Let it rain
as I explain
how this water
washes all
that is in vain
out and into
a metal drain.

Let this rush
of running liquid
take with it
the pain
and filth
of this hot day.

Breaking
summer’s silence
let the storm’s
oncoming violence
shake the sediment foundation
as erosion
changes
the face of this
waterlogged nation.

I’ll slip on
my work coat
as you walk on
all alone
swept up
in this wet fury
cause you were in
too much of a hurry.

Let it rain
and feed
the green
what it needs
to replenish
from fallen seeds
all the bushes, grass
and beautiful trees.

Let it rain
and with
the cool percussion
I’ll drift
deeply
into
the greedy
refreshing
sleep
that I need.

Life is a nine to five
prison that no one
gets out of alive.

With the dirt brown doors
to the reflective wax floors
that janitors clean every night
after computers lock the building down,

and we fill up the cubicles,
dull gray squares were
we put the professionals
cause that is what they
went to school for.

Eight hours on and overtime,
a couple smoke breaks,
and an intermission for lunch,
but I got a sick hunch
that this groundhogs day
will take me straight
to my grave.

So, every morning
when I wake up,
I take my vitamins,
and drink my
vegetable gunk,
trying to be healthy
so, I can hit the gym,
and head right back in
to my personal work prison.

You have heavy metal
hitting hard
till no one can hear
anything else clear.

That is the
kind of music
I like to move it to,
when I am working through
an intense workout grove.

But after that
exercise session
I need mellow music
of a different persuasion,
less percussion
and more piano solos
with a slow flow.

The kind of chords
that I can daydream to
when I am bored,

the kind that lets me
wander peacefully
discovering new thoughts safely
as I go slipping
in and out of
the wavelength,
of soft melodies
while locked doors
open to these keys
that put me at ease.

I did what I had to do,
just to get through
the day to get you
to listen to what I say.

I struggled to this point
to make decent pay
and still I feel
each struggle
was a battled waged
in vain.

I recall
all the dreams I had.
Now I know
why poets feel bad,
cause the real world
never lives up to
what weird word rhapsodies
can do for you.

Like a falling star
or a candle in the wind
I keep burning
but I am not made
to relight the fury
when it goes out.

Though I live
a life of doubt
uncertain
what this hurting
situation is all about,
I still put verbs
and nouns down
cause this lyrical clown
is trying to leave
something worthwhile
behind.

Winter is a cold hunger’s reign
harvesting warmer passions
that are buried beneath
white frosty sheets
and soft fleshy frames.

It is a longing for vitamin D
the nutrient that we need
for adequate levels of energy
and a host of other necessary
****** functions.

It is the time for that crap
cabin fever, dark dreary lethargy
of creeping depression.

Winter is made for forgetting
when warmer days return
like a victorious king,
rising.

Until, time dethrones him
by its frostbitten whims
when that harsh season
begins again.

The clever
endeavor
to become
as wise
as they can,

while the fool
thinks he understands,
makes unruly demands
based on plans
that won’t really work.

The wisest among us
know there is always more
to learn
and that we must earn
the knowledge
to use it
with wisdom

while the idiot
seeks to conquer a kingdom
that doesn’t exist
by attaining tainted profits
cause greed
is a product
of faulty logic
that truly costs us
our future.

Star crossed
space inferno
flashes fast
out in eternity
emitting strange waves
of energy
that illuminate
spiraling galaxies
and gaseous bodies
of swirling vapor.

Vapors that hurl particles
past possible
dark matter.

Undefined energy
that matters not
because I can still see
enough to appreciate
the stars we’ve got
and the ones
that were lost
before their light
ever reached me.

It is
a sweet sweltering
summer ‘s eve
that culminates
in a late
cooling breeze,

followed by
blinking bug **** lights
that dance
across a
dark blue canvass.

Flickering forms
almost as familiar
as the twinkling stars
are followed by
the sound of
castanets clacking
and patrons laughing
whilst a lovely
black haired beauty
who is dressed ornately
twists and bends
her torso and limbs
with feline grace
and the eloquence
of the wind.

