The bar is split in to two distinct moods.
One half is red bricks and well treated
water resistant wood
with soft lighting that aches for some
classical piano and violin instrumental.

The other half is a metal wall with
wonderful works of  
abstract art scattered on it,
small canvasses that explode in
strange color arrangements
perfect for the throaty blues muse
who pours her heart out
in a variety of well written tunes.

Lightly tanned hands
move in a slow dance
as long brown shimmering strands
are swung around to the sound
of the band’s soft collaborative movements.

Her fingers start snapping
while one entranced patron sits tapping
out similar rhythms.

An ear-piercing projection
of solid soulful vocalization
breaks the young man’s enchantment
as he is startled to the point of
almost falling out of his chair.

A couple of tunes later
she bends towards
more eclectic electric cords
blending in with
her family companions
as she finishes the night
with a sweet set of
awesome songs
the thinning crowd loves.

I got a list of long ago
mistakes I made
that I can’t let go,
and I know
they made me who
I am,
but *******

I could use a flash back.
I could use a rewrite.
I could use a do over.
Can I get one tonight?

Got a handful of
people that I loved
who will not
be coming back from
the other side
of that make believe
afterlife.

I could use a flash back.
I could use a rewrite.
I could use a do over.
Can I get one tonight?

Not enough fingers and toes
to count all of those
mistakes that take
and shake me from
my quiet repose.
I hate all of those
bad decisions,
but I am in
no position
to revisit
and fix them.

I could use a flash back.
I could use a rewrite.
I could use a do over.
Can I get one tonight?

I won’t get a flash back.
I won’t get a rewrite.
I won’t get a do over
tonight,
so, I need to just
get one with my
little life.

She is made to speak
without words,
makes me weep
when she sweeps
her hands across
the wooden floor boards
raising them up
then dropping them
once more.
  
She is made to speak
with a well defined
unique physique,
strong and tiny
sparkling shoes
move as I lose
myself
and gain a muse.

A gazelle like
graceful rise
as she jumps
oh, so high
that I feel
angels will
drop from the sky
just to catch
her eyes
for a second.

She is made to speak,
with arms and feet
that move like
spiraling gas clouds
in the heaven,
a body that bends like
a sweet stream,
and she visits me discreetly
in my nighttime
and daydreams.

She is made to speak
and though I seek
to be near her,
I never get to hear her.
I only know her
from a distance
in the form of dance.

I want to be fit,
but ****
I love
chocolate.

I want to be ripped
but ****
that donut
is so delicious.

I want to be cut
but I love the
pizza hut.

I want to be ****
but the Chinese
buffet just gets me.

I want to be healthy
and if it wasn’t for
junk food
I would be.

I got the gym **** down
it is the food that hurts me.

I sought her in the form
of a never was daughter
who will never be born
because she was just
a minor possibility.

I sought her
in the sick slaughter
of innocent
children, women,
and men.

I sought her
in the stories
I read
before I slipped
off to bed.

And when I
could not find her
I thought she was
dead.

But to pursue
my muse
is to confuse
the mind
I seek to use,

it is an abuse
of my mental faculties
to chase clarity
when I could
just as easily
find it in solitude
and simplicity
while simply
reflecting
silently
on all of reality
letting my poetry
come to me
naturally.

Some strange storm is a brewing,
a dark clouded chaos soon ensuing,
wind and water moving fast
for our viewing
as this wet fury falls upon
the unsuspecting form
of everyone.

I maybe a little upset,
obsessed
with what
this world
seeks to possess,
but I am not
depressed.

Things are going
pretty good,
I am not worried about
taking any direction
that people think I should
because this cosmos
does not give
one flit about my ****.

I am ok,
but sometime
my mind
catches an echo of
the me I use to be.

As I drive over
the lake outside
the city of Springfield
where I spend
most of my time,
I feel just a spark,
just a slight itch to
drive straight towards
the metal guards
and split my car
into two metal parts.

It wouldn’t be hard.
All it would take
is a twist of the wheel
and ignoring my brakes,
so the darkness
could overtake
my current consciousness;

But, I do not live
in that mental compartment
anymore.
This is just a scary echo
of the sad anxious man, I was
many years ago.

