What a beautiful man
a character in muted colors
speaking Shakespeare’s words.
I covet the players coven
a place where such wonders
where made manifest,
where actors did their best
to express in proper parlance
past prose and poetry.

What a fine figure
full of creative vigor
that speaks loudly
marking lines with fierceness
and a slight playful puckish
variety.

What a time to relish
spoken forms
the theater
worn for such
vocal storms
and I am in love
not a ****** decree
but an infatuation
founded upon
the wonderous creativity
of this sweet performer
before me.

Shame on me
for having a human heart.
It is a strange weakness
to watch and see this
wave of inhumanity
and wonder why
I stand immune
from said insanity
whilst all the other people
rush and strangle each other
in a frantic state
of hate and rage
that breaks the place
where some people stash
true love away.

Once I was
a carefree breed
uncowed you see
by my society,

but I as I gained
sweet security
measured by
materiel wealth’s
so called maturity

the fear of losing
what little I had
confounded and
controlled me.

Once, I would have
given my last dollar
to any stranger
who was hungry,

I would have stopped
to comfort with kind words
anyone who seemed
bothered,

and whether going to
or coming home from work
I would have stopped
to help a stranded stranger.

Now, even though,
I know
these people
pose no danger
I do not stop
nor part
with any pennies.

Instead, I rush to work
and to the gym
to make money
and muscles
in hopes of
fitting in
by looking
buff but still
trim,
working towards
that **** thin.

Nose to the grindstone
focused on the job
and all the stresses
like keeping well dressed
and keeping my car running,

the once
kind carefree fellow
I used to be
becomes corrupt
by my insecurity
in the pursuit of
stability.

Why do we not raise our voice
in the exaltations
of eloquent speeches
that elevate
human beings
search for the true meaning
of this mean existence?

Why do we elevate
false cloth symbols
while celebrating
the sacrifices
of the subjected
and suckered
masses?

Why does
the angry incoherent cries
of a madman
overshadow
the million more
who struggle for
a better world?

Why do I bother
writing these words
knowing they
will not be heard
by many
and of those few
who
even deign to notice
most will ignore
in favor of
more interesting diversion?

The fields of dust
become dry death
as the surviving few
choke on the stew
of putrid fumes,

slippery viscera,
a dismembered
remembrance,
the living entranced
by the ultimate
state of existence.

Null,
zero gains
nothing comes
back here again.

She’s sings so sweet
and her words are refreshing,
but I guard myself
cause my affections
become obsessive.
I walk away
before anything starts
cause it’s so much easier
then dealing with
a broken heart.

I’d play my guitar
but I never learned
so, I’ll whistle my songs
as the world turns
and burns to ashes.

My friend is heavy
heading towards
a heart attack.
He can’t even sleep
cause he hurt
his back,
and every day down
I wonder how long
it will be
before I have to
bury him and grieve.

I’d play my guitar
but I never learned
so, I’ll whistle my songs
as the world turns
and burns to ashes.

The government is
in the pocket
of big business
cause corporations
bought all your
favorite politicians.
So, they don’t give a ****
about the environment
and in twenty some years
we’ll be lucky if we
survive in it.


I’d play my guitar
but I never learned.
So, I’ll whistle my songs
as the world turns
and burns to ashes.

The night is over
but the dawns not coming.
I used to be fast
but there’s no place
to go a running.
Destruction is certain,
so I don’t even buckle up.
I just roll up the highway
and watch the world
get ******.

There are no rings
of will’s green projection,
no sorcerer’s spells
of protection,
no magic hammer,
or mighty mutants,
no green monsters
or Inhumans.

There are no Amazonian warriors
there are no masked
caped crusaders,
no day walking vampires,
or any other special men in tights.

There are no gods
coming to save us,
no flying aliens
here today cause
all of our dreams
of grand heroics
are just fantasies
with nothing to show
for it.

