Here is the fun spot
where the sun stops
for tiny gum drops.

Where I try and
pick pink pockets
with candy droplets,
devouring
the souring
lemons candies,
whilst my tongue
lavishes love on
long lollipops.

Where candy corn
and other sweets adorn
the dreams I try to ignore
cause I am hungry for
what I should abhor.

Yes, I miss my sweet mistress
of caramel treats,
and the boatloads
of cotton candy
that is swirling in
a tricky web of
addiction for what
I unconsciously love.

Once deeds spoke
of seeds stoked
with showers of
life’s breathing love
breeding hopes of
rebel poets and other
artists.

Now, you paint with
endless darkness,
as brush strokes
of dust motes
choke all of those
your greed broke.

I do not know
if we have the
strength to grow
and overcome
the cold blacked out sun
from which your
bitter heart sprung,

and the shadows
from which I run
from which this
dreamer’s heart is hung
to swing lifeless
like the corpses
of beautiful horned horses
and other fairytale dreams.

I cannot say if there is enough
beautiful fiction
to trick them
politicians
into doing what is right,
into trying to rewrite
the black void
into new light,

but this is the life
I choose to scribe.
This is how
I will choose to die
or thrive.

My good intentions our mine
and no one else gets to decide
what my purpose is.

Even when, half the time
I am confused as ****
about all of it.

Sometimes I act spotty,
want a nice hot body
that will make me
act so naughty.

At night when I am lonely
and feeling so homely
I want a woman to hold me
and make me feel ****.

Not much of a fantasy,
but I spend hours of insanity
working out to rule out doubt,
and one day when I find
the girl that loves me
for my wonderful mind
I want to take off my shirt
and my make love squirt
in surprise when this nerd’s
muscular form fills her
lustful eyes.

Welcome to the chamber
where I place all of my anger,
a place where you’ll find danger
if you try to hurt a stranger.

Welcome to the bathroom
that you see in the back room
where the **** rises high
and stinks up the night,
where the pigs own the sty
and the stench brings
tears to my eyes.

Welcome to the ending
of yesterday’s beginning.
Now, face the shadows blending
as prism prisons starts light’s bending,
where darkness does conform
to the wicked arts the corrupt perform,
but dragons still the rule the castles
that knightly fellows refuse to storm.

Welcome to my frustration.
It’s been brewing for a while
and all that boils in the pots
has stolen swollen smiles
and replaced happy faces
with clenched jaws
of undealt with rages.

I could have been happy if,
I didn’t have to live with
the secret expectations
of someone who believed
in the ascension
of humanity.

I could have smiled more,
if the world that I adored
was filled with fellow hearts
that held compassion’s
glowing spark.

I could have been a better friend
if I hadn’t been condemned
to feelings and deeper thoughts
passions of a darker cost,
but as the rose wilted
all hope was lost,
all my childhood dreams got
caught, cut up, or co-opted.

I could have came home last night
and told you all it would be alright,
but I am too tired to lie,
and I am too tired to try.
So, I say goodnight to this deceiving dream
of believing in
the good hearts of my fellow humans.

There is a melody here
made unclear
by the clutter of
collecting stuff,

and though I can’t play guitar,
I can still whistle
white hearted tunes
to turn sour silent hours
into less ghastly
beasts of reflection.

So, this is just a little bit of
talk therapy,
in the form of
stream of conscious poetry.

It’s a dark recollection
and all that I see
is a crumbling city
getting ready to
to collapse
on the scraps
of human vagrancy.
  
My car grumbles through
as my stomach growls,
a little less louder than
the late-night owl’s
party howls.

Got enough gas
to make it pass
the homeless guy
scrounging in the trash,

and beyond
the ***** blonde
drunk lady
looking through ash
to get as few
smokable butts.

I am doing all right
chasing nine to fives
to get by
and picking up
two extra
late night
shifts.

But the breaking point is
the mind I got
doesn’t fit,
seeing suffering misfits
brings me back down
to the heart of my history
when the hungry one
was me
and I would sleep
on a city bench
next to a slow street.

I am a twenty-first century
futuristic entity,
silly space oddity
that has been cruising down
this cosmic avenue.

