Somewhere, Mother Nature’s breath floats
Under a patch of crying sky
And a sunset’s crayon box is reflected
In the aviators of a thousand clouds.

Here, the mind’s altar chooses
The union of human thought and infinite atmosphere
And a blue field pretending to be heaven
Turns mortal vision into kaleidoscope dreams.

Somewhere, love is worn not ragged,
But on the skin of a body that knows the touch of life’s electricity
And chocolate kisses melt on tongues
In the mouths of a thousand faces that refuse to turn away.

Here, the body’s compass creates
Direction and vision rather than following it
And glowing heartbeats bound in red ribbon
Are cast into the wind and caught in old jam jars that illuminate with their fire.

Somewhere, a beautiful stranger’s thoughts are woven
Between a street performer’s nylon guitar strings
And the space around a piano key
Ripples with the color of a thousand unspoken wishes.

Here, the soul’s music dances
In the kingdom of the sound
And expression overflows into a single note
Because conversation is too light to bear the weight.

Somewhere, butterflies fall
Into the ashes of burning desire
And bitter secrets burst open to scream
The harvest of a thousand agonies.

Here, the spirit’s window shatters
Into infinite jagged shards of jealousy and greed
And no matter how soothing, the dark of the night
Never sings them to sleep.

Where angels make conditional love
My mind makes chalkboard scribbles
And sepia dreams flood through the skylight of my vision
And I wake up to a world where
Love is real
And pain is proof
And lukewarm living is not an option.

Here, the world’s seven wonders are immeasurable
Tiny explosions called happiness and freedom and peace
But the human eye is blind to this miracle.

F r e s h e s t   o f   w i n d s ,   t i n g l i n g   s k i n ,  
h a i r  i s  b e i n g   s p a t   o u t   a n d   s w a l l o w e d   b a c k   i n

w i n d - w a t e r   c r y   f r o m   t h e   s m a l l   o f   t h e   e y e
t e a r   f r o m   t h e   t e a r - d u c t   s t r e a m s   t o   t h e   e a r

b l o o d b l i s t e r   l i p s ,   f i n g e r l e s s   f i n g e r t i p s
t h e   c r e a t u r e   t h e   c o l d   i s ,   l a u g h s   a s   i t   w h i p s

a   n u g g e t   o f   w a r m   i n   t h e   p i t   o f   t h e   a r m
d i g   d o w n   i n t o   i t   a n d   s m o t h e r   t h e   p a l m

The Grand Canyon
Was once a shallow river bed
Until the water wore away the earth
So far down that when you look over the edge
Many have the urge to jump

When you leave this planet

As you rise

You’ll see

Waterfalls are really mountains
Weeping your departure
Tears enough to make oceans

The thought of your ghost
Quakes the earth in shivers
At the imbalanced caused
By your missing weight

You are that important

Tornadoes are just the sky’s
Way of funneling your soul back down
To the ground where you belong

But we both know

You’ll never stay

If the earth is not strong enough to keep you here
Can’t imagine there is any way
I ever could

I could never mourn
As loud as thunder
I don’t have lightning defribillators

And
I don’t sleep at night
Because I am used to sinking to the left

Your weight is that significant

And yeah
Sometimes the earth wins
Tidal waves
And earthquakes
Even tornadoes claim people

But not you

Not when you leave on your own accord
Not when you have the urge to jump
Making mountains weep
And the sky mourn thunder

Five minute street artists
and insomnia mongers.
****** drunk blondes
and finger snapping phat booties.

Street geniuses
bred by Machiavellian philosophies
cypher dreams over tokes
of marijuana smoke.

Color worshipping narcotic traffickers,  
and bread winners
parole corners
sporting fitted caps and twisting fingers.

Senile war veterans
beg for change in cardboard boxes
from the American dreams
they afforded.

Hard workers with every ethnicity
molded into each pore of their face,
rub shoulders with tourists at traffic stops
barely escaping tires crushing their feet.

Sartorial geniuses with no pants
switch hips in knock-off stellos heels,
selling the origin of the world on avenues
next to Arab Halal food.

Cooperate ties and blue collars chafe ***** on subways.
nodding in and out of Daily News articles  
while oxygen blessed by asparagus ****
pump through their noses.

Summa *** laude number runners dictate economies
From sky-crapper offices,
And powered rain swallows their concrete each winter,
With no apologies.

B cup
C cup
but D cup, the better.

A nip,
a tuck—
reverse the clock.

For beauty’s the past,
and beauty’s the young.

Thus,
reupholster the fruit of the womb
and iron the sags low.
Recapture the past glow,
for after all,
the future is wherever you don’t exist yet.

Vivid visions of the past lurk me,
I’m walking on the avenues of once a quick man’s vision,
driving in car models a dead man thought
and voting with rights dead men and women fought—
for, we’re all living life through dead men’s visions—
books of laws and morals woven by dead men’s *****—
subconscious slaves to dead ways.
So ask me about “life” and I’ll reply,
*I’m still waiting to live like my master
for everyone that lives dies
but everyone that dies lives.

Funny how we woke up in the morning
and pretended that tomorrow never happened—
strutted naked in mirrors celebrating our youth,
laughing, knowing suns and moons couldn’t do the same.

We borrowed our arms from the fridge
and peddled bicycles with bad breath—
trading war stories ‘cause we knew
if we came back alive
life would still be the death of us.

She lives a quiet life,
she tiptoes around,
she whispers when she speaks,
she hardly ever makes a sound.

Although her words are quiet,
her mind is very loud.
She has so much to say,
but no one listens for soft sounds.

She's an invisible girl,
who doesn't want to stand out,
she just wants to be heard,
without having to shout.

Sometimes the loudest people,
aren't saying much at all.
Empty words and promises,
just leave their mouths and fall.

But whispered words fly high,
and catch peoples attention,
they're intriguing, so amazing,
but only when they listen.

So look outside the spotlight,
because often the real star,
isn't anyone on stage,
but the mind behind it all.