I am not the mystic sword
imbued with powers
and stored in a
gray scarred stone,
not wielded well
but a time worn,
battled weary blade.

There was no fate
for which I was born.
Instead, I was
weighed down
by a heavy heart
pumping out
uneven beats
of poetry
to the point of
collapsing.

The future was
not something certain
but patterns
easily perceived
recognizing what
I’ve seen,
I kept trying to
tell you the truth
and it broke me in two.

Like the oracle,
I saw through
to what life had in store
if people refused
to really use
the brains they
were given,
but no one
would listen.

So, with a tattered scabbard
my edges were dulled.
I lost my sharpness.
My bladecont.
reflected all the world’s darkness.
Until I could no longer see,
past the fog that caused this
tragic madness.

There’s a cauldron bubbling
with all that’s troubling,
doubling dangerous ideas
that might someday
thrive here.

There’s a hub bub dubbed
frivolous, a contrivance
sprung from some pittance,
some door that was locked before
but now welcomes admittance.

There’s a dream between us
fanciful as a carnival
and as adventurous
as a traveling circus.

Soft slippers swirling,
dancers twirling and whirling
like a whirlwind of
brown hair spinning.

Inspiring spiraling spires,
while neurons fire
arms flail in exaltation,
an ecstasy of what could be
culminating in brand new dreams.

These rare things,
like gems sparkling,
go on harkening
to some happy future
whilst dulling the pain
of past darkness.

Is it strange to say,
I rarely feel this way?
Is this hope and joy,
that has been deployed
for my own amusement?

I dream of all the poetry
the world has written for me,
all the visions that I see
of sweet swelling glory.

A fountain of eternal stories,
a well of rushing water
ready to run over
and wash away
all the filth of despair
and give me something
for which I can care.

Green leaves over there
grand stars in the sky,
grey clouds fill the air
whilst kind hearts make me cry.

When I am well rested,
my spirit is invested
in all that surrounds,
all those sights and sounds,
a fabulous parade
of colors and shades.

In love and heartbreak,
I write what I take,
think, and explore
philosophies
and sights I adore.

Bursting at the seams,
crying out “I want more.”
There is always
something beautiful
just beyond the evening’s yawn
before and after
all of my dreams are gone.

The corporate Kool-Aid
is not made to save
but made to play
big money games.

Business interests,
all of those investments
put men in bad positions.

Twisted ambitions
move forward towards
more and more
without exploring
what the opposite
of profit is for.

Infinite growth of capital
is impossible.
We will fall
like dominoes.

To gain people must be adept
at acting bereft
of any decency
of behaving without any empathy,
and if they get caught
other enemies of humanity
will grant them clemency
because they make the policies.

What was once illegal
becomes law you see,
but only for the real wealthy.

It is a sick form of necromancy
that resurrects bad aspects
of previous political ideologies,
and condemns good men
and women to poverty.

My quick wit
put me on her
stupid hit list,
but her hitmen
took their best shots
and missed again.

I’m a sneaky little devil,
a daring dancer who dwells
just this side of the soil
and Dante’s hell.

Guilty pleasures lick skin
pressing in confessing sins
that aren’t that bad.
In fact, in the past
those where the best
pleasure I ever had.

Now they lay
behind me
as I walk away,
every step
another day
to forget
the laughing corpses
that paint my path
of painful yesterdays.

The ****** bones
of this broken lunatic
howling back at
other fanatics,
as the circus of
the ****** I love
just clowns around town
for a little bit.

Memories burn before me,
dancing clouds of smoke
as ashes aspire to fly higher,
leaving behind burnt offerings
of all those silly passing things.

Pleasure is partly pursued
by all the body parts
I never used, just viewed
and stored for some
later date.

With a flick of my fast wrist
I purge myself of all of this
frustration, leaking my lust
in tiny but thick droplets
and fall asleep cont.
on my sticky sheets.