazen when she held the
Life of me,
Lettimg go at the precipice
And falling into the extreme
Suddeness of who she
Became,
A razor cutting life from me,
Piecing me back together.

Such an immortal wound
To the momentary quiver.

Let the golden pollen
Of the finest flowers yet to be
Fill the snowflakes in purified
Glistened luminosity falling.

The natured call in the heartfelt
Spring of seasonal bodies,
The aura of sun warmed gilded
In waves of new birth memory.

Desirous vibration of longing
Fill the need in the cold fires,
A conquest of light
In the darkest triumphs.

In the crimson meadows
Of the sunlit mind,
A sparrow's song to the nest
Bleeding into the Winter depth.

In the depths of the cold
Passing before the season,
Spring comes in a fantastical
Whirlpool of new life in the middle
Of the storm.