It used to be me traveling
but one thing led to another
and I found me a true lover
under the milky way
that made me want to
change my spaceman ways.

We shared trippy passions,
stripped stars of their hydrogen gasses
as floating bodies whizzed passed us.

We were like nuclear fire
as we consumed and recycled
undulating waves of desire.
The perfect big bang
doing our thang
and we were expansive.

Dangerously in love,
she played me like ping pong
then like all the other
spiraling galaxies
moved on.

I did not read
the book on mindfulness
attentively.
Thus, the majority
of its clarity
was lost on me,
as was the bargain bin,
pricing I spent.
So, basically
it turned out to be
filler and fluff
to help me
**** time in the sauna
unmindfully.

Today, someone is missing a friend,
or mourning the loss
of someone who won’t
be back this way again.

Someone is listening to
the whispering winds,
longing to hear a ghost
that is whistling at them.

Somewhere tears stream,
and a mother screams,
dealing with the unseen
searing agony of losing
someone they loved dearly.

Today, on February seventh
of twenty twenty
I am telling you few
who happen to view
this poem
on purpose
or in passing
that nothing is everlasting,
and if this is the last thing
I ever get to say to you;

Today, there is at least one dude
sending out his love
to the whole night sky
and hoping it rains
or snows a whole load
of joy and light
into your onetime life.

Coffees zombies swarm,
coming in for their bitter friend
that awakens them
with the warm caffeine stream.

Red eyed dead guys
drive by as they supersize
specialized styrofoam cups of
the black muck that they love.

The cream swirls in a spiraling
sort of sick dependency,
to feed their urgent need
to compensate for a
severe lack of sleep.

It’s a horde of horrible things
moving without ever connecting,
a herd of cattle off for the
slow slaughter they call work,
and it really, really hurts.

It’s a war of attrition,
a sorrowful chorus,
that lacks the eloquence
of any previous composition.

A collective set in last place,
poor paces of a human race
as they squander the resources that really matter.

Something is amiss
in this dark dismal abyss.

Something is off,
out of sync
with the way I think
we all should be.

Something isn’t right
about this human plight.

Perhaps it is the fact
that the will I have to act
has been disintegrated.

Maybe it is because
the species that I love,
this herd of humans
has led me to believe
there is no better future
left to see.

Humanity has taken
that last shreds of faith I have.
Our species has shaken
the very core
of my once hopeful mind.

Now, I find I have no purpose
because of this worthless
existence.
A lack of meaning
and human decency
has stole from me
the drive to be
anything more than
a twig floating in
our shared timestream.

There is a dark little shadow
that crosses my mind,
a whispering voice
that says
“Its just fine
to walk around being kind,
but don’t you dare be a hero.”

There’s a hustler’s voice
that coarsely calls out
with the weariness
of ages of doubt,
“do, do some good,
but beyond that
if you try to save that world
your gonna fall flat.”

But there’s a third little fella
that is barely perceptible
that find all these others
quite verily contemptable,
he is the hopeful dreamer
that hasn’t died yet,
with optimism that
hasn’t quite dried up.

He tries to tell me
“we can be better
and as that example
be a world trend setter,”

so, I smack myself silly
to silence that foolish child,
cause that little guy
isn’t too bright.

She was my first artist,
a painter of purple pains,
peruser, abuser, and pursuer
of passionate stains,
taking my flesh canvass
and raising red welts.

As the master of other mediums
she could reduce me
to feeling more than lonely,
and disconnect this homely
child.

Till, the world
was a window that I could
never break through
and depression was
the only avenue
I ever really knew.

She was the first artist,
and taught me the craft,
but as an adult
I sit back and laugh at that
and tell the shadow of
the mother I once knew,
that I will not be taking up
the family artistry.

I have seen
a mess of human tragedy
and on a bad day
wanted to see it all
just go away.

Who champions the weak
giving a voice to those
who cannot speak?

Who lights the corners
where shadows reign
and people strain
to catch a breath
that flees from pain?

Who flips the switch
bringing in rays that
clear the dark,
allowing artists
to open up the park
so kind people can plant the seeds
that grow what humanity needs
to open strangers’ hearts
and clear out slick city sharks
that scowl and prowl
in a predatory style
whilst slowly devouring human decency?

