Its two thirty a.m.
or maybe later,
as she lays there
on the outer limits
of the small town
gas station parking lot
just off the highway exit,
trying to sleep as safely
as she is able.

Couldn’t be
more than
twenty-three
with a fully loaded bike,
and body tightly curled
under the cover
of her safety vest
of bright colors.

She smothers herself
under bright streetlights
cause at this time of night
or morning the lights
offer some limited sense
of security.

A concerned security guard
tries to wake her,
mistaking a mam for sir
drops a bottle of Gatorade
for her to drink later that day
and a sandwich.

He tells her
the gas station attendant
called the police.
Then to ease
his concerns
passes a couple loose ones,
leaving when he is done
getting a short explanation
of where she is coming from
and where she is going.

This is where the narrator’s
lines end but leaves him
wondering miles down the highway
if the police hassled her
or left her undisturbed,
so she could get
a few more hours of rest
before the hot day
forced this girl
back on the frontage roads.

There are beautiful words
waiting to be seen,
poems waiting to sing,
like the diamond glistening
waterfall that plays me
to a gentle sleep,
as it sparkles
and leaves stranger in awe,
while giving me reason to pause
cause I to am dumbstruck
by my own dumb luck,
confounded by such glory
that I nearly trip on my
untied shoes,
racing forward to write
all that radiates from nature to
the amazing being of you
my emerald friend who glitters
just as wonderfully.

When we were young
we’d set our guns to stun,
play war game,
and make fairytales
to tell ourselves
that everything
would be ok.

But in modern days
machine gun ways
keep blowing us away.

Lies get harder to accept
and our innocence
gets harder to protect,
so ignorance becomes
the preferred state.

Halloween horror monsters
become less chilling than
those modern killing men,
and evading destruction
becomes an impossible feat.

While those who try
to fight the guys who lie
end up napping in
the dirt beneath our feet.

I am stumped,
shoulders slumped
as I stumble off in defeat,

and all that remains
to mark the pains
of our passing race
of humanity
is the poetry we leave.

I want to be swollen
with sweet word growing,
impregnated with that which
is made for taking darkness
and transmuting it into
a light of love for all to
fall comfortably into.

I want to take this language,
work and refine those fine
lyrical lines that make minds
turn towards acting kind.

But I have lost the eloquence
that was once my treasured gift,
and all that falls from my lips,
is red and brown drips of ****.
I’ve gone from child optimist
to exhausted adult cynic.

I have lost the fairies and dragons,
unicorns, and gentle care bears
and now dim dreams live there.

Vague impression of once vibrant
brush strokes, and dancing limbs
have giving in to warring men’s
disturbing intentions.
Nightmare too horrible to mention
have become my waking certainty.

But what is really bothering me,
is that it has become much easier
to accept this sick distorted reality.

The canvass of life has become
the splatter art of a billion broken hearts,
and I have mastered the skill
of numbing what I used to feel
in favor of current forms of
self-amusement.

It matters not
if in the end
all that I got
are a handful
of tender friends.

If my compatriots
do not forget
the goodness
that lives yet
in my poetry.

If only liars
and fools
speak ill of me,
but kindhearted
wise people
still feel
that I was
a man of
goodwill.

I know
nothing
waits for me
and eventually
I won’t even be
a fraction of
a lingering
memory.

But if
in these
minor instances
I insisted
on being kind
and that was
the worst trait
my detractors
could truly find.

Then I would be okay
to go out that way.

I used to hold on to grand ideas.
I used to believe I could change
how all the people in the world feel.
So, I spoke out, encouraged doubt,
directing people to the tools they had
to distinguish what was good and bad.

But after I had a thousand doors
slammed shut on my smiling face,
after each blow cracked the smile
and tears were sent in to replace
hope for despair for the whole human race.
I just settled in to enjoy the show.

Some claimed my actions were cowardice,
but in truth I was barely handling it.
Now, I’m no longer striving for justice,
just speed walking one step out of line,
just breathing several second out of sync,
adapting but not accepting how
other people act and think
knowing that we are on the brink
of destroying almost everything.

What is a foolish poet to do,
but write what he knows down
and give to all of you who
will not even deign to read it,
as you take our planet and bleed it,
of every natural resource
and ounce of human compassion.

Every act of violence is like a bomb blasting,
and demolishing every bud of hope that tries to bloom,
and even though I want to laugh have to I cry
cause no matter how hard I try
I’ll have to sit and watch as we all die
too soon.

So, you’ve decided to **** your planet.
This sphere can only take so much damage.
Your resources will not be expanded.
At some point no more trees will be planted,
so you will lose good air,
hell, with exhaust fumes and toxic towers
we are way beyond halfway there.

Your water will be contaminated,
but you don’t care.
There’s more pleasure to be had
by treating the earth bad
so why not grab
all that you can.

Congrats, on making that profit margin
grow year after year,
while you instill anxiety and fear
in those who work for you.

From what I’ve seen
it pays to be mean and obscene.
***** making energy clean,
human beings don’t need to exist
after you pass on from all of this
manmade chaos.

You didn’t even need a manual
cause you were a self-taught *******,
a perfect psychopath who laughed at
all those who tried to bring back
human decency.

So, king of destruction you win again.