Deep smiles
and curious grins
follow her movements
to stunned silence.

Bare midriff
exposes a perfect
belly button
and abs
as her silk scarves
carve
the night
like desire’s knife.

The music ends
leaving men
quivering
and staring
ravenously,
hungering
for her
hard body,
but suffering
the sweet ache
of desire denied
as she exits
at her own pleasure.

I am just a fish,
a tasty dish
that others missed,
a tuna plate
or salmon patty
with just a pinch
of mercury
poisoning.

Feel free
to eat me
and tons of
my floundering
family
so, you can die
oh, so slowly.

I’m so tired and sore,
don’t want to go to
work anymore,
but if I have to
can I come in at four
and leave an hour before
my regularly scheduled
night shift ends.

All that he wants is a sign,
saying that he’s headed
in the right direction.

Instead, what he finds
is a cold ghost town
waiting for his inspection.

He is in a hurry
with no clue why
rolling heavy footed
down a highway
fifty-five.

All he really
wants to know
is that there is
something perfect
past his bookish
existence.

Hand in a holey pocket
searching for a broken locket
knowing that he lost it
and there is no way to be
forgiven for this stupidity.

Other people may learn
but he is driven to
run too many risks.

Till, the car twists
tumbles, hits solid bricks,
and he never wakes up,
cause he missed
the caution signs
saying slow down.
at wintertime.

We are gathered here to say
wasn't this dead man great,
to pay perfect tribute to
this cold corpse brute who
can no longer move,
just another dead body
ready to be viewed
by those he knew;

A kindhearted word artist
who never tried his hardest,
but gave each day
an adequate display.

We have come here to
let loved ones mourn in
collective communion
as they highlight
the high points of his life,
whilst forgetting
all the moments
he would still be regretting
if they weren't currently
burying him.

We are here to let go,
give spirit to a dream
that no one can know
as we commit
an empty shell
to a dug out pit
of pointless stupidity.

We come here gravely
like lost lambs hoping
that some after party fairytale
will keep all of our children coping,
doping them with the madness
of an afterlife development
so, they keep hurting
while working for wealthy men.

So, we are gathered here
to celebrate him with a hymn
whilst discarding
the true character of a life lived in passing.

The plastic straps
that smacked my back,
hurt
when I pulled them off
but I knew they’d
certainly, come back.

Dishtowels wrapped
around my knuckles
as the speed
of my fist’s needs
pounds against
a hanging bag.

Heavy weights
pressed up
or pulled in
repetitions
constantly repeating.

Sweat slickened skin
madly moistened
less from the heat
more from the forcing
of my body to move
fast and hard
across the street
past neighbors’ yards,
then jump rope
till I can hardly breath,

and repeat,
and repeat,
because I think
I need that pain
to feel alive
to feel my brain thrive
and sleep well tonight.

Her presence
is like
old wooden steps
that risk
a split
and break
or a wet spot
where I will slip
and take
a terrible
emotional
tumble.

I am humble
as I bumble
through this
boring existence
and I like
not being bothered
by her idiotic
insistence
in pursuing
abusive
men.

But when she calls,
I let her back in,
leave just enough
of an opening
to feel the sting
of her hurting
combined
with my broken heart.

I know where to start
by blanketing my heart
with harder steel
against the way
she makes me feel,
but I do not know
where going that cold
will lead me to,
and I really don’t
want to
find out.

Sometimes,
a wish is not a dream.

It is a hope
that you will be seen
by the love
who haunts
the strange hallways
of your heart’s
maze like affection.

It is an M.C. Escher distortion
all upside down and sideways
or the middle part of a movie
with no reference to the presence
of any minutes before
and no end to come
cause it is paused before
the hero reaches the door
to save whoever
they were searching for.

Sometimes a dream
is not a wish
just an echo
of something
bittersweet
that you will miss.

Until, time takes
the potency of it
and replaces it with
pale nostalgia.

