because he is a successful man
because he wears a suit and tie
everybody, let's rally around
we should listen to that guy
-
-
-
because he lives in a cardboard box
because he just wants to die
everybody, let's look away
we should ignore that guy

I tell the stillness
of an inner hand
to listen for the
celebration of clapping.

I tell a hand
that holds and spills
temple thoughts
to drink from a
pen of communion.

I tell an incomplete
fist to discontinue
angry tightening
and grasp the best
possible opposite.

I tell a bending
orchestra of knuckles
to discern the source,
and the difference
between imprisonment
and blessed solitude.

I tell a waving
wrist to genuflect
for the safe passage
of afternoon thunderstorms.

I tell a pointy index
to return the wild indication
to a form that is
acquainted and most
familiar.

Beneath the sunsets orange,
the green grass grows rich,
next to the blues of the river,
softly flowing through the meadows.

The days offering of warm rays,
struggles in it's last moments,
capturing the essence of beauty,
filling the soul with absolute bliss.

Nestled within nature's arms,
a deep and hot spark ignites,
spreading with a vicious hunger,
consumed by the pleasures of greed.

Embracing the comfort of solitude,
this forest, the only witness,
leaving untold secrets kept,
as lovers release their passion.

Apathy
is not
pathetic.

Apathetic
is
nothing less than pandemic.
But
nothing less common
than soles wearing out
between hot, molten asphalt
and the swellling skin.

you've been begging to just cave in.

But I can't live and not care.
Fiction is nothing to compare-
except all of the scenery that matters.

A horizon is subjective.
So the billboards
and the spider chords
have still taught me nothing.

I am opening my eyes to the green.
I am shaking like a lantern unseen.
I am a seed
planted on top of a building
waiting for sunlight.

When I was small
I walked on fairy dust and
my dreams were as tall
as skyscrapers towering
above the universe
inside of me, was the galaxy.
I was born of the cosmos,
full of light and love
passionate in my quest to
give this to others.
But as I grew my star began to fade,
stars need love and light to survive
and deprived of both my blazing fire
transformed into weak candlelight.
At school I had learnt it was easier
to hide your light
than to stand out as different
and be extinguished in an instant.
So I kept myself to myself
at the back of the class,
knowing the answers but not
shouting them out.
I daydreamed, and doodled
stars on the corners
of my books, all the while
I could hear the universe
calling out to me to trust,
that we are all born of this
cosmic stardust.