Soft pink petals,
part unfolding
as the flower blooms
sweetly growing.

Arms around me
while I am moving
in a sloppy circle
cause we are two
who are grooving,
while her
soft flower arms
enfold me in their
springtime charms.

A tiny droplet
becomes percussion
as soft music moves us
to a percussive mood
in this wonderful interlude.

She clenches tighter
and I smile.
Her head rests
on my shoulder
and the world
gets less colder.

So, watch this weary
old romantic
start to tear up
as he imagines
a true love.

In the evening we are talking
while soft footprints
on the beach
finds us walking
sandals in hand
because we both
enjoy the feel of sand
on our bare feet.

In the morning
we wake together.
Her hazel eyes
and hair of fire,
her tender touch
does so inspire
that in this moment
I loose
a hundred pounds
of life’s abuses
and gain a shiny new
point of view.
  
I wake from wonder’s reverie
knowing this is but a fleeting dream
that will never be my reality.

My daydreams
are dark cities
that drift
amidst
the cosmic mists
of multicolored
variations,
of shiny secrets
that strangers miss
in looking down
at the black hole
of their cell phones.

These starship dreams
float precariously
just beyond the reach
of humanity,
in a hopeful memory
of some forgotten
childhood fancy.

Peace, and love,
compassion,
and understanding
expanding
in a
space faring collective.

My dreams become
the ash and after burn
of a creative mind spurned
and turned
towards more mundane
things.

This is a fairy tale,
a flash into the past
as green gasses swirl,
and purple ones
intermingle
just for fun
as I am spun
down a weird
rabbit hole.

Upside down
and sideways up,
though I try to stop it
my will is not enough
and I am devoured
by some sick chasm.

Soft esophagus
walls ascend
as I fall in
feeling its pulsing
presence
and air pressure
as it is breathing,

I am swallowed
by this giant
hungry heathen.

Thick drips
of slimy saliva
follow fast behind
as my mind
succumbs
to the terror
that I find.

How foolish of me
to fall asleep
in a fantasy.

I drop and plop
as my body stops
on some soft squishy spot.

Is it a lumbering giant,
some flying dragon,
or angry kraken
who took to snacking
on my human sized form?

I ponder this problem,
slip on a slimy warm spot,
then continue falling.

The hole tightens,
and my breathes
takes a break
from my body
as I am squeezed
down a smelly hole.

Then, right before
I am about
to pass out
it is all the way out
I go,
on my head
on a wet green
grassy bed,

while the
slick, stinking,
shimmering orifice
moves off
shrinking
in the distance.

Confused,

bruised,

and misused,

I wonder
“Was I someone’s
food, or sad solid poo?”

A ****** story
to say the least
and I cannot even
identify the beast
that ate and excreted me.

All I know is that,
I really need a bath.

Whats the point
of dwelling on
memories
when all they bring
is misery?

When we hit repeat
on our favorite
sad song
so we can
sing along
while we cry
reflecting on
what ifs
and why,
why, why.

Whats the point
in letting the pain
consume the better parts
of our rational brain,
do we have to explain
how we need to be
retrained?

Whats the point
on reflecting on
abstraction
in books and songs?

When I wake
to tears
with unknown
origins
what is the point
of this confusion?

It is a transaction
of passion
into kindness
an action
to define us
as the better parts
of a collective heart
made to start
pumping out
gallons of empathy.

If you can see
and share my
humanity
with humility
the possibility
of a better society
becomes the drum
beating thum, da thum,
da thum, I love
everyone.

Desire is
a pink
poisonous
prison,

a constant collision
with the better angels
that help me make
my decisions
and my urges
that up ends
them.

It is a hole
I keep digging
hoping
Mrs. Robinson
will take advantage
of my played out
innocence.

What a privilege
to be driven by
this day to day
desire that inspire
repugnant
thoughts and
behavior.

I would prefer
to live a life
of discipline
and logic
but passion
prevails,
and passing travels
pushes me on
to one more
mistake.

Attachments
make me weak,
and this biological urge
makes me feel
like a big freaking creep
when I would
like to be
is a nice guy.

