He's my 3am thought,

tired eyes, blinking lights
cold breeze, dry lips
but it's worth it
if it's him

She's my 3am thought,

firm hands, dark room
heavy sighs, pale skin
but it's worth it
if it's her

On the playgrounds of the future
Children will laugh and sing
And we’ll cross the bridge to real peace
Where the bells of sanity shall ring

Until then we’ll play the game
Which will all add up to naught
“It’s your fault, no, it’s theirs…”
Why some fail at what is taught.

We’ve been given new books and bosses
Numerous regs to do the job
But money flows to the burbs
Inner-cities fair game to rob

Touching the future may seem easy
From a point too far away
One could assume it’s all just ditto -
Then lunch -  then math - then play

If this is your belief
You could not be further from the fact
That success is measured forward
As we have our students’ back

So forward we will plod
Secretly teaching to the mean
We will test, and test and test
From which all congress shall glean

Information in nice neat form
Of bars and charts sublime
Symbolic of teachers and students
Who have been sentenced to hard time

And the monied districts shall rule
Golden in and out
And the bootstraps will appear
Accusing all who doubt

Good will be the words to spread
And many who will eat them
The failures will be shown the straps
But for pity’s sake, don’t beat them

                                                                             G. Davis-Feldman

I know you are lying there,
probably unconscious
of where you are,
I know you wanted to
find a backdoor to finally end
your journey to the stars,

But I want you to know,
you will one day be able to
breathe on your own,
one day, you will recognize
your beautiful body as
your beautiful home,

An overfilled vessel,
filled to the brim with
the complications of existing,
I know you are in pain,
but sweet Hope,
I know you'll smile again.

There are thirty of us under a torn canopy
where the sound of wind blowing against canvas
assaults me as if I were being beaten. We will
soon ride into the hills and **** pine; to fell
the mighty as if the mighty are horseweeds.
Every callused man here  hates his weapon;
worn chainsaws that would make  better
tools to fight  wolves than walk the earth
clearing  stands of timber.
**************
Twelve of the original thirty loggers come back
for our 48th consecutive day; it rains as if  prehistoric
elk hover over the camp and **** a lake upon us.  Six men
go home within an hour because farming and stocking
cans of tuna at grocery stores appear more plausible than
wallowing in mire with saws, wedges, and chains with links
the size of your mother’s fist.  It is work and *******
every man  needs to eat or help feed a family.  The money
is not good, conditions like Czechoslovakia WW II.  

The six of us who remain, leave.

Wading through galaxies, I’m floating with fairies and pixies

The scene looks picture perfect beautiful pixels

I can’t feel a thing. Novacane to these emotions

Come ride on this high with me, making memories we can’t even remember

Fogs of despair slowly disappear

Long bursts of ecstasy, short waves inbetween fantasies

Dark heart, cold soul fade to black. Don’t bring the light back.

Make the darkness infinite, never bothered me much anyways

Identical to the milky way, on the edge of euphoria

Cant explain these butterflies, lilies blossom out of clear water

Good intentions, delusions of a deluded brother

This is a love crime, pure ******

Might be cold in the winter, but I want you for the summer.