There is no guarantee
that good will succeed,
no grand decree
from a higher being
that demands man’s
obedience
to a specific moral standard.

There is no soul mate,
no reason to think
we are all that great.
So, there is no reason to wait
cause there is only now.

Hard stone skin
is slightly glittering,
temperature shifting
seasonally,
a place full of friends,
and literary kin.

Carnegie classic
home to the fantastic
collection.

Stairs to the entrance
and a black bannister
on which I slide
even though I was told
so many times
not to.

A sanctuary
from the abuse
a gateway
that I used
to escape my isolation
and find myself
enlightened and amused

friendly fictions
books well bound
my little safe space
in a redneck town.

Soon it will change.
They are not tearing it down
but building a better building
near the outskirts of town

But to Sarah, Kathy
Karen, and Tammy
whether you know it or not
you are my family
and though things change
as they always will
this was my home.

I am as strange as a purple orchid. Though I love people, there is a deep need to retreat into my own world, to think, and dream without the intrusion of outsiders. Sometimes I feel bad about it, right now I just want to be left alone.

Not quite winter
but the bare sidewalks
are already cold.
A frigid wind blows
with indifference
as strangers
pass each other.

A soulful voice
accompanied by
a beautiful keyboard
sings hope
from a street corner,
while nursing
a small plastic cup
of transparent
brown liquid.

Such a sweet
street performer,
I drop him
two dollars,
as he shivers
and smiles.

Such a sweet
street performer,
but the night
is a promiscuous lover
leaving him behind
in time
looking to find
tomorrow’s mind.

Not quite winter
but the bare sidewalks
are already cold.
A frigid wind blows
with indifference
as strangers
pass each other.

A soulful voice
accompanied by
a beautiful keyboard
sings hope
from a street corner,
while nursing
a small plastic cup
of transparent
brown liquid.

Such a sweet
street performer,
I drop him
two dollars,
as he shivers
and smiles.

Such a sweet
street performer,
but the night
is a promiscuous lover
leaving him behind
in time
looking to find
tomorrow’s mind.

Not quite winter
but the bare sidewalks
are already cold,
and a perfect place
to put my bare foot
to ease the aching pain
as long as no one is
looking my way.
So, I slip off
my right shoe
press it against
the cold concrete
until the pain leaves my feet
and hope
no one notices
this silliness.

It is caffeine induced insanity,
heart beating rapidly,
stress and anxiety
hunting me viciously.
I try to slow my breathing,
try not to see all the possible
bad outcomes,
but my nervousness ruins everything,
tightening the valves and ventricles
that should keep me moving.

Now they keep me cringing
worried about what worse thing
that may still be coming.
I clench my chest,
try to calm my breaths.
Until, I am able to
force myself to sleep
and awaken with
just a little more peace.

What sense’s sensuous delight
may breathe joy into
my anxious state of mind.

A gentle breeze
that cools me
bringing in
the scent of
smiling flowers
slightly muted
by the morning dew
that almost
forms a rainbow,

The same wind
now rushing
makes the sound
of rustling leaves
then flows
like a wave across
the growing
glowing green
parallel path
of grass that I see
from the harsh highway
that seams
to own me.

Or is it
the soft hairy head
and the sound of
a baby laughing
after I gently tickled
his tiny toes
that makes me feel
just a bit better
then when I am anxious.

I got cold feet from poor circulation,
so, frequently I have to rub heat
back into my frigid feet.

Sometimes, I get this tingling sensation.
Plus, there is a slight tight pain
that starts in my upper right
center chest.

It seems to be an expression
of a once latent
but now blooming anxiety,
inching ever closer to
that heart attack variety
of human suffering.

It used to be a rarity
now it seems, at least
a weekly event for me.

Ironically, when I worry
it gets worse
and of course
I worry when it hurts
so, it hurts more often
as the week progresses.

Now it has spread to the left
side of my chest.