I can’t wait
till I’m seventy-five
cause I won’t buy
a single blue pill.

I have been wrong many times,

and in them shaken to awaken
to some higher elevation.

I have been confused,

seen shadows stew
and my sense of understanding
require dismantling
and rebuilding
with scraps that I have
never even seen.

I have been growing

physically, emotionally,
and intellectually
expanding and receding
as if my existence
was captured in a cycle
of needing deep breathing,
of losing and replenishing,
Of seeing
then being blinded
just int time
to open my mind
and see once more.

Above all else
I have been changing,
everyday
into someone else.

I’ve got a bad case
of the human race,
rusted metal morons
rummaging on my
spinning grace.

This is my place
and I share it with
a lot of other animals
who are not equipped
to ravage or destroy it.

So, this pox of polluters
natural resource abusers
and horrible drug users
needs to be reined in.

Though, I tried to maintain
adequate equilibrium,
yes, I tried to sustain
all the creature living in
my local ecosystems,

mankind really did
a number on my ****,
****** up my climate
and the tools I used
to balance out the abuse,
like resource scarcity;

Well, humanity has
outpaced my ability
to hold them back
by creating
mass producing
assembly line
technologies,
and unhealthily
enhanced agriculture.

So, it is highly likely
all the other species
and human beings
will be exiting the scene
much earlier
then I previously
projected

What does the body remember
of the presence of pressures pushing against
in skin to skin contact,
the sweet exact acts
of parallel pleasuring?

Does it yearn to revisit those instances
in this arid existence
of apathetic individuals?

Do we need to see and greet
the people that we meet
with heartfelt hugs
that help us
feel at least a little loved
more than once a week?

Is the need for the contact we lack
unconscious, but so powerful that
living without it is emotionally crippling?

I have been struggling
with the confines
of my flesh driven mine
for thirty plus years
and in that time
sought the affection
that is as close as to the divine
as I believe possible.

A semi-spiritual relief of connectivity
to another human being,
sexually or with the passing pleasantries
of other platonic people.

The city is more or less
a brick layered mess
of sleepy people
wandering depressed
and over stressed
in this chaotic mess
of concrete and metal chaos.

Like living in Las Vegas
it is a constant gamble
and the dealer plays us
as the fools for ambition we are.

It infects and wrecks
the spirit that I was
trying to save
for the one I
planned to love.

It cut and shaved
the parts that
long to play
till I conform
to the warm death of
a forty plus
work week.

I try to take a bite
out of this city life
but it bites back harder
pushing me towards a
self-inflicted slaughter,
a sick shift suicide
under the burning
billboard lights.

I would be better
if I left for
the forest greens
I long to explore.

But the city is a mob
that will never let me
leave peacefully,
healthy,
or alive.

It is miles of negative
and perfectly positive
political perspectives
where people have self-selected
to remain ignorant
of ideals that challenge them
by following people
who are channeling
repeated talking points.

It is people projecting
a fake identity
that consists of parts
of the person
they would like to be.

It is others sharing
the beauty of their artistry
as they struggle
to connect to
those who view
the works of art
the artists seek to
give to all of you.

It is a bitter batch
of discontented
men and woman
complaining
and constantly trolling
posting painful venom
that burns the brightness
within women, children,
and even full-grown men.

While, somewhere in the distance
of this digital dissonance
there is someone who
needs just a little attention
to pull them from the edge of
the nightmare they have been
living in.

There is a gentle tugging,
a small thread pulling,
forcing the flow of tears
that have not fallen
in many years.

Just a tinge,
that makes me twinge
as my ducts fill up
and spill out
on some nostalgic whim.

So, like him,
the me I used to be,
I am crying
cause something caught
my heart string,

and the distance between
all those years of hurting
seems to disappear,
I can see it in the mirror
as those tiny droplets
finally appear,
confusing the current me
with a past reflection
I did not want to see
or ever be again.

I do not trust
our government
because of the
lobbyist’s
control of them,
how they buy
our politicians,
democrats
and republicans
to support
corporations
that do not serve
the interest
of our nation,
but instead
seek profit.

