It was anger,
Despair
Hurt,
Rage, building from an undisclosed sadness

Messages were cryptic
Aggression was slipped in.
Spoken word, otherworldly
We didn't realize how serious it was til you put your hand on me.

Dictating out of your element,
you crawled under our skin.
We thought that living room,
Would become a sanctuary of sin.

Tension could have been cut from the air,
helping us to breathe
I didn't know of the warning
Still we collectively wanted you to leave

A reliance on violence creates ages of defiance

Every topic with a twisted stance
We were riding on good vibes,
You wanted no part in that dance

Happy you confirmed that we weren't demons,
But you expressed audible blades for no reason.
In attempts to cut all of us you wanted to put a leash on.
For here in America being severely damaged is always in season
Manipulating and regulating a life less than half lived
Getting yours should never be the only reason you give.
Beating the **** out of somebody is what you expressed you wanted.
Touch someone I love, and I'll make sure that you're haunted
One, already lives looking over their shoulder
You sneak up, making their bright days colder.
Crushing spirits like a boulder

Tweaker livin'

Chasing roles to fill black holes in your soul
See beyond yourself, day by day losing control
We still chose to see the good, despite you being riddled with dark
Biting tongues, because anything could have been your spark

A split second in my cranium
I was overwhelmed with delirium
When you grabbed my wrist, putting a halt to our stream of bliss
Where I thought violence was appropriate,
The guitar on my lap, an instrument of creation
Completely fluctuated and almost became one of destruction.  

It was as if I felt what you were feeling with your hand touching me
Felt anger enough to see that you wanted to crush the we
Not sure why you followed us to the fest.
But you within our vicinity was an interesting test of restraint.
Tried showing you warmth, but you'd have none of it.
I hope you see life from a new perspective one day, and unconditionally love it.

Sorry we ditched you there, but our friend living in fear of you isn't fair.

Get yo head right, before "The final scene" you spoke of comes true.
A seed of hurt was planted long ago, exponentially it grew.
So high you wanted to take the sunlight from us all, only so we can't have it.

*Just be careful what you wish for, because this life is magic~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




a little straight slip of a thing,
red, a quartier inch wide,
red, a quartier inch thin,
suggestive, inquisitive,
a political and philosophical,
lovely provocation to conjecture

as if it were a colored arrow,
pointing strangely down,
instead of up,
to the next handhold
on a rock climbing wall,
in this case,
handholds on a
woman's body

this way,
follow me,
to the barricades!
a tourist mapped-path to follow,
visit the glories of the republic,^
and the charming Quartier Latin!

entrap and entice,
the eyes willful blinded,
taken away to thoughtful solitary,
on-one-side-only,
does the
bra strap
conveniently,
consciously,
haphazardly,
(yes, that's it,
a hazard,)
invitingly, speaks to,
looks to me,
inquiring will you vote,
RSVP to red?

as if a line of lipstick on the body drawn,
the directive points,
this way, perhaps,
always, just perhaps,
this way tourist,
to the dome of the pantheon,
where the statutes
are the course,
or perhaps
disguised, well-placed, statuesque, (ha!),
improvised explosive devices,
purposely presented,
needy for a desired
psychological high impact detonation

If
that is its purpose
under heaven,
under sweater,
under halter,
under cutoff gym top,
under liberty,
to tempt and remove
the blindfold from the womanly scales of
under justice
to tilt him favorably one way

If
it, is theater,
I, the audience

then whatever is on stage,
(Ibsen's Doll House, ironie délicieuse)
is a failed distraction, naught to naughty,
to no avail,
his eyes fastened, stapled wide
to the quarter inch thin
red path
from her slender shoulder,
leading, stepping him ****** down to
his I-magination,
for which unknowingly,
he, ticket purchased,
months ago for
two hours and one intermission

He must go again,
the show was
superbly acted,
for so the reviews said,
Ibsen's play,
"an unremitting portrayal of the suffering of a women"





^republic ~ a state in which the power rests in the body,
of those entitled to vote, exercised by their representatives, their eyes, chosen directly by and for them.

So many poems in shallow graves lay,
unremarked, disfigured by inattention,
undistinguished, death by ignorance,
yet all distinguishable,
in merited manner
and winsome way

numerical weight of observations
marks only quantity,
nor is it a critical mass
connoting value, criticality
only idol worship, pop rock popularity

are you genuine,
do you value place
on any handworked lettered trace,
its silver hallmark
even ever,
ever even,
magnifying glass faint?

does the fear, the knowing,
that the greatest poem
ever penned and ever posted,
has escape your inward glance,
laying stillborn and yet
just a click away?

are you truthful poet,
do you imbibe
from the word~waterfall,
poems sky-endless falling,
within which,
by their virtue,
you, too,
permissioned to
survive and be nurtured?

if you drink and think of but
the issue of your own spawn,
see in a one way mirror,
a contained reflection,
see then a limited version of one self,
a half-formed wordsmithy,
incapable of healthy mutation,
a child, unfully grown,
poisoned by reaching for only
only one's self from the bookshelf of
this miracle,
called poetry

integrate your integrity
with integers and alphabets,
from spice islands and faraway places
infect yourself
with dots and dashes
of other's mind,
thus your own composings,
healed, improved with injected
doses of vive la différence!
a verbal literary interferon

are we all laureates? no
are we all kith and kin?
assuredly yes,
assuredly no

Vive la Différence,
the only commandment,
the ruling motto,
sup with me

once I was a young man,
a younger man than now,
unaware the road less traveled
the veritable choice of the chosen few,
vanity from the page
reflected falsely upon me

I learned to be not~me~poet,
in the company of
scribblers and scribes,
who strove and tried,
some better, some for worse,
all enshrined

once he wrote:
***** your courage to the sticking point,
Begin to write then with reckless courage,
Unfettered abandon, make a fool of yourself!
Scout the competition.
Weep, for you and I will never surpass
The giants who preceeded us, and yet,
Laugh, cause they thought
the same thing as well...^

so these souls
to thee I do commend,
it is just the first snowfall,
I am buried neath drifts Minneapolis deep,
so help me,
lend me thy scalpel eyes,
thy tiny toy shovel,
six feet ain't much,
dig we must,
alert me to the names of
those who
must be uncovered, discovered,
rightfully celebrated