If you are black, they can,

shoot up your car,
come into your home
without probable cause,
beat you down,
****** you on the streets
while being recorded,
demonize you after the fact,
get away with it.

If you are black
and take a stand
you will be seen as the enemy
by at least half of your society,
even if your trying to
help your community.

You will be imprisoned unjustly,
and even after you’re free
they will try to prevent
or impede
your right to vote.

This is not a fake news reality
this is something that is
quite openly done.

The ***** water ripples,
and darkens
as grey clouds of diffusion
are cleaned from the brush.

Paints put away
the artist changes his pace
as the pointed quill
is dipped in,
and pulled from
the ornate glass vessel.

Deep dreams are drawn
as parchment feels the imprint
of this writer’s full intent.

Reality unfolds transcendent
as all dreams and philosophies
are finally released on these
small scraps of transient things.

I’ve given up
on finding true love.

I’ve given up
on my writer’s fantasy.

I’ve given up
on my faith in humanity.

I’ve given up
on hope for a better future.

I’ve given up
on changing the world.

All that have is here and now,
enjoying life,
and just being kind.

Too ambitious,
too **** vicious,
watches suffering
and thinks
that’s delicious,
I can use it.

Gets the crowed
crowing,
stirring rage
hatred growing,
a perfect way
to stop them
from thinking,
and getting them
drinking
that bitter Koolaid.

Turns a cheap phrase
into a simple slogan
turns a bitter man
into a bomb exploding.

So, the rich men
get richer,
the middle gets scared,
the poor gets trampled,
and only a handful
notice and care.

I lost Jupiter
in a crumpled notebook,
as my pale white
queen of the night
passed me by
and got on with her life,

and my sweet potato,
fellow fairy poet
has long since
vanished.
Don’t I know it.

I’ve parted ways
with many friends
who will not
message me again,
and I miss each of them.

As they go,
so do I
disengaging
from these sites
as tiny bits
of my poetics
are divested
then invested
in friends that
discard the heart
I handed them.

Sometimes,
I wonder
if they remember me
or if I was just
a passing word fancy,
indulged and forgotten
in less than a breath.

On brighter days,
I summit the sky,
then fall to escape
the rest of the world
that I try to
keep at bay.

I hit the water hard,
play in it like
it’s my own
backyard
swimming through
the deep salty blue
clear water view.

These are my daydreams,
a mind stream
I used to find
a line to rhyme
and work
poetry from my
ravaged mind.

On darker days
when the moon is
obscured by
a clouded sky
and fog moistens
my gray tinted window;

When the crow caws,
and the creepers claw
striking out in rage.
Taking this terror,
I paint my poetry page
with weird lines.

In the noon hours
I seek inspiration
from a nap,
waking refreshed
with a wonderful
dream reflection
slipping through
my bleary mind.
All points of inspiration
belong to me,
as I struggle to find
the right line.

When the shadows aren’t safe,
and you can’t erase
the bruises that are left,

When an unexpected touch
is like a bullet to the chest,

When the only safe times
are walking to and home from
school,

When you don’t know why
you shouldn’t die,
and there were multiple times
you really tried
as tears fell from your eyes
and congestion
left you gasping,

When even now forty years hence
the memories are inconvenient,
cause even though life is good
and you are grateful,
sometimes the terrors and pains
come back again.

There is something so deeply fatiguing,
that it takes any illusion of meaning,
steals the purpose I was using
to keep, keeping on moving,
even when I’ve been sleeping in
even when I’ve been eating enough;

This life just makes me so tired.

There are texts and stories
etched in and beneath
the skin we see,
that makes certainty
an arrogance beyond belief,
while same said suffering
can make monstrosities;

but you don’t have to
like or love the beast
to see with empathy
the place from which
their tragic tale came.

Who knows
what wonder grows
waiting to explode
from those who show
no signs outward?