The streets are fresh
with the withering flesh
of sensuous conversation.
Tiny bits of floating fragments,
plump and succulent,
pass stranger’s ears,
plain to hear
even though I fear
few could ever take them in.
This is the reality in which
I drown just to swim,
a sea of unclear sounds
and half *** observations
made to clutter my notebook.

Each attachment, whether to things or people, is a form of entrapment which takes us farther and farther away from freedom. To be truly free one must be completly detached. However, without attachments where does one find their purpose?

The last lantern flickered
reflected in the black water
while raindrops made ripples
and little waves were formed
in the wake of the wooden boat’s
unsteady movements.

No cars or clocks to hear
just the soothing percussion
of light rain falling
on a saltwater world
of an eerily clouded night.

The empty vessel
loses itself in
the same ocean
that claimed
the men who had been
rowing out for some
grand late-night fishing.

It was a
suicidal game
of self-destruction,
as I walked slowly
on the white winter ground.

Four or more
sleep deprived nights
because of some
drug a doctor prescribed
that nearly fried
my already fragile mind.

For the first time in my life
I decided to give cigarettes a try.
Cancer be ******
because I had already been
******* condemned.
So, I smoked them.

Pushed to the edge,
I punished myself
with cold indifference
popping the last bits
of this sick prescription.

Earlier,
I asked the doctor
if I could take these
before I went to bed.
I guess he didn’t
listen to a word I said.
Was it his ignorance
or merely negligence
that nearly did me in?

On the fourth night,
I watched my best friend
collapse from his asthma
because he was
running to call the cops
to come and save me.

His efforts made me laugh,
as I indifferently considered
just finding a place to hide
while I waited to wither and die.

The cold metal door
lets loose leaves
in with a soft breeze.

I live in my own fish bowl,
a clear stream
of silver strings
swimming gently
with and against me
as I am moved
in a mad and melancholic melody.

Pressing against the edges of my prison,
I try to see beyond
the light splitting prism
into a new multi-dimensional spectrum.

Opening old books of fiction
as my own teddy bear seams split
letting my mental stuffing slip,
I reach and read each page into
a brand new pre-used
mental picture reality
that moves as rapidly
or as slowly as I desire

The laughing lion
scared the **** out of the
quite hyenas.

Oh, the spiral descends.
Empty eyes watch
as the stairs drop
into a circle that bends
swirling in an
infinite depression.

Soft thuds fill the air
as numerous feet follow down
chased by their own
bone chilling sound,

and while they move forward
the darkness envelopes all.
Waves of light retreat
as the children of man
come here to fall.

The anger does not fit
the cage in which you sit
when with a quick
flick of your thin wrists
you throw ****
and hit more often
then you miss.

You claim to be bereft,
that by some strange theft
your dignity was stolen,

but your religious devotion
pushes you right on your back
as it attempts to enslave,
takes the feminism you once praised
and burns all that progress we’ve made
away;

And your political affiliations
set you in a binary conflict
of liberal against conservative
as the wealthy puppeteers
put their hands up
both party’s ****** derriere
with campaign contributions
and other bribes.

While the pursuit of status
from the materials you lack,
like your Iphone ******,
your sports car crack,
and your commodified
individuality
which comes in
three different colors
a personalized
perfectly designed
clothing line,
makes you an addict
who has to pay
way past closing time
with soul sapping debt.

The dissonance should
splinter your sparkling
billboard reality
as tv images
hyper energize
our innate *** drive
and media moralist
shame said desires.

While your leaders
proclaim a specific faith
but then in turn
spite and debase,
with malice and false claims
anyone who doesn’t
pray each day
the way that they
don’t even pray.

When the main protagonist
in your religious texts
was pretty obviously
anti-capitalist
but your current church leaders
make a killing
selling their parishioners
false promises
of making them
multi-millionaires.

When you
were set up to be
the steward of your society
yet squander
each opportunity
to be more Christ like
cause you have developed
a strong immunity
to reason and logic
which costs us
our humanity.

