Start shredding the news
I’m grieving today
You play not so great
Parts
In the heart
Of LA
And ablaze
Is encroaching
Where lives matter
Most
Where the homelessness spreads
Avocado on toast
And the host
Of the talk show
Or podcast
Awoken
Amassing
Vast fortune
Non-fungible token
A hope that delusions of grandeur
Sustain us
Oases of plentiful
Potencies
Tame us
Proclaim to us
All the solutions
Salvation,
That Satan himself
Is the PBS station
But all machinations
Of waning states’
Greatness
Must propagate
Some form of hate
To create this
Supremacy culture
War’s winning mentality
Dog eat dog
Alpha male’s
Failed nationality

Is there anything more permanent ?
Is there anything more vain ?
For surely the word we call last
Will outlast all our attempts to change

Thinking ahead
to those moments
generates anxiety and fear.

It feels like
I might open a box
of dire circumstances,
a basket of hassles,
for tomorrow
is so uncertain.

Similarly, the past
resembles a rug
stained with footprints
of mud, grit, and misdeeds
best described as guilt.

Self-reproach
obscures all awareness
of the present moment.

Peace exists;
it resides in my awareness
of now.

And in those moments together,
God concedes
that sadness and dark times
are assured.

These obligatory struggles,
though arduous to traverse,
are trials
that contain kernels of truth
for me to grasp

if I pay attention.

some robbers in plain light of day go about their craft
and they never even told you to stick up your hands.

The lone tree stands atop the hill
in centuries t'will stand there still.
It witnessed love when young and bold,
then saw it's Autumn laced with gold.
It now brings shelter from the frost
that's only felt when love is lost.

I love,

the desperation
as if wandering lost on a mountain.

I love the solitude
and the loneliness of being
compelled to love.

i love the desperation.

the wolf hidden in my wild heart
howling at a streetlight

and the sorrow of distant echoes in my head
and the laughter coming from an empty bed.
the mountain ledge whistling in the mist.
the pierce of thorn from the rose
clutched tightly in my fist.


some never feel more alive
as love fades into the silence
of sweet lies and blue skies.

just never show the fear that's in your eyes.
never shed a tear for the rose refused.