Who knows what pains
burn from within,
what sick shames
stirs her or him
to inflict suffering
on themselves
or cause ****
for others who
never deserved it?

Who can read
beneath the flesh
that they see
and find depths
of ****** reds,
of wretched raw
tears that claw
at the surface,
raging for revenge
against those who
hurt us?

Who knows?

Lured by the slurred
word that she heard
which plied with lies
that made her hum and purr.

Late for her classes
she moved like molasses
and stopped at a hot mud spot,
to sit in the slop
letting the filth
flow from the bottom
of where she was squatting
up to fill each crack and crevice.

She thought the wet dirt
would only hurt her white skirt
as the slick liquid was sliding
up and down her body.
In that moment writhing,
She had the feeling akin
to being pleasurably pig skinned.

How strange the change
as her belly engorged
and her limbs grew short.
Then from her lacy drawers
a corkscrew tail emerged.

How weird was it
when she heard
squeals of concern
spew from her snout.

She began to doubt
her humanness
as her dress
vanished
and she was grabbed
by a drab brute
with skoal breath
and lots of flab.

Pork patties were made
of this maiden led astray
by the wiles of a worthless
**** that made a feast of her
soft pork belly.

Terror and inhumanity
have become
a tepid brew
that is stewed
in blood
and drank daily,
so said poison
no longer has any
effect on me.

Soft as silt,
white porcelain
rouge flesh
left gasping
as a fool
lunges in.

Thrusts of urgent
lust that pleads
for this man
to plant his seed
and leave
for far more
amusing things;

But she
was promised poetry,
words worked
like Woodsworth’s
cloudy day,
such sweet
romantic decrees,
of stars exploding
and imploding
of space growing
and passion
that spans eternity.

So, what the ****?
She is out of luck
as he *** and goes
before she even knows
to be disappointed.

Church services will resume shortly,
so, get ready to crowd the rectory.
Confessions are in session
cause these are concessions to con men
plying their moral dissent
to compliment other idiots.

Success, cause intellectual blindness
and devotion to a deity who
doesn’t give two *****
about all of you who
are not rich republican men.

We win, my gullible friends.
Come on in.
Kenneth Copeland
and Cresflow dollar
will be taking your money
to support their private jet
go out and get
more stuff while the poor
struggle in debt.

Why care for those who despair?
Why share what we have
instead of bailing out
big businessmen?
We got to open the country again
and we can start with religion
cause they already believe
that science is fake
and magic is reality.

So, lets get them out and about
who cares if grandma get the disease.

We need to please these rich dudes,
these fox news
red hat attitude
gotta get a clue
red state race bating
confederate flag wearing
NRA make America great…

Wait……

Yeah, go to church
your pearly gates await
just please stay in
for at least two weeks
when you get back from
hearing your preacher speak.

I created my only little world order
a comfort collected against disorder,
cause though I know entropy
will eventually consume everything
I like to think
I make my own purpose.

That I write meaning into
this universe I view
by the force of my creative will.

So, when the shadows come in
swallowing my well being
I have a foundation to fall back on.

Boy I was wrong,
the king of meaninglessness
the projector of  
poetry that says to everyone
that nothing really matters,
got a little silly
and caught up in
all those distractions
from reality.

Thankfully, all it takes
is a pandemic to shake
me from my stupor
and put me right back into the corner
remembering how much
I really don’t matter.

I have forgotten how to write
without flowing flourishes,
without the rhyme that nourishes
each tight woven and cherished
poetic line.

I have lost the ability
to lose the structure
playing games with
the worlds of words I love.

When I was younger, I did not need
anything,
but the words to come flowing
from the fount I found,
spewing rose petals of purple and pink
and I did not feel compelled to think
what is the next word
in the next verse
that might link and light past lines.

I miss the curling lips
as I let the words just slip
and lay where they may
not caring how they would play
with similar sounds.

I feel like a poetry clown
who cannot break the cycle.