We do not need to impose order on choas. There is poetry in uncertianty. To adapt survive and thrive through natural selection is a miraculous thing. Evolution should not be feared but celebrated and appreciated.

Greed and goodwill do not usually work well within a  corporate dynamic.

Time’s strangeness surpasses
sad fields of corrugated metal,
spastic lights that project
commercial intent,
technological wonders
barely willed into existence
by the minds of inventors
who we will never visit.

Tragic daydreams of daring proportions
as the desire to acquire materiel wealth
cause us to shift and over extend ourselves.

The Earth bares such deep scars,
as men and women work and draw
from the almost infinite well of greed,
that angry stomach with teeth
that seems to exceed human reach.

Frequently,
I race across the words
reading too rapidly,
missing the depths
of descriptive sounds,
and failing to engage
the full immersive array
of language the writer displays
because I wish to portray
the fiction of a deep person
who reads intelligently.

The cloud covered sky
obscures the alluring
white light glow.

The cool moist air
gently moves
the pre-winter tree leaves
that have already
lost their blooms.

The autumnal red
bush wears
berry colored leaves.

The nighttime’s
seasonal identity
flows freely
on time’s
sharply shaped arrow
that always
flees from me.

The human narrative can not be written till after the fact. Only then can humans force it in to some cookie cutter continuity of meaning.

There were two steel skinned brothers.
One was a passivist
the other a warrior
and wherever they went
they gained followers.

Two righteous brothers
split in their own conflict,
wanting justice,
but unable to work together.

One would sit and meditate
while enemies struck fiercely.
He convinced whole families
to join him
and when he was attacked
they were attacked as well,
but not being steel skinned
they fell
to the brutal onslaught
and the passivist brother
would move on
trying to do what’s right
while watching others die.

The other brother
would rage against
the abusive power
battling Knights
and Samurais.
He went wherever
there was oppression,
fighting was his obsession,
and being steel
he did not even feel
the cold hard strikes
of arrows, swords,
and knives.
People would follow him
and when he fought
they fought as well,
but not being steel skinned
they fell
to the brutal onslaught
and the warrior brother
would move on
trying to do what’s right
while watching others die.

advertising trends toward creating a desire or need that did not exist before. It is done through the art of deception and misdirection. The Bing comercials are a good example of this phenomon. The same thing goes for politics.

To be a caged animal
and illicit stares
of shared despair
while trying to
clear the air here
of that ***** stench.

The populace passes
by my caged display
as I try to play
pretending that my pain
is not so real.

I dress myself up
in nice new things
watching how
the other animals swing.

Reality shows,
sports events,
and other
things
obfuscate
how human beings
isolate themselves.

My cage expands
to fit all my pretty things,
while my mind shrinks
and stinks of sinking fools
who are also drowning
in their own stool.

Think loud and talk softly so that many may hear you. When you speak softly those around you must silence themselves and open there ears. I hope people will learn just because you speak loudest does not mean you win the argument. If you must raise your voice and interrupt another person than you have proven only that you have a louder voice, in that moment.

Oh no,
the center
will hold
just fine.
It is
the rest of us
on the outside
that will
spin out
of control.

Universal morality does not work their is no cookie cutter solution for every moral quandary. However, this does not mean everything is relative. Moral judgments can be made by using empathy instead of ancient texts. It requires people to think deeply about what they do and who they do it to.

We are marred
marked to march
and make more war,
while the whole
world watches.
They may know
quite well
what we are
warring for,
but the media
makes us fools
by masking
the heart of
darkness
that greedy men
send our children
to fight for.

Her words were
as sharp as
the Reaper’s sickle,
severing my soul
into two separate shards
then splitting them
again and again
till all that I was,
was splinters
of my shadow self.

The site seams to be fixed.

Her words were
as sharp as
the Reaper’s sickle,
severing my soul
into two separate shards
then splitting them
again and again
till all that I was,
was splinters
of my shadow self.

