i  met a man who answer
"i dont know"
when watching rerun tapes
of his  love kissing under mistletoe
surrogate the times being drunk at home
petrified
as if he became a ghost
cause these days find us
when we track down truth
not the processed kind
capitalized behind a golden tooth
i mean the genuine taste of something real
Things untouched, kissed and sealed
oh in this world its too pure to find
one who holds such a beautiful mind
with schizophrenic intellect
words, colors and space combined
all would then been seen clearly
When i met
this man who answered
"i don't know"
He was suiting up for his daily show
staring at the screen
wishing it was real
pressing  play
whispering
"We meet again my needle  in a hey"
But as the tape rolls to an end
Reality never seems to bend
So instead of searching for somthing real
He waits till his love rewinds backwards on a  wheel.

mornings ice
feels fresh
from nights grubby paws
walking through a place
where i don't feel lost
leaves sowed on humble branches
brushes through my hair
apples float
in the simplest form
we take our breaks
from the depth of others eyes
as they stare with pandemic ideas
so frightening
makes the ground swallow you past your knees
second breath you take
a sticky melody
collection of  black-lights
guides a taxidermist  towards your heart
only can you
write yourself out
with occult-ed stories
about space and time
but still its all hieroglyphics
to that diamond cut monster
  his  malice screams
make your ears reach for fairest of volumes
crawling for that exit
the one you painted as a child
scenery of  leaves
and apple trees
you shut your eyes
and all has stopped
your nerves start to float
your mind cradles sanity
but still that voice lingers
the voice of complexity

manufactured walls
Crafted  by power tripped minds
isolate  earthly gardens
any life to feel like an outsider
vehicles fit for five
clutter a neighborhoods gutter
yet  streets stay soundproof.
Its filled by the nights air
while i sit under freckled sky's
Gazing the Old stars
They consulates living proof
of how loneliness must be an illusion,
for we have more then enough hands to hold.
its a snake eyes roll
to keep warm without a friends smile
its a mine of fools gold
to bury all collected connections.
remedy your mistakes
by listening to the wise
presching under hair white as doves
they've felt the loud trembles of the earth.
But still i walk through beaten battlefields
some say angels help us fly
through double-decor destruction
i just think there's no where else to go.
do we just sit to watch all the colors, grooves and shapes collide?
constantly we   fight for a righteous breath
just to end up in the same place
We are awarded by victorious lies
but still i look upon all the trees
sprouting from the earths core
branches of solitude
idea-less leaves
and ask myself
how can the simplest thing
grant life to the dieing eyes.

masked
from the winters snow
surrounded by the color of cleanliness
never have we touched his thick coat
with mitten less hands
for we know how cold burns
i stride
wearing my printed smile
stainless steal
plastic shine
tasted less stale
when i was a  child
i used to play piano
giving mocking birds words of their own
so they too
will forever be free
like the ideas of a writer
racing through his pen
drawing out
my lovely mothers eyes
deepest blue
like the oceans blanket
always comfortably draping me
till she closed them shut
was the day i played broken keys
snow settles as the color white
only in my memories
hands became mitten less
for i
know how the cold burns

i have fallen
between the stumps of the mango trees
to me their
leaves have become my umbrella
i sleep surrounded by dark soils
a typical shade of my  mind
while watching each fruit bloom
green to a yellowish red
my skin starts to mold
its still a pretty site to have
seeing others shine
seeds of envy aren't planted in me anymore
cause i know
when their brown branches brake
from teach fruits  gluttony
i will have company
by gobbling up
there's plenty of space
between the stumps of the mango trees