The soft egg shelled mind
is soiled and embroiled
by the terrible turmoil
of technological silence,
with a key board click
we once lost it
however now
in swift with sic stealth
the quiet imbeds itself.

Sorrowful seeds dropped
sowing painful thoughts.
Small sprouts
peek and poke out
through the surface
to catch us all
as unsettled earth
is disturbed.

Fierce floods of
painful stuff
erode the
fertile ground.

Stillness brings
crimson flowers blooming
and fruits falling
to rot on the dirt,
it hurts
but births
new verses,
till there is
poetry.

America,
I am tired of
your bad boy
obsession.

I am
fed up with
the adoration
of this racist
nation
with confident
sociopaths.

See,
these guys
used to make me
laugh,

but there frantic
antics
got really dangerous,
and their harmful ideals
have become
a plague level
contagious
social pathogens.

So, America
please stop
enabling these
war mongering
old men,
with inferiority
complexes
that make them
keep waving
their rocket wieners
at foreign nations.

Or else the
nice guy minority
will take our
goodwill
to other countries
and let you deal
with the real
fallout
of your
nuclear
gullibility.

Stressed and tense
the young man
twitches and jumps
at any instance
at school.

But at home
he works in
a light tee
soaked with sweat,
as he
pushes the mower
listening to
his favorite songs
on a Sony Walkman
cd player.

Sprays of stray grass
blow back fast
sticking and staining
his straining calves
and ankles.

Even the torn blue jeans
start smearing shades of green
while he continues moving
and sweating profusely.

Small squirrelly animals
scamper away
afraid
of the loud machine
pushed by this
oblivious human being.

His hair is soaked in sweat,
the sweet relief
of strenuous labor
won’t pay off later,
but for a good hour
or more
he is completely absorbed
in the music and work.

The world ceases to be
any problem for him
and he has no tension.

I have all day,
the digital display
of my computer
will not display
the games I play,
or let me watch any movies,
It won’t even boot properly.
So, I go outside.

Walking, the sun warms
one side of my face.
I brush my hand
against the bush
that sits
just this side of
a ***** gray fence.

Thin limbs of light brown
poke my darting digits
that dared to ******,
observe, and explore
the texture of the
yellow green
miniature leaves.

I take my time,
see strangers stray
in a laze
walking slowly
away,
hands interlaced
in an unpracticed stage
of adolescent love.

The private school black top
is broil an egg hot,
but unlike long ago
I do not let my toes
touch that searing summer heat,
I do not need to test me
anymore.

I drive out to the country
just to relax,
and follow a road
that takes me back
to my brother’s
grandma’s and dad’s
house.
I haven’t gone there
for a very long time,
my mind says
I should go visit them,
but then I remember
they are both dead

I try to enjoy this
disconnected day
but, every hour or so
I catch myself thinking
I should look that up
when I get home,
or I will watch this,
or play that.

Do not fall in love
with an artist like me,

because upon inspection
you will find obsession
poetically enthralling,
and passion all consuming.
I will treasure
all acts of pleasuring you
to  an ******* quality
in excessive quantity.

Do not fall in love
with an artist like me,

because I am passionate
and extremely engaging
sparing all other engagements
to be in your stunning presence.

Do not fall in love
with an artist like me,

because my nature
is solitary,
and though I tarry
with you
I will be forced to
find moments
for myself.
Though, I longed to be
devoured by your desire
and engulfed by my adoration
of you
I will need time to reflect on
everything.
  
Do not fall in love
with an artist like me,

no matter how hard I pursue you
because I cannot promise you forever
no matter how much I want to.
I can only give you
this brief spectacular sparkling moment
in eternity.

A flurry of fuzzy
flowers float in
a hot summer winds.

My beneficence
stems from
my shaded happiness,
because if I was
consumed by
anger or sadness
I would not
have the energy
to be kind.