In a world where villains
almost always win,
who is the everyday champion?

the unwanted compulsion
that enters unbidden,

the impetuous impulse
that refuses to remain hidden
cause it rages like a lava storm
frustrating and incinerating
every organic thing in its path,

such an inopportune occurrence,
a deeply resonating disturbance,
the deadliest and most addicting
drug of all,
a catastrophe worse than Lucifer’s fall
cause it has crushed more angel hearts
than any other heavenly disaster.

Logically, I should be afraid to fall,
and in my great wisdom try to avoid it all,

but the longing for love
makes a ******* and a fool of me.

I am tired of poor perspectives,
of the hues that abuse the views
of abstract paths and messed up avenues.

I am tired of prior cues,
signal that set poets on cruise
as the roads roll up
like the broken blunt
used to burn through
the black and soulful blues.

I am tired of the cutsie fluff
that distracts us from the stuff
we should be paying attention to.

But mostly I am tired of
the muffled muse I once used
being stretched and torn
to make other artists conform
to the boring norm
of trying to sale things
we don’t need.

The world spins,
blowing up
from within
amidst this
human destruction.

Forest and fields burn.
Still time turns
an orb in space.

Fur falls to cinders
a painful reminder
as those who cannot
step up
find they have
very few defenders.

In a hundred years
when they are
no longer thriving here
who will remember
the wonder of the wild.

The world is going to hell,
seems to be a ball of fire
set to expire in a vacuum,
set to become a bare black tomb,
and we are either on
the edge of no return
are already falling off the precipice
into eternity’s dark abyss.

Notice me,
as I sit swaying
in my grief.

Please pay attention
when I mention
what is nibbling
at my sleeve.

As the monster comes
to gobble me,
and I start wobbling
and sobbing
on the street
where my family
fell before me.

Please see the sorrow
that adorns
the ragged clothes
and pains I have worn,
the scars that have adorn
this torn flesh
as fresh wounds
well up with new blood.

Please see the poverty
of inhumanity
that has bankrupted
our society,
turning empathy
into a handicap
and sociopathy
into an attractive trait.

Please, while I wait
for the hate to abate
see me and acknowledge
my minor existence
because I am human
and only here for mere minutes
then gone
never to return.

I am dangerous,
old and cantankerous,
standing up and acting
outrageous.

Amongst an infinitude
of corrupted dudes,
I am the brightest loser
In a constellation of fool.

T’was the king of crows,
who cawed at me,

pecking and plucking
my straw furiously,
cause he was curious to see
what would become
of this straw man
he once flew from.

Eyes burning red,
whilst mine turn to dread
as a ****** of his brethren
began to follow him
and dig into my cloth skin.

I could not stop them,
with their plucking
and pulling
all my hay innards out.

They had no doubt,
nothing to fear here
it was very clear
because I could not
shoe them away.

So, they knocked of the hat that
was stitched to my head,
and ripped up the fabric
that held my button eyes.

If I was ever alive
then that was the night
that I died,
silently screaming,
begging, and pleading
for the crows to stop
chewing and eating
certain bits of my body.

T’was early the next morning
when the farmer found
a mess of straw and fabric
spread across the ground.
Though, to his surprise
no crows filled the skies
and not one part of his corn stalks,
not one pod, or kernel was taken,
or even shaken,
only my flaccid body lay there
exposed to the cold fall air.

What a pretty little smile,
from a petty little child,
grinning with her disease
milking madness from
the dry cracked coco leaves.

What a viper in the grass
with the sweetest little laugh
a chuckle made to mask
the darkness in her past.

She’s dangerous and you’ll see
come closer and you’ll bleed
cause this is a rat that bites
while you sleep quietly
at night.

I am a limited edition,
a once in eternity
type of being.

I am a sparkling collection
of particles in procession
passing from one
generation to the next,
that will never have
this configuration again.

I am an eternal
space traveler
cause all that I was
came from the cosmos
and will go back there again.

My ego expansive,
and the void
that I dance in
is massive
and will make you
all the same as me in
the very end.

Silly me
for seeking
that something,

for speaking
to someone,
and longing
to connect.