I do not trust the doctors
cause they got caught
prescribing drugs
that cost a lot
and cause
more harm
than helping,
because they have
diagnosed
healthy folks
with cancer
resigning them
to a life of suffering
and financial
devastation.
I do not trust
the pharmaceutical
companies
for similar reasons.

I do not trust
the news media
and the justices system
because they serve
the interest
of businessmen
and politicians.

I do not trust
the regular folks
cause they let themselves
get yoked
and choked
by the oppression
I have been telling them
all about.

But worst of all
I do not trust
myself
because I have been wrong
and I am certain
that I will be
wrong again.

My body is a warzone
flesh falling off the bone,
as I rot and wander alone.

Shedding my sick slick skin,
as death reveals all that I feel
within this decaying prison.

At first, I resisted the leprosy
as bit by gory bit was taken from me
by my twisted media obsessed society.

They stole my sole identity
and turned me into a zombie,
this horror show commodity
that people love to cringe at.

They made and gave me the black hat
set me up to behave like that
shambling corpse figure
as my body continued to wither.

Now, as the world leaves me
I see every inch of my inner being
slowly receding into the frenzy
of needing to feed on the humanity
I am now lacking.

Don’t be nice
to the river
cause it will take you
to the end of the road.

It will carry you
like a dark water load
causing saltwater
asphyxiation.

It will turn
light arms
to leaden weights
and cause your
chest to burn
as you struggle
to break free
and breathe.

One bad trip
and that dip
will drop you
in the deep
dark blue
that no one
gets to
come back from.

So please
walk
don’t run,
slow down son
cause it is no fun
when the river
catches you
by surprise.

Were you hungry
when you took
a big bite out of me?

My meet was uncooked
so, you must have been
seriously starving.

After carving
chunks of skin
to fix a perfect fillet
did it make you
feel really great
to see such pain.

Is this calamity,
social leprosy
as you pull
the tasty
flesh from me.

You broke and took
the arm I used,
saw soft flesh
fall from my face
and other areas
start to bruise
trending towards
rotting black and blue
deathly hues.

Raggedy man
all exposed
with tattered clothes
and no nose
that works.

You jerks
made this once
healthy body
into a zombie,
a nightmare movie
where I shamble
to find someone
to gnaw on.

I am as fit as a fractured fiddle,
with my wooden cords galore
that don’t make a sound anymore,
and a neck like wet cardboard
that is ready to fold and fall
on the bathroom floor.

Is there life out there
in the city where
ambition and despair
reign supreme,

where people keep
sacrificing
their time and body
on the altar of
success
not love?

Still, we spend ourselves
like coins in a fountain
wishing that we could
climb the molehill mountains
we made from preordained
plain daydreams
that are played out
on our electronic screens.

Such an exhausted existence
of dogged perseverance
pursuing our own undoing
whilst trying to prove
that we are good enough
to be viewed,

but we are just being used.
Till, we find our final fate
in a hole, held up in an urn,
or just dropped off
where we were lost.

The day fades
into night
where lights
burn bright
but like them
all the men
and women
will eventually
flicker out
in death
or in doubt.

The day is a burning desert
with no rain to ease the pain
or even soften our tension.

No animals out and about
but one broken bird
that can no longer chirp.
It just lays on the side
of our overheated highway
as it flutters and tries
to survive this
summertime drought.

Hot mud turns to dry dust
which I choke and cough up
while the black top parking lot
scorches my bare feet
cause I was trying to see
how tough I could be
but ended up blistered in defeat.

I am exhausted,
If I had the water to,
I would weep,
but this week has defeated
the better parts of my hopeful heart
that I once believed
I would always find a way to beat
this scorching summer heat.

Red is the furious
results of parental frustration.
Flesh risen in the form of welts
while lava tears burn my face
leaving more streaks of strained skin,
and eyes reddened,
exhausted with the pain of living.

Blue is the transparent coolness,
soft reflection of turquoise style,
like the little painted baubles,
portraits of a pure azure sky,
with the streak of daytime fantasies
as superman flies by
high above the field of
blue flowers that I love.

