with sticks on their back they charge into battle.
the world screaming behind them.

ringing of white noise.

my palms as myself before me and every face looking back already looks dead.

we had no stake in the world. chips of wood broken away to make a fire.

Pavlovian trained, fetching their food, dying before they could eat.

what a retched service they had done.

no option for them or us to turn away.

October 6/ 1941

out of the day, born into the night.
out of the pain, breed in the fight.
drops of the rain, no sun in our sights.

let it go.

breath out in the midst, clearing of time.
hands on the wheel, miles of lines.
the voices still, but screaming inside.

For the weeks spent wondering, for the days spent pretending.
for all the lovers that had imagined, your love having a happy ending.

I find no solace in words, I found only confusion in my sound.
I see no point in reminiscing on what can not be spoken aloud.

July 4, 1994.

sun breaks through bent slits in the room and streaks of light tell me I am missing my day.

a ring behind the ear, you check yet again it is only your mom reminding you your grandmothers birthday is in three days.

The next twelve minutes you'll spend in bed, twisting through covers asking  yourself if you really need this job more than a extra four hours of sleep.

I wish I was the person that got up at five, laced up their shoes and ran a moderate four miles, letting the beauty of the early morning lighting show them the gentle side to the world, i would follow that by a nice light roast in the Kuerig.

But that is just not possible, ive got about fifteen minutes till i have got to be anywhere and I am  deep into my third rem cycle, still smelling of the wine I drank over ice from the night before. ill never make it to the pretty side of the world when your stuck in high noon tide.

three of us on the porch, glasses poured and cigarettes lit.
lip chatter towards talk of revolution in the streets and the welcoming breath to change.
two decks and both of them stacked against us. we are doing our best to be strong enough to distribute them out.

I wont let this dammed world take me,

she said I had lost it, maybe I was going crazy.

daring girl, I love the way the sun shines through her dress.

I think she has gone crazy, told me she was depressed.

how can nine months fade in a instant,
at what point two lovers grow distant.

this is not my love ballad, my plea for your time.
she asks if im doing well.

I can assure you love, I am doing fine.

ok my last attempt at really laying down a poem that has some depth, yet I feel by mentioning this i have already slightly failed.

I cant pretend that everything is always ok, yet I must try.
i cant pretend that life is always giving cause that is a lie.
I cannot say that losing you took alot away.
that you giving me nine months didnt bring some kind of change.
your long gone and moved on and im doing my best to do the same

girls twice as pretty as me say that im a fair lover
but even with them i still am not happy,
that five people in a week makes me feel more ******
that every night after five and i cant sleep and i still think
they are not you
and sure you probably had a reason,
yet i was the artist
the dream of owning a van
the idea that photography was a walking dead art form and now you hold the camera just to  take pictures of him
sure im bitter.
how many people in this world would desert you
tell you things with substance just to come apart like a cake that didnt sit well
nine months of I Love Yous just to tell me in the end that it wasnt how it seemed.
you left me with rent and broken sense of self and i forgave you for it, now i find it hard to forgive myself for being so forgiving.

I wont edit this cause i dont feel that it deserves the time.