How ridiculous
to try ad be
a perfect
version
of me,

when perfection
only exist
in a minor fraction
of human endeavors.

Everything else
is just relative.

What a weird world,
of purple hues,
and soft blues
that waver over
the rippling water
as I ponder
this world askew.

See the silver swirls
of salty friends
who fall in and swim
then leap out again.

Watch the madman
paint a trashcan,
making the canvass melt
with the insanity he felt
as all his pigments bleed
but never die;

Being more immortal than I
these thoughts fly,
then descend in
the brains of younger men,
till the poetry
comes flowing free,

and they bring the artistry
of madness
to another generation.

Are you pleased
with the capitol
that these corrupt
institutions seized?

Are you happy
with the aftermath
of the blood bath
for which you asked?

How does destruction taste,
is it a bitter brew,
to see those who
you slew
in the name of greed?

Tell me did you need
to seed said chaos
to make us,
so ******* great
by bringing in
more ignorance
and hate?

How do you do
with this ****?
How do you feel
about misfits
who don’t fit
with this society
of war and depravity
in the name
of capitol games
that we now call
progress?

Watch this
and tell me
if you really believe
in the American dream.

Used to be
you and me
against this sick
degrading
society,

but you up
and left.

So, while
you were away
the world went strange,
people got crueler,
shoulders got colder.

We all found out
what politics
and the medical
profession
is really about.

The corrupt got dumber
than a redneck plumber,
but due to their massive egos
they still put on a good show
to show how stupid they are.

Technology,
created
more transparency,
so their stupidity
became clearer to see;

Even, by a man
as foolish as me.

That’s what happened
when you decided to
up and leave.

This world has no place for me.
I am just a blurry sketch
or a sad parody
of someone else’s
old daydreams.

When I look in the mirror,
it’s not me that’s staring back
it’s a stranger wearing a
stained off white hat.

It has been more than ten
years since I believed
there is something better
out there for me.

So, now I just try to be kind.
I don’t struggle with a higher purpose.
Why bother when life is meaningless?
There is no balance to this existence,
and I know that I am worthless.

Outside my window
my unrequited loves waits,
a summer world lit aflame
dances deep in space,
and in love I burn the same.

Outside my window the world breathes
with lovely limbs swaying
in this warm sunny day breeze,
with all those plant particles
that make me cough and sneeze,
but I am still pleased
to see all this outside beauty.

Outside my window children play,
wandering in random ways
working and reacting on instinct,
creating and destroying realities
right there before me.

Outside my window are a million stories,
some written, some soon to be
someone’s great discovery,
some fantasies, others slightly altered
perceptions of reality.

Outside my window lay all possibilities,
to be hates and rejected,
loved and respected,
or feel the world’s indifference
in reference to some
preference for apathy.

The universe may be
infinite as the
collective mind
of humanity,
but my current portion
of understanding
is barely measurable.
My place in space and time
makes me the opposite
of valuable or special.

One hug can collapse
my inner galaxy,
bringing me to the verge of tears.
Till I push them back
confused
by the strangeness
of my own madness.

The universe is pulsing,
beating and growing,
a heartbeat quickening
to vast to be understood
but still sickly constricting
as if time and space is convicting
me of crimes I have yet to commit
and some sins man has not yet
gotten around to inventing.

So, I am venting pulsars of pain
that rotate out and around then
back in again.
My black hole dilations
greedily absorb all of the light,
and space flotsam,
never returning anything.

Unending, beyond comprehending,
still I keep bending my mind
in strange contortions
to understand humanity’s
and spacetime’s weird distortions.

A stranger’s smile,
a salty smirk,
a playful break
from life’s work;

Short blonde hair
waves from
several seats away,
beyond my reach
but does not escape
desire’s eyes.

A beautiful young,
pretty someone,
who I will never see again,
is passing, barely speaking,
but listening intently
to the night’s poetry.

Then she evaporates
into a mist of
mystery,
before I get the chance
to say anything
worthwhile to her.

Instead, desire
dries and dies,
a bitter note
choking
in my throat.

Holy is the faulty flesh
of friends failing and falling
to the final ravages of decay.

It’s the sweet sensation
of a warm beverage;
Caffeine to enliven me,
tired to waking in degrees.
Till, I am super alert,
but later succumb to sleep.