I am binary,
two beings in one,
a black hole
and a blazing sun.

I am solar rage
and a hunger
as powerful
as Galactus
ready to devour
all of us.

I am curious,
needing the seeding
of seeing and thinking
of drinking
and perceiving,
what is truthful
and what is deceiving.

I am ready to withdraw
but willing to come out,
full of confidence
but hold wisdom
in my doubt.

Like a dolphin
swimming in
the sparkling
ocean,
I am part of two worlds,
underwater gasping for air,
and limited in movement
when I come up there
to take my breathes.

Asleep when I awake,
in a daylight dreaming state,
but as time moves on
silence speaks volumes.
I see isolation
and find sorrow
in this lonely nation
of homebodies.
I am conflict that creates
some things I love
and other things I hate,
ill-defined by this frame
that holds the mind
from which I sprang.

Mostly, I am confused.

I want to write a better world,
but observing it is like trying to hit
a shrinking moving target
that no longer exists.

It is poetic pain exposed
with a wet runny red nose
that tries to sniff this rose
which grows from a puddle of mud and ****
whilst the thorns have scratched and pricked
the thin skin that has not started
to thicken just yet.

It is like having a plastic band in hand
and pulling it cause you plan
to use the tension to hold in
all of the bleeding
that this sick and deceiving
world has caused
but when you pause
the band snaps back
and attacks with fierce pain
causing more blood to drain
then it helps hold in.

It is like punching yourself in the face
to explain the pain of being hit there
realizing quickly no one gives a **** to see
said sad suffering
when there are tons of short videos
that distract all of those
who you long to teach.

It is just maddening.

I am a caffeine addict
that won’t kick the habit,
that makes my kidneys want to rabbit.

They are a bright curly few
who come swirling through
the beautiful light blue
daylight hue I was trying to view.

These camera caught clouds,
were finally brought down
and captured in clicking rhythm
as I took and sent them
to a digital prison,
only to be released
for creative behavior
on the social media site
I was designing for later.

Could it be
sweet dreams of thee
that break me
from the shell
and take me
from the hell
of ignorance.

As merry sprites
split in two
and come together
again in view
like night lights
or those flickering few
glow bug butts that
fly crookedly in the air.

Could it be soft stirrings
that bequeath
a wreath of
rapturous love.

As Puck surveys
a sunny to
rainy blue
beautiful day,
preparing
for the sharing
of tricks
he plans to play.

As cold skin
starts heating
with lust’s
full intent
and the furies
are tame
compared to
the passion
I bring you.

Oh Ariel
what a tempest,
in a midsummer’s dream.

As golden strands
of fantastic plans
unfurl,
I see the girl
who could be
my whole world
but she is
as imaginary
as all of Shakespeare’s’
strange characters.

How I long
to love and be
loved as greatly
as the poetry
I write for humanity,

to be consumed and seen,
as I live a dream,
knowing that showing
the true me
will not end badly.

How I long
to know myself
and share that
with someone,
to let the tight brace
that carries my pain
be undone
cause I no longer need
the crutch that clutches
too tightly.

Like the ocean
that loves the moon,
as the night dies
far too soon,

like the snow
that melts
under heated passion
becoming
liquid love
and steamed breathes gasping,

though, I know I shouldn’t
I long for
the one thing
I want more
than life itself.

This is how villains are made,
when the hero is hurt and left
feeling deeply betrayed
by those he was trying to save.

When the world turns astray
as fools and brutes get in cahoots
walking around town to clown,
putting kind hearts down
while they parade
making darkness from
the brighter day
in their crooked cavalcade.

When the world he loves
tends to turn sideways,
and upside down.

When the right to maintain
justice becomes too much of a strain
and he is too tired to explain
why what is right is right
over and over again,

When the heart is red stained
from the pain that inflames
his sense of morality
and he sees no hope for humanity.
  
When he is demonized
for being the nice guy
on this very wrong
planet we live on.