The bulging black boil
that bursts
spewing spurts
of yellow viscus
poison liquid.

The pulsing throb
of fevered flesh
that spreads it
dark veins
across itself
like a sick spider web.

The tight tendrils
that throttle your throat
till you cough and choke
spitting out your own
saliva.

The foreign feel
of that strange
and sad
forever fatigue
that beckons you to sleep.

The last look taken
as nothing consumes
the consciousness
that once bloomed,
and thoughts of pain
no longer trouble
that particular brain.

Looking back
is like biting my tongue
till the blood
trickles just a bit.

It is like picking
a painful scab
and letting all that
little red
slowly slide
down the side
of your itchy arm.

It is like a melody
of soft melancholia,
a deep and dangerous
cavern full of
things that crawl
but never **** you.

It is all ages past,
all broken moons,
all crescent shapes,
that come closer,
to cut you.

It is one thousand
self-inflicted wounds
pursued for the sake
of some unknown goal.

She slept
in silent contentment,
the soft saltwater
serenity
moving gently
in a cradling
motion

The silver streaking
salmon school
barely moving
hiding under
the algae laden water
while sinking
into the deeper trenches,

As the cool white
moonlight
reflected
in rippling water
for no one to see.

Your grief is transient.
In time, you will
either handle it
or die.

To love is to live
risking darkness,
searching for light
in the face of madness.

Life is a trickle in a faucet
filling it up with discontent.
It is the pitter patter of water
soon to be possibly stagnant
in that cracked porcelain sink.

But all that liquid grows
till it overflows
or evaporates
seeking some salty sea.
Though it may go
where it pleases
it leaves me to be
the filthy
stained sink.

She told me what he did.
How he slid
his fingers
inside of
her,
how he pushed
and grinded her,
despite the pleas,
how he stopped her
when she tried to flee.

After the confession
I felt the fog of fury
consume me.

I set loose
my rage
and scarred his face
with scores
of scratches
and deeper cuts.

I slid my blade
inside his gut
and saw bits
and chunks
of vital organs
dribble
from
the gaping wound.

What fun to see
this dark adult
gasp and bleed
flapping like
a fish
grasping
for the ocean’s embrace.

With serial killer efficiency
I cleaned the crimson stained cutlery
and left him there to stare blankly
at the concrete.
Then I burnt my cloths
and wrote this note
for you to find
when I die.

It is a dream of colors
working in the real world
while I walk to work.

I look in to the water
and see a cool pool
of aquatic colors
clear to blue
and whatever
tint or hue
that swims or sinks
into my view
or merely lies underneath
this wet sheet.

I walk along the sidewalk
seeing cement gray,
wooden brown,
and grassy green,
falling behind me.

Red brick buildings,
and one poor onyx
colored car
with a black tape bandage
to match the
paint job.

One pale poetic friend,
and one brown skinned
friendly stranger.

One cloudless sky,
turquoise
then turning to
the darker night hue.

And journey’s end
find me soaking in
rain water
that becomes
a reflecting pool
of everything
I am looking at.

Female, male, Homosexual,
Genderqueer, Pansexual,
Transgender, Bisexual,
there is wonder in
the fluctuations
of identity’s observations.
Hunger swelling
desire blooming
then in a sated state
receding
no longer needing
****** fulfilling.
A curiosity
how such complexities
reveal humanity’s variety.
Not to be feared or hated
but celebrated and elevated
for the chance to see
something different from you and me
cause life is boring
without the beauty of novelty.

In emotional agony
one or many more times
I melted my own flesh,
pressed glowing orange thin
lit cigarette tips down on my skin
to prove I was
strong enough
to bare the pain,
but ended up
really proving
how weak I was.
Outer dermis mutilated.
Hot ashes flicked away
after the self-inflicted pain game
and adding to this strangeness is
that I didn’t even smoke cigarettes.