Sometimes,
I would exchange
all of this
for a moment
as brief as a kiss
just to hold you
and comfort both of us.

She is a nightmare
like a velociraptor
rapping from the rafters
chasing after
the sound
of a killer clown's
maniacal laughter.

I've been trying to
avoid her,
that self-destroyer
who tends to
pull me down to
her lower level.

But she caught me
by my dangling generosity
and kindhearted disposition.

I thought that these
were good qualities,
but I think I need to
get rid of them,
so, I don't have to
talk to
that **** drama queen.

What is this search for,
when the dirt poor explore
the locked heavy vault doors?

What are the blind trying to find,
when all roads lead to
streets where lonely-hearts bleed through
before they ever get to meet you,

a place where the closest thing to an angel
is that strange human being
who drops off a few essential things
for the scattered flock of forgotten
flesh forms who follow the hollow
and hard streets            
to find a warm and semi safe place to sleep,

where stop signs and streetlights
are the most productive spots
for the needy to plead freely
with cardboard requests
to ease the hunger pains, they are feeling.

What is the point of this struggle?

You come to me
from miles away,
with tears and congestion
interrupting our
our cellphone connection.

You open the line
with your confession,
expecting me to consecrate
the mistakes you commemorate
as we spend hours commiserating
the vile man you should hate.

You cry that you are afraid
you will never be loved that way,
like the man who drugged and abused you,
the one who put you through hell.

You tell me that, that predator
loves more than anyone
whilst admitting all of
the horrible **** he has done.

You break my heart
into shattered splinters
of self-doubt and recrimination
wondering why you struggle to maintain
a relationship with a man
who causes you so much pain
while I just want to take care of you.

Cheesy layers slipping down
huge burger patties,
bread, and fries
drawing in my hungry eyes.

I devour this delicious horseshoe
so fast that the yellow liquid drips
down my chin
mingling in
with just a tinge
of saliva cause
I was
so hungry.

Thus, I consumed
over fifteen hundred calories
in an afternoon
enjoying every bite,
regretting nothing
and retreating to
the sweet boon
of a comatose state
of this sated fool.

Their mind is like
lazy writing
that put god’s in charge
of water and lightning,

made men weak
and put that pantheon up
to wreak
havoc
when they would speak,
moving massive mountains
with wild vibrations
leaving nations facing
fictional devastation.

Creation stories,
though neat,
are kind of boring
compared to
what we have uncovered
in our scientific exploring.

This knowledge is better than
the daytime talk show’s host settling
for some secret power
that allowed to her
to whisper success
out into the world.
She claims that we get what we put in,
that all results are manifest
of our good intent.
So, any bad that happens
to us or them
was our fault.

Like crazy gods
and flat earth creationist
a flock of fools follow this
big pile of dog ****.

By their logic
any suffering child earned it
with poor thought intent.
This fairytale ****
has got to stop.
The secret is
for every event
there is an actual cause,
not some abstract energy
that moves in-between
the cosmic scene,
but a series of actual things
that transpire
in a measurable pattern.

It waits and baits us
with fear and pain
spraining our already
sore souls
and struggling brains.

The dark eclipse
that does not miss
this foolish *******.

Where more time
is spent in
then we had existing.

It leaves us hollow,
a brand that burns
our throats with sorrow
cause that brass fact
is hard to swallow.

It does not give
a single whiff
if we try to deny it,
and there is no way
to bribe it.

It cares not for
the quality of our character
that maybe
reflected in
our charity
directed towards
our human kin.

But without life
it cannot exist,
this deeply distasteful
state of nothingness.

Come again, my troubled kin,
with tender skin
flushed and bruising
from the world's abusing
and familiar’s misusing
that is so dammed confusing.

Come again, please repeat
the pulsing fury
of rapid heartbeats.
I need to hear something living
to sustain the meager hope
that I have been given.

Come again, please wait
no need to rush
there is no fate
in store for us,
so, let's dally
in children's folly
following the playful fancies
that humans need
to maintain their sanity.

