I crawl into worlds of words
to escape the one world to which I'm bound,
burrowing deep inside pages
that carry me away from this cursed ground.
I'm sorry, darling, truly,
that I still run away into these places unknown,
and that I leave you, here,
to face the flames of this burning house alone.

I know that we both thought
our love would give me reason enough to stay,
but my god, I've never learned
to rely on only my spine for support each day.
Forgive me, love, I do not mean
to retreat into the forest growing in the library from you,
but without these daydreams, these
intricate mansions of imagination, I don't know what I'd do.

You can always come with me,
or you can find a heart that does not roam
to the fields beyond reality -
one not used to calling inked castles their home.
Know that when I'm absent, I am
peacefully swimming with the papyrus' tides,
or building a fire of hardback covers -
but I will always return when you call me to your side.

When the moon hovers hallucinated
on the post canal
breaking in bubbles of fish breath
the white widow of the night
revives her long dead tongue
to lick the scales of your skin
pulling you into her bed of nails
making love with you the whole night
leaving you bruised and insatiate
when they find your shadow
scouring the edge of the canal
with her name on its lip.

Their relationship weeps
many different shades of blue.
Feeling low-spirited, overwhelmed,
and miserable.

Her torn tears,
cause the massive fog
that puts out the fire to their passion.

Blocking her mind with hollow dreams,
cursing his destiny with her dark trust.
His cold heart freezes her warm one.
They are both suffocated by
each other’s frustration.

One major mistake: believing
that they once loved each other,
but it was only their desperation:

For comfort,
for safety,
for happiness.

The ship is sinking
and the women and children
are still on board,
but the lifeboats have been taken
and the ******* Captain,
he ain't letting any more board.

One day soon
in this unknown country
where our dreams shout
and jump ship,
a train will come
and it will arrive full-steam
ahead, and full of resisters
looking to take the Captain's head.

Walking home
ripped I tripped
on a dead dog
half-in the ditch
hard as a log
and stinking.

I said *Scoot over bro,
come morning
there won't be a spit
of difference between
you and I in the eyes
of the buzzards
and the beholders.

Oh yes ...
no its true,
******* & dancin' at Studio 54,
just like a jungle patrol with ever present
chance of immediate death
or dreadful injury
from claymore mines
or ****-smeared
bunji sticks,
or a bullet from nowhere
that shatters your head
and leaves your brains
all over
the man
behind you.

Oh yes ...
no really,
seducing an upcoming starlet
in his luxury pad,
well its just like
coming across
the charred
remains of
napalmed children,
weeping mothers
shell-shocked granmas,
no! ... it is!

Oh yes ...
seriously,
dining on rare steaks,
lobster & caviar
in his effort to
impress and
get a piece,
is just like
cold rations,
wet clothes,
leeches,
& festering
oozing wounds.

Oh yes ...
uh huh fa sure,
Trump's New York days
compare so well
to 58,000 U.S dead
and oh yes,
several million Vietnamese,
bombed,
shot,
obliterated,
incinerated.

Oh yes.
Donald J. Trump,
had it hard,
by God
he did.