Green is the scene,
not that money scheme,
but life growing
forest colors showing
broccoli tops
in the distance,
locked away
in my
nighttime existence
I miss this
shade of life.

White is an infinite void
of nothing.
Even though, I know
it is a culmination
of all the colors of
that beautiful rainbow.

Black is stunning
and dreadfully
seems to signal.
the end of all things.

Jesus is
a tool of the system,
a pathetic work
of plagiarized fiction
with a ****** birth
and resurrection.

He is a perpetuator,
part player
in a trinity
that serves
the patriarchy
you claim to despise.

You say that
you are woke
to the lies
and oppression
but your obsession
with this
religious opioid addiction
leaves you open
to all kinds of
manipulation.

This Jesus justification
has got to stop,
take those bible glasses off
and see the truth
don’t be a recruit
and brainwash our youth
to serve the state
that exploits you
by claiming they serve
god’s point of view.

Join me
and be free
to see
the world differently.
Share your perceptions
freely
so, we can grow steadily
not seeking solace
in the stultifying scriptures
but painting our own pictures
that point us all
to better possibilities.

She sways
uncertain,
heavy with
that horror
that will
not fit
in her skin.

She grieves
with oceans
that dwell within,
a salt-water geyser
spewing lava fire
that reddens her eyes
and face
while she
is slowly stumbling
through her place,
hoping that
this is just
some nightmare
or mistake.

She shakes
like an
earthquake,
ten hours
too late
and she can
still feel
the after shocks
of what was lost.

She shudders
trying to catch
a breath that breaks
faster than lightning,
air that will not stay
where it is needed
ca, cau, cause…
cause, her little boy
just got shot
by some
off duty cop.

Not totally unexpected
after a lifetime
of being disrespected
and disregarded
by society,
by a culture
that devalues
her son’s humanity
because of
the tint of his skin
and where he
was currently living;

But this is a pain
that keeps on giving
more sorrow,
and then on
the day after
the day after
tomorrow,

she sees
this social disease
on her tv
where talking bobble heads
deny the cop’s complicity,
rewrite reality
whilst ignoring history,
and turn her young son
into a big bad ****.

I got thirty-nine,

thirty-nine years
of accumulating
and losing stuff,

of gaining
and dropping
muscle
and fat,
from eating
tons of
unhealthy crap
and trying to
get my good
health back,

of issues
remembered,
imagined,
and forgotten,

of ill gained
goods,
and
misbegotten
misfortune,

of frustration
to the point of
boiling eggs
on my forehead,

of losing
hopeful illusions
that I once acquired,

of letting go
of those desires
that inspire
stupidity,
while hopefully
stripping
the unwanted clay
and revealing the face
of someone
I have been
struggling
to become.

Tis, an age of knightly lore,
of greasy and grizzled
wealthy nobles
that seem to signal
some sick cycle
of destruction
that they are
desirous for.

Battle born ballistic,
armament physics
of pain causing missions,
missing all mercy
because of their
Machiavelli
machinations;

Mud slickened and sweaty
armor wearing
super smelly
fellowship of fools,
discourteous tools
who ravage
and pillage
poor peasants.

Inflamed by such infractions
I chafe under the yoke
of violence and oppression,
whilst searching other actions
for the slightest scent or sight of
of human decency,

but hope is less then
a liminal sensation,
and there seems to be
no cessation of
humanity’s violent tendencies

Are we a line of compounding causal factors
that culminate in some important event,

or a series of reoccurring happenstances
that play out like an epileptic dance
of rapid synaptic chaos?

Do our minds play us, making madness
into predetermined patterns of a purposeful
existence,

or is there more meaning
to what we are seeing
like a lovely underlying cosmic equation
that unifies all that we spy
and all that our limited senses
cannot perceive?

It is a color explosion,
a silent cacophony
bursting forth from
the forest green
and grass growing
with summer’s sweet
slickened shimmering,

Life unfolding and flowing,
enveloping all that is seen
in a majestic scene
of nature reclaiming
former shades of
seasonal glory.

I am cowered in awe
and mute in my sorrow
for the many morrows
that will bring
less joyful coloring.

