look into my eyes
look into my eyes
and see that bright white
see it glow in your sight
see-

too deep
it's ocean blue frozen
into ice of Neptune

rivers of pummeled glass
dust mountain peaks and lead
down to a ravine of Lapis Lazuli

search its hidden depths
search deep within your chest
search-

deeper still
it's black water
blind men sunk in a cave

tears and blood
leak from shadows paved
to a floor of stone, sticking cold

run from their reaching grasp
run from their snapping jaws
run-

deepest of all
it's white noise
snow on television screens

a tiny spark of
dreams and secret things
from a naked boy, fearful of the night

see that shining light
see that glittering light
see that fading light

as you
stare out my open eyes.

Skeletal sycamore branches stick out
atop crowning heaps of golden saw dust,
protruding portcullis on walls obscuring
a paradise lost in a tilted hourglass.

Trophies of green sea stone
spring tall, out the arid desert dirt,
shimmering in the spotlight and
scattering rays off a polished exterior.

Cages of bone and eyeless skulls
are covered in feathery craftsman,
sculpting leathery carrion meat
into monuments with chisel beaks.

Apollo's wavy bangs dangle down from
hurricanes of dusty satin sheets
infusing the air with a rippling haze,
a curtain shrouding the main play.

Evanescent art adorns the dunes
erupting in bursts of swirling spirals
at the lightest twirl of the wind's
dancing digits on the gritty canvas.

And lost in mirage, icy springs
attract flourishing palm trees
bearing sickly sweet treasures;
a moist fruit in a desert garden.

You peel back lips and digits, white and pink,
at a familiar green iris on an asphalt street.
But inside your eyes, at the back of the skull,
lie a million brilliant murals, on a canvas wall,
of angry grey clouds on a sun lit grass plain.

Your brown bushy dam quivers with the strain,
then with dawn's light, the grimace breaks.
But between lines on the foreign dirt page,
book worms wiggle in a shifting and strange
pattern of words with a silk syllable twist.

You push through dead wood and slip
in a wool sweater cocoon to tenderly kiss.
But through the gap between your brows
is shared little giggles, without a sound,
and an entire narrative, like sushi, wrapped.

You feel the red ribbon is being stretched
before snapping across your moving chest.
But a beat before, in a torrent of despair,
were screams in a gym with angry tears,
at limbs on the edge of bending at the knee.

You bloom on a branch of the family tree
adding more rings before breaking free.
But in between the ticks on your clock,
ages and phases pass by and time-
stops.

I was walking home staring
At the crowd before me, headphones blaring
Passed a white dome stair case
There I saw some protesters
******* about sexuality, the poor and race
They all were white faces
Straight faced liars
Jacking each other off
Go home at 3 when they’re tired
Wired in their brains to think everyone’s discriminating
Women hating and tearing
The country to pieces
But I’m tired of hypocrisy and political movements
that fizzle out before anyone important starts moving.

People leaving jobs and homes
to join the growing
mob screaming in the streets
like piles of leaves
before the street cleaner comes
to sweep them off their feet.

They're grabbing signs and posts
and roaming with provoking slogans
forming chaotic masses
walking with sticks up their *****
following Twitter feeds, Snapchat and hashtags
looking for a reason to blow their tops
tired of being soft
trying to **** each other off.

I mean what would you call it
when thousands of people are stroking their ego
and blowing their load of **** in your face
like they have something profound to say
when they really just don't have the *****
to go all the way and do something great.

"If you don't agree with us
you must be hating us
trying to suppress us
you discriminating racist."
Just because I don't agree
with the way you're rampaging
about unclear desired change,
doesn't mean me and Satan are on the same page.

Do you think Martin Luther King
went screaming in the streets
with misplaced anger and a vague ideology?
No, he preached freedom in churches
gave speeches in public places to all races
with a plan and clear demands.
And managed to start a movement grand
while here you are starting a media fad
of angry disruptive rants.

You fools are using your hate
to hammer away
at people who can't bring change.
Instead of placing it like a fine tool
at the faults of the human race.

If you're going to stand in the streets
screaming at me
and whipping up a psychotic frenzy,
then at least go all the way.
don't stop after a few days

Get together and have a discussion
let your hearts sync
forming one percussive beat
of a worthy goal.
The kind that matters
that arrests men's souls.

Not but dust,
lies beneath my fingertips.
Each touch braille on a sand dune,
whispering messages of hell.

Not but dust,
erupts from my cracked lips.
Each cough black ash from old bellows,
the remains of young fire.

Not but dust,
enters my quivering nostrils.
Each sniff the perfume of a great king,
in an empty tomb.

Not but dust,
fills my sunken sockets.
Each shape crumbled flecks from an old painting,
a memory fading to a colorless landscape.

Not but dust,
trickles from my ears.
Each sound sand tapping against hourglass,
my final moments slipping by.

On every horizon, just beyond sight,
Lay a storm as black as night.
From it arises a beat, a screech, a wail, a cry,
Of lives torn,
Trust betrayed,
Chaos reborn,
A price to be paid.


The thunder heads pound out the marching beat,
Crashes resound with every step of their giant feet.
Grey-faced soldiers follow one-by-one,
Infinite ranks blotting out the sun.
Their musket shots ring out loud,
Streaks of light arching across the clouds.
And rain drops fall like cannon *****,
Tearing through every roof and wall.


Over every valley and hill this maelstrom churns,
Laying waste to all in its path,
Bringing naught but pain, desolation and death.
From every direction it comes,
North, South, East, and West,
The four horsemen ride,
Slowly tightening the noose around my neck.


I watch the horizon.
...not a cloud in the sky
But I know it’s there.
I can hear the battle cries...

The road we are on is a short one
Our two souls will soon grow distant
and cold
But, in this moment
I have never felt so close
and warm