You are a snake, with many layers.
I would peel them all away,
Discarding, one by one,
Revealing smarting, pinkened skin.
Shocked pores gulp alien air
Stinging, then relief,
At being vulnerable, and bare.
In some other ago, before you betrayed me,
You flayed me,
Left me tender, raw, aching, sore,
Trembling, flinching at the kiss of the breeze,
The warmth of your breath,
But you are still resistant, unwilling to shed.
I’ll rip away those doubtskins,
Grip you, tear apart hesitation,
I need you naked, soul and body bare,
I have to know you’re really there.

Creativity
&
Madness
I've walked the razor's edge.
Playing it straight
In public places
No one knew
The thoughts and voices
Running around my head.
Fortune dictated
I never made it
To the walking dead.

Secret sharers
Come to me
At the beginning
And at the end
Of their plunge
Into that madness
Falling off the ledge.

No sleep came to them
Electronic insomnia
Ran them.
Cars became creatures
Screaming at them
As real as the table
Between us.

Imagination run wild
A chariot
The horses sweating
And running full speed
The reins either
Flapping untamed
Or
Imagination chained
Directed into these lines.

Creativity
&
Madness
At the razor's edge.

Disorganization
Voices screaming
When the wind is silent.
Miming up against the walls
No one can see them at all.
And in space as they said
"No one can hear you scream"
And space surrounds me.

Creativity
&
Madness

Pros & cons
Cost benefit ratios

*** makes it worse
The roots ungrounded

Crystal gears it up

Alcohol numbs the
Mind with depression's
Blanket of dread.

While ****** leaves
You strung out and lead.

The drugs they give you
Leaves you walking dead
But calm and able
To
Play it straight in public places
Far from the
Razor's edge
Of creativity & madness.

What's a poor boy to do?
Wind up sleeping in the park?
Cold wet encampment bound
Lost in the landscape
Of madness
Sights
Shadows,
A mind full
Of old echoes
Blinding.

How do we walk
This line?
A few fall over
A few are left behind.
Some never know what they could find
And some find that it all resides
At the intersection
At the razor's edge...

Trailer park loves are the saddest
and no one knows this more than Jesse.
A young lesbian with no money,
crazy girlfriends,
skimpy furniture,
a hole in her bedroom wall.

She smokes her last cigarette,
smiles over ***** dishes
and unpaid bills.

Tomorrow the power gets turned off
and we will sit by candlelight
laughing in cheap dark.

The discount Daisies
are no longer fresh
and the rot continues
on the dining room table.

Stale stalks stir
week old water
like straw skeletons.

Brittle crowns bend,
slouch,
curve skinny blossoms
from a vase.

Petals fall,
crumbs of yellow
and white
wrinkle like
tired confetti.

Lucky flowers,
they got to know your smile,
surprise,
skin,
and fill your fist
like ripe wands.

Sometimes I steal
from grocery stores.

Nothing serious of course,
sprigs of cilantro,
basil,
snap garlic cloves,
sleeve a single strip
of green onion,
occasionally, palm a jalapeno

I think it is the tiny thrills
of being a petty villain
that provokes me.

The warm slick sheen
of salty palms,
brow sweat, and
the shivers of pulse
that drums
my heart
when door greeters pull me aside to
verify receipts,
and never notice my aroused pockets
tight and bulging
pickpocket produce.


I'm no outlaw
nor bandit,
I do not pillage or
plunder,
I know the gray lines
that divide
good and bad,
because I'm at one of their
thresholds.

The cashier checks my driver license,
and address before feeding a worthless check
into the scanner
where it gets tagged and stamped

I feel no thrills,
no bad boy euphoria,
I am too numb for elation,
and too numb for shame.

This crime Is justified.

I have three more days
till payday
and hope the check floats

Last week was a short paycheck,
gas prices are high,
rent is past due
cigarettes aren't cheap,
and then there's that drug habit.

I could only write it
for twenty five over.
It's going to be a hard stretch.


I stuff easy cash
into my front pocket
and try to catch the eye of a pretty cashier
an aisle over.
She drags barcodes through laser red eyes
that decodes sale prices


She doesn't notice me,
but she might not be into bad boys

A small girl waits
in a shopping cart
with pigtails
and new teeth,
holding a children cereal that comes with a prize.

Her mother does not see
her kick off her shoe.

I                    car         ved        you   out o              f
              w             ood          and    out o                       f        
                 m               y       hand  s                     you              
gr      ew      back into          what
you were; a beautiful tree
who grew to reach
all of the
beautiful
stars. I should
have let you be.

You have taught me how to sell
So well.
I  have convinced them all
of my resolve,
Referenced and alluded to
a strength I just don't have.
I've sold the world my story
Subtly altered,
Slightly skewed.
The truth is, I still cry.
I cry, and I lie.
Only you and I know why.

Of the last 268 poems I have read here

62%

are from people who want to die

20%

Are from people who want to DIE

------BUT------
Might consider LIVING if someone would become their
emotional slave

12%

Are from people who would like to find out what it
means to be alive

5%

Are from people who think they are alive

------BUT------

Aren't sure that they are or that they want to be

&

1%

are from people who are alive

••

There seems to be a correlation between being ALIVE

and LOVING

but this correlation seems to be a taboo subject