Yesterday I was born
and Today I assume I know all.
With Tomorrow will never come my downfall,
for Today is perpetual.

Of course, I am facetious;
under-exaggerating and over-exaggerating,
but I do so for a reason.
Call it satire for the Ego:

I claim not to understand,
I only claim to seek understanding
(futile as it may be)
Sometimes my questions are statements,
but more often it's the opposite.

I do not seek to ask of you these questions,
I seek that you ask them of yourself
and to realize that no answer is more true
than the ones created by you.
(subject to a few things, of course.)
(if only it were that simple)

Anyone who says that the mystery is known
is ignorant of their own ignorance
and is probably a being of Ego
disconnected from Ethos.

This life of mystery is beautiful and temporary.
Cling not to it, nor any thing within it
for it all shall be torn apart
by a force much greater than you.

Simply enjoy the show
while you're still in it.

Dwell within the cosmic energies
and dance within your self
and seek to better get to know
who you truly are.

You cannot know everything
in fact I doubt very much
if one can truly know anything,
or if knowledge is relative
to the relative flash of one's life.

There are, however, intelligible patterns
but they too may be in transit
in such a slow way that we cannot perceive it
in the few seconds we are alive.

I can tell where this is going.
Me, denying that I am in love with you,
You, flirting with those other girls,
Me, believing how I felt was new,
You, looking like an angel
Me, falling for your smile,
You, telling me it'll be okay,
Me, stuck in denial,
You, and your laugh,
Me and my hopelessness,
You, bringing me closer
Me, loving your wholesomeness,
And how you are generally good for me,
I feel like the dead sea.

I think I'll sink into the pit
return to take just one more hit
and another bit of
jazz.
Has anybody felt the same?
when thoughts of overriding shame override everything except the name
of the Devil that resides inside the syringe.
Does the thought of thinking make you cringe?
It's not a game
it's played for keeps.
When sanity sleeps inside the light and shades unmask the hidden night
where demons dance on a fingertip
I slip into a self destruct.
There's no saving me
the man inside the man can see
the killing of the man that was never meant to be.

And when everything looks so familiar,
the shouts,
'I'm coming out to **** ya'
don't worry me.
It's only what depression brings
When sad songs sing
when I can't suppress the hopelessness .

But I do confess
I really do.
Usually when I'm feeling blue and drained
I reign myself in tight one more slip into the night
and I am lost forever.
Never-Never land just isn't real
the deal that was laid upon the table
was a fable
unable to live up to my dreams
It seems it was a joke at my expense.
Though not dense I'm none too clever thinking I could live forever
in a tube
in a fix
a bit of jazz just does not mix
with life.

you are a car wreck at 75 miles per hour
that i cannot take my eyes off of
on a saturday morning with lo-fi radio
speaking the sun
as it breathes life into this death setting:
i’ll grow stories wrapped with truth
because it’s hard to only speak truth when
we are both so damaged, tangled
wrapped in the backseat like a baby on it’s first day home

******* the way you
lace fingers in the tea-kettle black ***
coughing up a lung as sacrifice to the ancient gods who told me
on my 18th birthday that
you would taste so good across my lips
no matter how split, how dry, chapped, and hungry
they were -
******* the way you
split aching bodies in two
one half of pain seated on the devil’s tongue
one half of pleasure begging god
please let me get what i want
and i have to tell you
it is not a melody i have gotten used to

because you are still that car wreck i can’t pull my eyes from
even when life is sprouting from my own hands
tugging at my own silvery strings connected to you
and connected to everything
i unknowingly snip those silver strings of fate
and let you hang in the breeze
of the way i have been taught to say
please

This is about the breath on your tongue
and the way you looked in my basement
when the world was asleep and my
fingers were wet;
because I can still smell you after
4 a.m. on a Friday night, thinking —
(****, this feeling burns like
a cigarette habit).
Your ******* are the epitome of thunder,
they creep into my skin and leave
me vibrating.

You are restless in between my legs
so I pretend this was easy like
the first time I told you I love you;
rub my hand through your hair as the breath
in my lungs quakes and evaporates
in between us.

It is cold and I am swooning in our
sweat and tears from earlier testimonies,
(I know you care, I saw it in
the way you arched your vertebrae)
and you whimper in your sleep —
waking your bones, your still-life perfection.
I could stay in this mess forever.

Write these words on empty stomach
          unasked, I spilled my guts.
You said, "My life's a joke
                  and every choice a punchline."
You just wrote my prologue and the afterword
           is dangling off my lips, now;
            on the tips of tongues.
Steel night skies thrum and echo
                  when the bells are struck.
Goose Creek pays tribute to the wide Missouri.
              I can't offer much--
           clenched hands and mouth clamped shut.

Fling some words at empty wall space
          from corners, room warms up
My reddened face obscured
           behind two frost-fogged lenses
Guess I penned the punchline. Now my line-worn face
                 is crinkled up and frozen didn't get the joke
Tried to make a map out of the
              words we spoke.
These streams pay tribute to a sea of memories
              Now you don't say much
             "Good luck," and "Stay in touch."

        Clenched hands and mouth clamped shut.

Last night I prayed
Softly, peacefully, and still,
No strain, no grief, no disbelief,
No doubting of His will,

Last night I prayed
Softly for His strength,
Since I am weak.

Then with peace-of-mind
Worries and stress left behind
I quietly fell asleep.