It is a mass of marvelous memories,
many moments blurred together
in a rainbow of tastes and
family connections,
untouchable
by time’s unfair removal,
but still there for my perusal.

It is a bitter pink, orange
with a sweet sugary
delicious coating
on my half of
the breakfast I loved,
a great grapefruit
smothered in brown sugar.

It a brown liquid
I shouldn’t have been
even drinking
with white swirls
of milkiness
lightening
the shade of it.

It is an early morning
spent riding with
my aunt and grandma
as they delivered
newspapers.

It is walking two dogs
long since departed,

memories sadly distorted
by a tinge of nostalgia
and the melancholia
of lost family members.

My dear I fear
you ask to much
for madness
to be
replaced by love,

that this story sees
eyes of adoration
fly freely towards
the safe haven
of sandy soft shores,

that the broken flesh
which lay beneath
a lacy flowing dress
be healed by
the affection of
some random guy,

that old romantic stories,
fairytale fantasies
perfectly fit
the state of reality
and happily ever after
should be met with
joy and laughter
instead of skepticism,

that one day
my heart will not betray
hopeful aspirations
for the preordered
obsession
of being love’s
dedicated
possessor and
possession.

I pledge from lips
and drink of this
golden jeweled
wine filled chalice.

Soft sun flowers
ornament
her hair of fire,
with fairy wings
and emerald eyes
that have seen
far too many things.

Frail of form
but fierce of spirit
a mind of wonder
with works made
to make us think,

some weak men
may fear it.
but I draw solace
and liquid wisdom
when I seek to find
the shimmering diamonds
within her mind.

There is something wrong with me,
something dark and lurking
made for hurting
the hearts of other
human beings;

A deeply fractured,
vision’s aperture
that sees
all of these
horrible things.

Slimy tendrils
crawling through
broken bits
of mirrors
I show to
all of you.

Wings of leather
made for flapping,
dark as the cosmos
thunder clapping,
and consuming
all the light that was moving
across this floating sphere.

Shadows and nightmares
worked from the scraps of
this horrendous reality
I see stretched out before me
on a torture rack of human cruelty.

I am certain I could be
the king of better artistry,
present lighter shades
of this reality,
but something deeply damaging
keeps pressing poetry
on modern technology
for the whole world to see
the fruits of my social anxiety.

What would I do
if I could
teleport to you?

Would it be
super creepy
if I showed up?

Or would this
long distance
thing we got
end up in love?

What would you think
if in a blink
I was next to your sink
like an apparition
on a mission
to find passion’s
parallel position?

If one day
I made
it your way
would that be great
or just ok?

The truth is
I got this
niceness
down pat;

But that
isn’t always
who I want
to be.

You see
I do well
in semi-polite
society,
but the
populace
is bothering me
with their
disease
of well earned
stupidity.

This city
is swollen with
a horde of
***** *****
who spout *******.

Pompous
polluters,
pigheaded
capitol looters
who take
take, take,
and take.

But
when
I try telling
other men
and women
about the
corruption
they deny
the filth
of the sty
they are
living in.

Despite,
how hard I try
to be the good guy
and inform them
of the
oncoming storm,
the waters
still rise
before the sheep
realize
that they are
in a flood.

I watch
the cost
of ignorance.
There find
my mind
is losing
patience
and fast behind
these strange time
my compassion
is barely hanging,
slowly changing
into to anger

The rage
is simmering,
swimming in
a soup of
discontent
to apathy,
and I am
about to
let go
of the last shreds
of my empathy.

You can have anxiety,
like temporary
insanity
of pulsing
nerves
racked with
all the possibilities
that you do not
want to come to be.

You can have depression
with similar obsessions
but be affected differently,
whilst anxiety
has you move quickly in terror
depression brings despair
where there is not actions
to repair.

And sometimes
in-between these states of mind
you can find
lurking urges
pushing you to
end the madness
you are going through.

I’ve done my version
of each of these,
walked roads
which few believed
but I can see
the reality
of your suffering,
cause you are
family to me.

I got a sick suspicion
someone is dishing
***** laundry
in our kitchen.