You can see it in his eyes
as all his hope dies
and he either breaks and
succumbs to the lies
or becomes
what he despises.

Just passed that last blast
of winter’s wicked fury.

What a relief
to get some heat
cause I was tired of being
frozen.

Finally, here
seems like we cleared
spring
and jumped
straight into
the summer’s blue.

Sadly, this quarantine
has me catching
the fevers of cabin,
has my jets lagging
without ever flying
spiced with just a tinge
of unwanted crying.

Please no more storms,
please don’t get too warm.
Let this disease
finally pass by all of our
families.

Cause all that I want
is to come out of the house
and see all of you.

Here I am
one more
dead man
just walking.

Here I am
quietly
reflecting
on what I see.

Here I am
wishing
not to waste
the space
where poetry
plants it blooms,
that perfect
pink fleshy room
that will soon
be consumed
by rot and decay.

Here I am
ready to play,
for this short stay
which can be bad
or made great
by the way
I take it.

Here I am
hold my hand
as I walk us both
through the
forest trees,
and starlight
reflected in these
rippling seas,
as we share
all this beauty.

Here I am
ready to give
the time I have
left to live.

Where are you?

The highway lights
glow painfully bright,
as I drive home tonight.

I am more than tired,
and uncertain where
we go from here.

Still, my rattling engine
gets me on the road again,
while my bluetooth music player
has me dancing and singing
to Pink Floyd, and Billy Joel.

An hour-long reflection,
driving and thinking,
as bumps in the road
have my heart sinking
just like my spirits.

Images of yesterday
and tomorrow makes
me quake with anxiety.
So, I learn to enjoy the trip,
even when I am bouncing
as my shock absorbers
slowly succumb to the eroding rust,
as the paint chips and disintegrate
like the rest of us.

Another day’s work done;
I am the captain of my dodge neon,
and the endless paths that I travel on,
even though I keep hitting the same one.
  
One more mile and I am home to sleep,
one more poem for this road to keep
cause it was just a pointless thing.

Time to put the pen away.
To take off the coat and unlace
those shoes that you will not use
anymore.

Time to lay down on the ground,
let the soft mud become
the bed you lay in resting
until you are fully numb.

No more running.
No more pretending
that the pain is ending
cause there is some meaning.

This is the chapter of my
repeated defeat
where I fall asleep
and no dreams keep me
breathing happily.

Time to retreat;
You all win.
This is the end
that you were pursuing
abusing those who
told the truth to you.

So, I give away my last
fast single finger salute,
one final ***** you to
all those who
made this world a little darker.

I got no more sparkle,
and I am just really ******* tired.
So, it is time for the dreamer in me
to finally retire
and take up video games.

The world seems to have
taken me far back
to a place that
I never wanted to
return to.

After years of
a routine I loved,
working out
and going to work,
putting my body
through a world of hurt
and seeing those I knew
with a certain distant fondness,

the situation has gone and
closed both gyms
I paid to attend.

Now I am back to
working out home,
which is hard to do.

Plus, the socializing
that I got at the gym
has come to a sad end.

So, I have taken
up gaming
for hours on end
wasting time again
but to be honest
I don’t really mind.

Give me a piece
of the beast
on which you feast.

Listen closely
and mostly
you will hear
at least one of these
children cry
from hunger,

stomach growling,
while predators are prowling,
and the wolves are howling.

Back home the at risk
sit and wish to be rich,
instead see their
family fall sick,
while praying
god will fix
all of this ****.

We could have been
partners and friends
to all of the children
who have fallen in
the hole we were digging,
struggling
with filth on their chins
as strangers pass by
smug in their disgust.

You know,
the world is broken,
and we allowed it to happen
cause the shiny little tokens
made our monkey minds smile
while rich wolves stole the whole
world.

Do not seek me
beneath the willow tree
that once bequeathed
her leaves generously,
the browning birthed from earth
that used to be a beautiful green sheen.