And so, I cry
please come again
to heal this heart broken
by my dearly departed friend.

It is long distances fantasies,
digital realities,
many indignities
that intersect
on the internet.

It exists in a multitude
of mega bandwidth
big bangs
that expand with
binary efficiency,
with mind bending connectivity,
as gameplay
is overlaid
upon profile pictures
that present
semi fictional
biographies,

while podcast prophesies
tender their unique
philosophies to me,
dropped off and collected
by the non-secured
user id I selected.

To long I was living with a singular vision,
became a self-perpetuator of my suffocating obsession,
the spirit of my possession
was possessing pretty things,
and all of my collecting
was to the detriment of my well-being.

Oh, how the fools fell
for the sweet tender
Izabell.

Where once
they would have guarded
themselves,
like steel locks
designed to block
rare intruders
who dare go
anywhere
near there.

Now they open doors
gleefully hoping
she will see
and enter gingerly
for love's gentle reprieve.

Those young men
come bumbling in
ready to submit
to whatever role
she wishes them
to fit in.

I watch each young gun
become a heartbroken ***.

I have my fun
but run before
she sees me
because she could break me
just as easily.

I was there
when you
came home
for the first time,
little preemie
wonderful baby
brother of mine.

You were the cutest
thing I’d ever seen
growing up
too quickly.

There were late
game nights
with pizza delights
and silly sleep overs

But as we got older
I got a little colder
and for a while
I kept my heart
and my smiles
several miles
apart.

With the years
that went whizzing on
I look back now
and cry
for all that lost time.

I may have been gone
for a long stretch
walking a path
and trying to find
something better
then the bitter
past I left behind.

The roads may rumble
with lightning
that becomes thunder
and the earth may quake
as I recall the old days
when we would stay up late
to laugh and play.

The lines I write
may be very cliché
but this is just something
I have to say.

Man, little brother
I still really love ya.

I am fascinated
by fake faces
that implore us
with false sentiment
to invest in their
criminal intent.

I am intrigued
how these
proud businessmen
can convince
other humans
that the highest
achievement
is to show
what you are
consuming,

that removing
empathy
in favor of greed
is the way
to finally proceed
to the next state
of financial security
which will make
us great.

Never forget
we were never
the best,

merely place holders
for the atoms
in our flesh.

We are
putrid flesh stained with
crimson pools that fall
as we drain it all.

We are fate’s fallen foe,
fragile beings
finally seen
as sparkling truths
that become
angelic paintings.

We are floating feathers
that mingle with
soft pink petals,
forming a new nest
were we can burn
and be reborn
from our old ashes.

If any stranger asks us,
we are walking frames
of fractured madness
little glass figurines
that fall between
the cracks that we have
never ever even seen
and cut other
soft bleeding things.

Things change.
Even if you like them
and wish they’d remain
the same,
life tends to exchange
the known factors
for new actors.

As familiar faces fade
from old age
preparing to decay
strangers stray
your way.

You may think
what you have is great
but when there comes an end
something beautiful
can rise from within.

Some sick or shimmering
circumstances
can take your sorrow
and direct it towards
a more fruitful tomorrow.

Evening waking
walking worker,

is up in time
to see the sun's
sweet decline.

Then back in
just before
the sun can
start shining
again.

Backpack
hanging tightly
as he moves
around the town
nightly,
quietly
enjoying
the silence.

Though,
once in a while
the shadows fall,
the smile
breaks
as tears take
center stage.

Heavy feet
drag the streets,
with music to keep
all those pains away
until he falls asleep.

Playful,
friendly,
and polite

the walker
walks himself
straight away
from the light
into
the endless night
alone
and unsatisfied.

Despair is fear
that no one cares
and that
your life
won't be a mad cap comedy
or happy ending tv series,
but just an endless state of
existing unloved.

It is a pillowcase
wetted with
saltwater
and snot
to top
it off.

It is breaths
that cannot be
caught
as sobs steal
the air you wish
to fill your
lungs with.