It’s a mind explosion,
a space explorer
or interior traveler
of the unconscious,
deep unraveler
of hidden truths
that are buried
within me and you.

Holy is the unfulfilled desire
driving us towards a goal
we may never achieve,
a dream we may never
live to see become a loving reality.

Holy is the undiscovered country,
one that does not wait at the end of life
but beckons us forth from the caverns
of our mind to unlock our own inner divine.

It used to be
a very pretty
glass reality
that held all of the
grandeur we saw.

Now we see
sharp shards scattered
as glass figurines break,
leaving prickly parts
to cut and stab,
bleeding the good
and the very bad.

Dreams are demolished
and turned into
razor thin
glass things,
refracting
the reflections of
higher beings.

Fragile feathers
fall slowly down
settling on this
****** ground,
as angels realize
there will be no more
soaring high
in those amazing skies.

The world cracks and breaks
like Humpty Dumpty,
but there are no more
soldiers or horses
to turn this chaos
back into
our former world view.

Today is death.
I was promise it would only be
minor increments of damage killing me.
Disintegration in degrees,
a slow erosion of my identity.

Whilst flakes of skin
break from my thin
frame and fly away.
My mind does the same,
but unlike my flesh
does not regenerate.

Thoughts once clear
get foggy then farther away.
Till there is only an inkling
of the shrinking remembrance.
Then it finally blinks out
before I realize that
it was leaving for good.

The person I was
becomes confused
with the man I was
in my youth,
two beings merging
and separating
as important aspects
begin evaporating.

Memories become harder
to retain,
and impossible to regain.
So, I lose my name
on the very same
day I lose the faces
of those I’ve loved.

My mobility goes from limited
to non-existent.
All functions autonomic
loose cohesion
and I go from resting
to wheezing
trying to capture
a breath that doesn’t
want me.

Mind gone,
body follows
making my cold form hollow.

Then the memory of me,
becomes distorted.
My family and friends
lose tiny bits,
and bigger parts
of our shared past.

Till, all who knew me pass.
Then at last
the words I left
are swallowed up
in cosmic chaos,
lost with all that human
flotsam.

Crack the skin
see porcelain
bleed lava flows,
hot blood goes
boiling up and out
to singe the stuff
that flops
all about.

Ink splattered hair,
hands clasping
gasping breaths
of pain and despair.

Reality breaks,
her body quakes
with feverish rages
of sickness.

The one who witnessed
all these human tragedies.
Salt pillar people,
small flecks flying in the wind,
those dessert storms of dry death.

Who would buy this
art of pain and destruction,
as we all follow her
breaking down bit by
crumbling bit.

Welcome to the duality,
of love and rage.

See there are two strange
men in me,
a beast,
and a fellow of
morality.

But lately the shadows
are slowly blending.
I’ve been thinking
and in that,
bending
to a new understanding.

There is blind violence,
the exploitation of
at risk populations.
There is bigotry
and blatant acts
of cruelty.

Anger seethes,
cause all it sees
causes an aching,
that turns to longing
for some justice.

Love believes
that we can be better,
but in seeing society’s suffering
is transformed.

Passion and expectation
causes a weird transformation,
turning love and empathy
to anger and outrage.

The beast is moral, in all his heartbreak,
and the moral man becomes the beast
pushing back against more brutal monsters.

I imagined
the softness
of two lips
sharing a moment,

the sweet pressure
of personal gravities
pulling two people
into a collapsing orbit,

how fingers fit,
how the taste
of her lips
would push me on
to higher states
of desire.

I dreamed
of being one,
two bodies combined
by the passion
that has defined
my species
for quite some time.

I wanted to be
fulfilled,
by a fantasy,
but fantasies
do not equal
reality.

The arithmetic
does not add up
one bit.

So, I settle
for a self-purging
of this urgent
****** urging,
that is overworking
my human system.

We are all flowers in the end,
meant to bend,
or break
and go dancing in the wind.

We are all particles of lights,
crashing against time
like waves crash against the shore.

We are all snowflakes in a storm,
fluttering flurries that will melt
when it gets warm.