She is gone recently
and I am still grieving
the loss made by those thieving
loggers.

You may look in old books,
and find my essence in
the sentences therein,
such sweet blessings
that sang my mind into being.

But do not search the loud
obnoxious crowds
of crowing fools
who act like tools.
I will not be one among
them.

While they are sleeping,
I am awake dreaming,
and thinking;
Elusive to this abusive world.
So, you might as well
go find yourselves,
cause I prefer
to be an introvert.

There is a wonder and beauty in uncertainty,
that sparkling unknown that unfold before us
making each moment precious
for its rarity and inability to repeat.
So, I hope it brings you joy and peace.

Poems are tiny treasure boxes
just waiting to be unlocked,
freeing hidden gems
or growing light orbs
that glow from within.

They are tiny surprises
of unconscious minds
that finally realize
what writhes
and works its way
from behind the curtain.

They are how shadows sway
dance and play in a
wonderful word ballet
with rhyme and alliteration.

Welcome to the worse
ending of our human universe,
cause this is the lamest
apocalypse.

While the world is dealing with
a covid pandemic
and corruption that is so systemic
that our president can’t even begin
to hide it,

I am keeping busy by
trying to write
brilliant rays
of inspiration into
this endless night life;
Tired of the long line
of the long blind
stumbling stupidly
far behind,
unable to find a sound mind
among their cult of greed.

My deep dark cynicism
has been building
brand new chasms
that collapse into
whispering despair voids
which need to be exercised regularly,
but all of the gyms are closed.

I know there are truths and perspectives
that sparkle under the surface,
of this world that makes me feel worthless,
things seldom seen unless the poet deems
to share their deep dark beautiful dreams.

But those were the poems I wrote
to warn of the wolves at our throat,
and now I see my lines of predictive poetry
have becomes our pathetic armageddon reality.

I wish to write
eloquent whispers
that stir
similar words,
making other
poets purr
with the power
they possess.

While trying to
preserve
the quality
of what I
previously heard
hollering from
other exploding sun
artists.

I’ve been walking
five or ten
steps out of sync
with all of them;

Just behind
these troubling times
and out of line
I hoped to find
humanity,

observing the disturbing
acts of people hurting
other people,
just to get through to
the good hidden
in plain view.

Light sparklets
spitting from
the light sockets
where poetry
and golden dreams
illuminate
what really makes us great.

But today
hateful claims have cleaved
the heart that longed to be
reprieved from this disease
that greed has infected us with.

My heart longs to be freed
from the sentence we all serve
in our mental penitentiaries,
these imaginary prisons
society has constructed
to keep our good intentions
obstructed.

I’ve been trying to see
all of the human beauty,
handshakes, and hugs,
heartfelt words exchanged because
love and compassion
have become
an instinct
not a well-thought-out reaction.

I don’t think
I can say for sure
if this is truth
or a fiction I use to obscure
how much it hurts
to preach love
and not be heard,
to know the cure
and offer it freely
while people swallow
the very poison
in which they wallow.

So, I might need
a vacation from humanity,
but I wanted to check-in
on all of you
in my poorly written
verses of gentle affections.

I seek starlight from burnt out hearts,
where gaseous clouds swirl about
sparkling with the glittering infinity,
living far above and away from me;

Like minded fantasies of spiraling galaxies
swelling with stellar hope
till I succumb
to the collapsed sun
of humanity's
black hole.

This is a business
not a country,
a place for profits
not humanity.

A place where
they won’t bother
to save your starving
baby brother.

A place where
the politicians
don’t care
if your grandma gets ill
and dies
as long as they
are able to save
the stock market.

A place where
the right to life
is how the right fights
against woman’s right
to choose,

A place where
they may give you
a penny or two
to get through
a pandemic,
but they have
unlimited funds
for the fathers,
daughters, and sons
of the corporations
that run America.