It is the anxiety
and voices that
say you will hurt
the ones you love
and the only action
that is good enough
to protect them
is you dying.

It is a certain suffering blindness
where a pleasant future
does not exist
and only pain persists
in all future events.

What a wonderful sight to see
as the highway horizon
rushes up to greet me
at about seventy-three
miles per hour;

The emerald shimmering
wind swept ascending
green grass bending in
the sweet summer winds.

What a wonderful feel
to roll up that hill
parking on the side of
the on ramp,
letting the breeze
and vitamin d creating
light rays envelope me
as other drivers fly by
missing this
wonderful
afternoon sky.

If I could
I would waste the whole day
watching the grass
sway away
like a green glowing wave
that keeps growing each day
while we both absorb
those life enhancing
solar rays.

I missed this,
magic instance
that happened
when I finally noticed
my heart was breaking
in tiny increments.

Tears tare
at time’s restraints,
making moments
of minor pain
seam epic
whilst
major sorrows
become speckles
in the distance.

I am disconnected,
disturbed
by this disjointed
society
that does not share
the same values
as me.

Humanity could be
lovers of poetry
and science
but instead
it chooses
greed and violence.

I am lonely,
left longing
for a companion
but unwilling to venture forth
into the storm
because life has informed me
that despite reports to contrary
I really don’t matter.

Poor poetic friend
wasn’t self-respecting
kept on doubting
what she was doing
so, I told her,

You do quite alright.
As far as the amount I write.
Well, I do not have much of a social life,
because I like the quiet nights.
Plus, my job provides more free time
to create free rhymes
then most nine to fives.

I adore your art form.
Each line is like rainbow paint
upon a rose petal canvass,
Each word a wonder
above and under.
Concealing whilst revealing
eloquent metaphors
With sweet allusions to
The illusions of life we
dance through
in poetry.

All-encompassing spring blooms
that blossom
bright flowers
letting little silk dancers
rise with the wind
and descend again
to the soft soil
of my mind.

What a shame
the people exclaim,

seeing sorrow
float up in smoke
as people in pain
just swim away.

With each
heart ache,
love break,
or big mistake

people take
a step in
the wrong direction
burning bridges
and building trenches
with a wall in the back
as they fight a war
and never come back.

Each day,
puts them miles away
from safety.
Till, all hope is gone
Till, even the brightest
right becomes wrong,
and the man
in the mirror
becomes a
bearded stranger.

Who am I?
Just a husk
that has a name,
just a moving body
that claims
some sort of
superior
consciousness.

Who am I?
All flesh and stardust
particles that
become all of us
susceptible
to the inevitable
when my flesh
will cease to mend.
Am I my mortality?

Is this body made
of American skin,
made from some
specific region
that denotes
the value
of my existence.

I remember this
fleshy prison
full of emotions
that I have been
caged in
even when I am
constantly changing.

Who am I?
A puppet on strings
who dreams
of one day being
a real human being,
or at least
a reasonable
facsimile thereof.

Who am I
but a product
of every previous
generation,
a foundation
fitted with
the artistic
endeavors
of the clever.

Who am I?
but a single
ballerina
twirling
on a spinning rock
wondering
which will stop
and drop first.

Who am I?
But a finger
that points towards
heaven's dream
smiling at
sharp clouds that
pierce
the day lit sky.

Who am I?

My heart is
a hungry beast
beating,
and growling
for something,
needing feeding
of primal desires.

It is white shredded bits
of paper
preparing
for the taring
and sharing
of ash
as it burns fast,
consumed
by the embers
that rise
to fires in the eyes
of those
we long to touch.

When I awake
and quake
the tremors
of ecstasy
seeing my sweet fantasy
coming to life
the beast’s
urgency
slowly recedes
and I am free
to be
a rational me.

Until,
the hunger returns
for the next in line
of eternal
sequels.

Break it down,
cause we all
deteriorate;

We all go to pieces
under pressure,
no coal to diamonds here
just freaking fools
following each other
deep down into
the dark pools.