We are stories, minor memories
that are fading,
fading, fading
still glowing,
but knowing
that the days of dimming
will come,
that we will run
straight into
me, you, and eternity,
into
me, you, and infinity.

What is it
to visit
such explicit
anguish
upon
one
whose family
and nation
has been
vanquished.

To compound
sins of violence
on the bodies of
those who were loved
but no longer
linger on here.

When the carnage comes
on the beat of
wicked war drums
does anyone,
but me
sit around wondering
what all this chaos means.

As shattering screams
follow collapsing buildings,
bringing in nightmares
for years and years.

As the household is demolished
a whole family line finished
in one horrible instance,

what the hell is the purpose
of all of this horribleness?

I am the happy new year.
I bring you pain and new fear.
It is anxiety that roams near,
making me a broken vacancy
sign that blinks stay clear.

Happy new year to you dear.
Isn’t this fun son.
We haven’t done
much yet but I bet
we won’t forget
this unless we’re dead.

What a wonderful beginning
coming on the end of last year’s ending.
We have been working and bending,
saving and straining, staining our hearts
now it’s time for a new start.

Happy freaking new year,
and it better be or else you will see,
cause this isn’t someone threatening
this is just the new year beckoning
come on in friend.

This is where the year begins again.

I am working on my obsession,
getting ready to maximize
the level of my videogame guys.

It’s an hourly endeavor
a corporate game that is
supremely clever,
for its frequent firings
of the dopamine
neurotransmitter.

So, unconsciously
I am driven to spend
hours on end
thinking about
or playing
and sometimes paying
for a game I don’t need

I am gone.
Far and wide
I roam,
but still
I long
to find
my way
home.

A voyager
in this vast expanse,
a performer
in this
tragic dance,
I spin and twirl
on a world
that moves me
against my will,
farther away
from my history
and the roots
I once felt.

I move,
each step away,
unable to retrace
and find that place
from which I came.

Still the stars
call my name
tugging on some
deep and worrisome
instinct
that says
you will never
go home again.

Though this isn’t blood you see,
you are taking every inch of me,
disintegrating my loving being
and turning everything
I ever was into a colder thing.

You preside over my demise
as you present courtly lies,
trembling with greed
and hatred for the parts of me
that you despise.

But, I do not die, nor do I rise, and fly.
I merely dissipate in smoking shades,
growing intangible in increments.
Till no one can see anything
of the man I used to be.

To be lost adrift
in a life of pointlessness,
to sink not swim
giving in
to the darkness,

knowing
that no amount of growing
will guarantee
one ounce of eternity,

that all which was lost
cannot be recovered,
only shimmering
reflections in our
collective memory
connect us to the deceased.

Brother, friend,
sister, father, mother
all figures trend
toward hopeless ends.

We are subject to
and subjugated by
a fear and certainty
that all things die.

This why tears
leak from my eyes.

Even though, I wish it was
the federation that I love
which we lived in,
I know it is more like
the dark empire of oppression
that we exist in.

Instead of,
grand scientific explorations
made to expand
our humanity
with science, philosophy,
art, and poetry
we are subject to
the dark depressing view
of watching the wealthy few
work toward expanding avenues
for their prestige and power
to grow exponentially.

Instead of, refined officers,
like Captain Picard,
we got an army of
dumb storm troopers,
thuggish brutes
of ill-repute
that do not serve
me or you,
but work at the behest
of the E.U
world bank, U.S.
and other United Nation’s
corrupt interests.

So, we rebels few
who dream of being
something new,
who dream of freeing
all of us, and all of you
are ****** to live
in the dark side.

I don’t know how to hunt,
and I am less then adept at fishing.

I cannot fix mechanical stuff
but I’ve mastered the art of *******.

I got a gift for creating laughter.
I’m an awesome singer,
but a sub-par social actor.
I’m an ok artist,
and a masterful writer,
a decent observer,
of human behavior,
and an above average fighter.

So, if this is the end of the world
and you are looking for useful survivors,
I would not pick me first.
Even though, I can keep the mood lighter.

I’m up.
I’m awake.
I’m alert.
While other *******
might be butthurt,
and full of hot air
my gasses are inert.
Cause despite my issues,
I do not need to go there
where whiners live.