Though I try not to be,
I am an arrogant ***.
It is a superior mind
that resides inside
the skull behind
my hazel eyes
camouflaged by
my mediocre life.

I subscribe to simplicity
for the sake if my sanity.
I project my intellect
for the sake of my vanity;
Invisible observer,
unloved lover
watching the world
under the cover of obscurity.

But the purity of my purpose
Is a self-serving illusion,
and though I am
extremely intelligent
I know that the belief
in my supposed superiority
is a self-insulating delusion.

What a shame
that full of ****
misogynist
moves with
deliberate
dickishness
looking for a
a sacrificial
lamb
to feed
his drunken
hunger,

that slick
slinking
trickster
who confuses
the masses
and misuses
the women
who view him
as an authority figure.

I would
burn this *******
well,
metaphorically,
give him
a sea of grief,
but it seems
people put him up
as a visionary,
which is scary
cause what I see
is a vile violator
of humanity.

The Devil’s in the details
which is how we lose
as the preachers picks our pockets
from the upstairs pews.

Politicians keep bragging
about the lines they drew
to obstruct democracy
and steal our money
like their rich friends
wanted them to do.

The smoky spasms
of specters passing
fill my teary blurred
vision;

Forced phantasms
of former friends
and family
which I remember
quite fondly,

The young girl
across the street
who was missing
a few teeth,

The old lady
and old man
who brought me up,
helping when they could,

The elderly grocer
of Kregor’s store
where I purchased
penny tootsie rolls,
and three cent
laughy taffy

The long dead dogs,
the trees,
the memories
of a younger me
living dangerously
hanging upside down
thick branches,

these spirits haunt me
partially paining
but mostly reminding me
of the good times.

We struggled so hard
and made it so far
to make what we love
to share who we are,

but people are gone,
they drove away
closed their accounts
had nothing to say.

We swallow our grief
try to accept what we lost
but we’re deeply entrenched
in the ones that we love.

They already gave up.
They never come back.
No matter how much you care
they do not care back.

A *******
with alcohol
did not turn
out so well.
He shoved her down
then dragged her up
as he yelled.

He hurt her hands
with his
hateful rage
squeezing
just to see
the pain
on her face.

Screaming,
“you’ll
notice this
now
you fat
******* cow.”

Her skin
swelled
like a
red balloon.
as she spoke
about
that raging buffoon.

Shadows circling
each bag under her eyes,
she cried
surprised
at the violence.

Then in a contortionist’s
sick fashion,
I watched her
twist herself
up in knots of
confusion
and weird love,
as she tried to
justify
our own abuse.

It grieves my heart,
that ink ambrosia loss
of forsaken affection,
that weary winter soul
woven in a spider web
that the leaver’s spin.

Chest tied
in flagpole knots
false flapping fabric
that symbolizes
a love that turns out
to no one surprise
to be a self-deluded lie.

So, I should just swallow
that chalky pill,
that bad medicine made
to make me not feel
anything but numbly ill.

I am neither
brave nor coward enough
to dim my muscle of love.
Instead, I face a war
of attrition,
a strange painful mission
of moving towards
a hopeful future
despite my persisting losses.