If this doesn’t make sense
you haven’t been paying attention,
cause order collapses
under scrutiny
while logic leads us to social mutiny.

Wouldn’t it be cute to be
a reasonable crop of humanity.

At this point of my life
I am two drops of insanity,
and all the best conversations I have
are with a mirror man.

Let’s be clear man
I don’t want to wait,
but I missed the bus
and its all a bust
cause I am too late
to make anything great
in the face of this climate.

So, I am going through
the motions,
making my last late-night grooves
as I get ready to do
the blue to black move.

You are beautiful my dear,
and if it is not clear I fear
given less distance
between us
I would let you lie to me.

I would let you
string sweet syllables
of seduction,

till my mind’s reductions
causes me to collapse
like a black hole
devouring everything
that is us
and letting nothing
ever escape.

The green light lit
a pool of dog ****,
as I barely missed
stepping in it,
but managed to hit
a puddle of human ****.

Still, this is better then
the messes I’ve been
stepping in
my entire life;

Belt, boot, broom handle,
righteous salvation
in the distorted visage
of a vicious parent.

Locker collisions
as schoolbooks were driven
from hands to the floor,
cruelty that dulls with
time and distance.

Packaged pill urges,
dull knife intentions,
barefoot winter behavior,
death, the hopeful savoir
who never flew in
to save me.

Teeth grating
I have been hating
everything I ever was
because,

because,

because…

I can’t tell you why
cause now
I don’t feel like
the bad guy
who deserves to die.

The drums of death
keep rolling in
followed by
the lightning kin.

Chaos reigns
where demons sing
of signs
that portend
the pretend
end.

The storyteller
tells us so.
So, we find a way
to go
along
a merry path
of destruction
that lays us low.

The bribes that brought
the lies they taught
to keep us all in line,

is it love
that make fools of us,
or is it fear
that makes us blind.

My desire is more than
the mere lust of touch,
more than the yearning
for ***.

It is the need to connect
and be heard
by the one I prefer
who desires the same
passions from me.

The quarter is seldom given
and change must be taken.

People in power will
seldom cede
a single cent
of authority.

Unless, they are forced to.

Sometime before
or during the war
there were fields
of horrors
with concrete stacks
smoking back
sick choking ash.

If your children
ever ask
are these
terrible things
just a purview
of our past,
do not lie.

Because, we let
children die
right here
in school shootings,
and despite
our country’s wealth
we let them starve
somewhere else,
whilst the military
fat cats
get rich
of the scorched backs
of burnt out bomb
victims.

Life eviscerated,
scars in hearts,
parts that can never be amputated.
As the infection grows
everyone knows
that it can never
happen again.

Until, it does.

The dark white winter brings
Spring’s horrible creeping scenes
of corpses hanging lifeless
from redwood trees
in the early fifties.

Secrets once whispered
by family members
of the victims,
and celebrated
by the magistrates
that perpetuated hate
to seal the fates
of innocent
human beings.

How these
rag dolls hung
dripping soft drops
of crimson stillness.
Heads tilting
in terrifying positions,
with no physicians
coming in
to rescue them.

Such strange fruit
not yet ripened,
swollen
with the growing
gas that was bloating.
Until, bowls evacuated.

Soul singers spoke
of such tragedies
but who heard
their heart’s beating verbs
that broke against
a shore of stupidity,
and arrogance,

and who will listen
to the same insistence
as more people join
the resistance
to fight against
a new age of injustices.

So, many meager
minded *******
coming at you like
fat blind truckers,

stiff bodied rigid minds
making no time to find
the reasons behind
life's eloquent poetry lines.

So, I drown in sea humanity’s
sinking stupidity
whilst seeking some semblance
of our potential brilliance
which is a glimmer
I can only make out
in the far-flung distance.

As I measure
my black past
against the vast
dark expanse
of space and eternity
all that see
here before me
is the nothingness
that will ignore
or envelope me.

Right now, I am dealing with
all of my insignificance,
the pittance that this peasant
employs to avoid
complete depression.