She is a lost wisp of a lover’s wish,
a forgotten whisper that lingers on
his cracked dry lips
in the desert heated hazy distance,
that one foolish man dreams of.

A serene scene set in-between
fantastic fantasies of cosmic entities
and domestic tranquility.

A tranquil bay reflecting white light rays
while one heart falters, falling before
he could help the whole human race.

As her echo dies in space
the rest of this human mess
is left to witness
his heartbreaking losses
as hope departs
his beautiful heart
and he is struck dumb
succumbing to
the numbing view
of a flowerless reality.

This tapestry that we weave,
has slowly started unraveling,
as have these mind made for
socializing and traveling.

We did not evolve to be
such distinct and separate entities,
but we are suddenly diverging,
slowly growing into roses who
were made to wither in a shadow’s glow
and fall into the spiraling slideshow,

becoming miming monkeys
or daylight dream seekers
who long to be truth speakers.

Some wake in tears like me,
others wake in maddening states
of mass shared stained-glass delusions
thinking their stinking leader is great.

While I am longing for love,
they are stewing on rotting plates of hate.

While I am swimming in stars
walking and twirling on space rays,
running the wide night lighted waterways
with my wonky weird word play,

they our devouring tomorrow
by destroying today
with their black hole mouths.

I got waves of rage,
that burn the day
brighter than
an atomic ray.

When I see the face
of the human race
ran through the mud
in the name of
god and greed.

When they plant the seed
of corporate deceit,
getting folks on the street
when they should be
self-quarantined.

When made up
tv doctors say
that’s it okay
to risk the lives
of your children
and wives.

When you need help
but they bailout themselves
and the rest of the
behind the curtain
rich folks who ain’t hurting.

When I choke and spit
in spasmatic fits
because I can’t believe
that this ****
is happening.

I’ve been to the dark.
I’ve swam in that river,
seen the cold and aching,
sit stare and quiver.

I’ve looked into
the eyes of a man
more suited to slither,
and watched good women
tell him to come hither.

I’ve been in the shadows.
I’ve heard hatred speaking,
fat faces stretched in rage
with slick saliva leaking,

and all the light
that I used to believe in,
becomes my last shreds
of hope, finally, up and leaving.

Now, I walk into the end,
write the world’s last chapter,
cause this isn’t a Disney movie
and there’s no happily ever afters.

When I go back to the night
that we all sprang from,
I’ll be grateful for the ending
of my personal hell kingdom.

Is it too late
to write a first date
that went great,
without a face
to go with
that shadow figure?

Is it too late
to see the dream
that I am chasing
and actually catch
her?

Is it too late
to wake in fear,
facing tears
of familiar aches,
were loneliness
takes my dry eyes
and turns them wet,
only to turn my head
and find my beloved
lying next to me
in our shared bed?

Is it too late
to activate
the dream state
that elevates
all past hate
and into
a better world
to view,
a place where
I am able to
hold on to
hope?

I fear that I know
it is to late
for me to believe
that some love is
coming for me.

Brown
to graying
long whiskers waving
creature displaying
innocence playing.

It’s a youtube
rabbit hole
that I follow
to ease my
sorrowful soul,
that has been
swallowed
by this hollow
hateful
world.

A ten minute
diversion
from what is
so urgent
as cute and fluffy
kind of scruffy
otters eat
and live
playfully.

Soft
fur rubbing
adorableness
to counter
this
horribleness
I have witnessed
for most of
my life.

Sleeping
to swimming
squeaking
to running,
on the rock
sunning.

What a nice break
from the hate
I’ve seen.

Next stop
jungle sloths
hanging from
a tree.

These are scary times
and I don’t want to be
the reason my family gets
this covid disease.

A lot of people
are out of work,
and I won’t complain
and be that ****
because I still get to
cash a check,
but doing so risks more
then just my neck.

These are troubled times
and I am afraid my greed
is preventing me
from doing what I need
to keep my family
and friends safe,
and illness free.