I believe that the gift
I have been given
is for looking at things
different,
for shifting strange perceptions
and seeking underlying connections
of a nonspiritual persuasion.

Right now
it is a beating flesh bowl
****** and hollow,
pumping out
semi precise
kind of nice
percussion.

But it is getting
a little crowded
with all those
love notes
of mellow
melancholia
music
that makes me
forget how
to use it
properly.

So, lately
I have been pondering
redecorating
that useless thing.
I’ve been contemplating
taking
all the red blood
that has been bathing
my system
in oxygen
and replacing it
with chambers
of danger
and dust.

If I must
use it
then I need to
remove
all of you
that have been
living in there
rent free
before I can give it
a gothic reprieve,
all dark, gross,
and gritty.

I might even
just take out
the whole *****.

Might be good for the spacing
like removing
walls we weren’t using
anymore.

What do you think?

I remember
brighter days
when us children
would run and play.
Now we cry and say
how we wish things
didn’t have to change.

Our naivete
is like the Christmas scene
made up nativity
that Christians sing to,
praying cause
they believe
their fictions are true.

The unknown
has grown
like towering tumors
stealing our good humor
and replacing
curiosity with
**** filled fear.

Our half of the sphere
spins away,
till all luminescence
becomes some
sweet reminiscences
and each illuminated instance
becomes false foggy memories.

The night is long.
All the light is gone
so, the shadows fade
from lighter shades
to infinite
darkness.

Though, I try
I can’t fight this
tiresome
exhaustion.

So, I let sweet sleep
descend on my
heavy eyelids.

Welcome to America the great,
where justice does not sit sedate
as we line up to be wined and dined
by the fine orators, and Harvard debaters.

Welcome to the world were
our leaders actually care
about the general welfare
of this awesome collective.

As I expected
when inspected
there is no corruption
in public election
and moral conviction
is from legit observation
and summation
of our current situation.

Welcome to a place where
left is right,
day is night,
and the will to peace
requires a will to fight.
A place where all that I see
of a world that should be
is a bizzaro reflection
of our current reality.

Our nation
is facing
automation
as politicians
push the same
stupid
bootstrap
Ayn Rand
statements.

Current wages
haven’t been
adjusted for
inflation
and corporations
are taking
more welfare
then the poor
are given

A quarter
of the budget
from the military
industrial complex
could wipe out
student debt
and protect
healthcare
so people
don’t have to
move away
or die here

But, I’m just
a nine to five
working wage guy,
how could I
possibly know
about helping our
economy grow
and leveling
the playing field
for each
successive generation
that makes it here.

It is partly
some practical
procedural
precedent
that holds up
our presidential
nonsense.

So, I guess
I should applaud it,
but I am just
nauseas
with the madness
of the whole system
we live in.

This is for all the ones I used to adore,
the ladies who left before we could explore
a love I have long since lost access to.

This is for each heartbreak that cracked
the beating bit of fabricated flesh that is
not supposed to be damaged like this.

The little red head, the blonde one,
the childhood friend who moved on before,
I realized that we were two coins
floating on the same side in this sad life.

This is for the little boy’s broken dreams,
all those starlight space farer’s fast schemes
of far off fantasies with romantic space queens.

This is for the last chance solo dance
as I face the place where I live alone,
preparing to die in a home
were my hideaway heart stays
because it is tired of trying to play a part
in this human race.

Never was the fear of ants
the lack of size
and unyielding distance
as they moved on to find
the food they needed to
to feed young emerging ones.

Still, I yield
to the awe,
on bended knees
scraped as I crawl
searching the vast expanse
for something
that I will never
really understand.

My neck and eyes strain
to comprehend
what my brain lacks
as I snap back
to this flesh trap
that longs to be
something more
then a flicker in
eternity
and infinity.

To the one I lost
before we ever met,

to the potential mistake
that I would
never regret.

Oh, that I knew you true
but how can I forget
something I have never known.

A wisp of passing wonders
a vault of sparkling dreams
that playout behind the fantasies
and delirious daydreams
of what if realities.

Still, such sorrows spill
as I swallow that sad pill
I feel the poison of
a love that never was.