My baby brother
and his significant other
are getting ready to become
a father and a mother,
so, since I am still
out here working
I told them to stay
away from me
cause I don’t want
my unborn nephew or niece
to get sick and die
from whats going through.

These are strange days.
The gyms are closed
and my friends
all stay home,
just like my dad
whose sixty-five
with diabetes
and blood pressure
to high,
and every night
when I drive back
I worry that
this man who has had
a heart attack,
might catch something
that I bring home to him.
Still, I go in.
I keep working,
but if he gets sick and die,
I think I might try
and commit suicide.

I want to dull this
daily business
pain that hits us
minor misfits
with ballistic
bouncing *****
of depression
that fall
and bounce
right back
to jack slap
pain into
our red face,
as we are shamed
for our class
and unverifiable
race.

No
surprise,
when you reject
or demonize
the nice guys
who try
to be kind
and enrich all lives,

when you despise
altruism
and favor
that nasty flavor
of corruption,

when you
ignore the knowledge
and wisdom
of those who
sought education
over religion,

good men
stop trying.

So, stop crying
about how unfair
it is.
This is the world
that you made.

The battle is lost.
I burnt the body,
but this burden is
built from such shoddy
materials.

I dreamed of something,
more than just a
colored standard that waves
for brave patriots.

But the bullets blazed,
and soft flesh was bathed
in war’s wicked rage.

People were reduced
to ***** dog tags,
and black body bags
while mothers fell to tears.

Their parents thought
their children would be brought
home to cheers.
Instead, they face
what they refused to feel,
not understanding
that this fear was real.

While you were stuck,
getting drunk,
and punched
by your punk
boyfriend,

I was out
trying to make
poetic impressions
to inform other humans
what lies before them.

While your redneck
gotta get some ****,
barely ever there
partner who only cares
when it’s convenient
was getting mean
in your apartment,

I was out trying to write
love, wisdom,
and a sea of compassion
into this desert dry
dismal life.

While you were celebrating
race bating,
rich men taking
all that our labors
are making
while claiming
some poorer
population
is polluting
our great nations,

I was studying
and working
towards
self-improvement.

I know you tried to teach me
how to be mean and greedy,
but even though
I’m an amazing
autodidact,
I just can’t seem
or even want to
cash in on the
***** everyone else
capitalistic scheme,
American dream.

There’s a certain understated darkness,
with grey clouds a creeping
and lightning speaking,
terror into my tired being.

Sun obscured, when I’d prefer
the swelling heat drawing sweat from me.
I get cold shivers instead,
of beads of moisture falling from my head.

The cackle of villainous rage
as jagged white lines expand and disperse
cracking the very fabric
of my small universe.

There is a subtle sinister glee
to the natural destruction I see
cause nature feels extremely
violent, but free.

So, one broken branch
snaps and collapses on
a stranger’s house while he is gone.
One power line falls on
a slick city street
threatening to electrocute
any who comes bumbling through.

Torrential waters, and wearisome winds
brings in more destruction then
the frightening lightning,
inviting me to succumb to
existential despair.

Observing this disturbing scene
from a house in quarantine,
I wonder if I’ll ever see
a sunny day to play carefree
with my friends and family.

Your painter’s palette is pale.
Your canvass lacks any finesse.
With muted tones like silent groans
you meander through another stale
reflection of the veil you never ever raised,
and the colors you used as your muse
drip and dangle at strange angles,
but never ever really move me.

The story you wrote and struggled to promote
caused me to choke in broke despair,
because there was nothing there but air
and empty figures that blankly stared
cause no one was engaged with the page,
so no one was scared when the ill-prepared
people just up and disappeared.

The poem you created wasn’t even hated,
cause it lacked any passion
just picked up dust,
like a red wheelbarrow that rusts
and wastes away worse each day
cause your wretched word play
does not say
anything.