Like a mole
she has dug
into my soul,
Now she is in so deep
hidden in between
my synaptic gaps
and she comes out
in unconscious scenes
of fantastic dreams
when I am asleep.

In love I long to find
our veins are intertwined.
Till her blood becomes mine
and every heart attack
is lessened by the fact
that we share
two hearts.

I wonder why people measure success by the level of their wealth, their beauty, or other things that indicate class or status instead of the good they do for others. When I am close to death I hope I am able measure my success by the times I made people laugh, or smile when they were sad, helped them to think when they were confused, and was able to learn from them becuase I knew that they had vauable insights share.

I hope that when I fade, when death becomes my bleeding shade, and paleness mmars the expressions on my face, that my words sink into the stream of the collective unconscious and find a permenent place.

It is a wonderland
of wondering eyes.
Strange people
walk on the red tile floor
to explore
the doors
to artists’ perceptions
and projected expressions.

White furry feet,
following first
my eyes find falling fury
like a solar explosion
of violent ginger on yellow orange.

Then slightly concealed
I see a surreal reflection of religious will,
as a beautiful female body
lay limp, ready to be baptized
by the appropriated
white guy version of Jesus.

My favorite thus far
is green vertigo
a swirling portal of
multi-colored abstraction
guarded by ruby tinted sentinels
on either side.

Further down the rabbit hole
me and Alice go
to white rabbit dress
by Felicia Olin.

Till, ticking clocks
cannot delay
and I must redraft
this poem about
the art on display,
and save the rest
for another day.

It was long ago
when I wept
with the wind swept
children of
human wreckage,

When bare feet
felt soft soil
and muddy pools
squished themselves
between my toes,

When dark dreams
danced dangerously
inside of me
pushing
death tolls
and grim reaper schemes,

When family
was something imagined
and love was a desert,
or a half empty silver flagon
with dragon’s flames,
fiery liquid burning my
already parched lips,

When the church
claimed my soul
until I finally said
hell no,

When in vain
I tried to explain
a stranger’s pain
to another stranger,

When I slept
and woke in tears
or sat in the dark hallways
because I had no home,

Though many years
have proceeded old pains
the child of humanity
still remains
with red veins
ready to be ripped
to bleed out our shared pain,
stored in the library of my brain
and written
upon these crimson
stained poetry pages.

See this is so strange to me,
all this obsessing
doesn’t break down logically.
But you are breathtaking,
soul shattering if you chose to be
and I would risk eternal damnation
to be next to you and do whatever
you want me to do.

In the morning, my first thoughts
are of you.
In the evening I daydream,
play out strange fantasies
that circle around all the things
I long to do for you
and to you.

When I go to the gym
I try to strengthen
my body and mind
so if the time
comes
when you need me
to defend you
or help you run
then I know
I have done
all that could to prepare.

Part of me is very scared,
because I can imagine
getting lost
somewhere
deep in there,
in a place where me, and I
becomes we and us
because I must
Still, I trust this love
is more than lust.
I desire your mind
and you naked touch

If I am an egg
fragile and ready to shatter,
and all the yoke spills out
like yellow brain matter
if you break my heart,
I know that all the king’s men
and all the king’s horses
couldn’t glue me back the same
cause you would have my heart
and I would keep what remains.
But I will risk it,
because to miss it for fear of trying
to sit out the inning
and go on dying
well what an empty life that would be.

The heat is a memory trigger
looking back I figure
all those high temperatures
make a line in my mind
of sensory familiarity.

Sweat on my brow
soaking through
my receding hairline,
wet spots become
darker shades of
whatever color
shirt I am wearing.

No ac because I am
to cheap,
so I sleep
still sweating
with a box fan
pointed towards me.

A gallon of water to drink
and I ride dangerously
on my mountain bike
through countrysides
and city streets
listening to music
that pushes me
with its hastening beat.

Today the heat index
is a hundred and ten plus
very dangerous
to anybody else,
but I have no fear
I have been here
in the clear
summer swelter
for thirty-seven years
and it is kind of fun.

I have
strong arms
to hold you
but a gentle spirit
that does
not want to own
or control you.

If I had white wings
of soft feathers
on my back
I would wrap
you up in them
to protect you
from any attack,
and if I was heavenly
I would still
submit to thee
an angel’s decree
of love and devotion
given joyfully.

I will not drown
in those deep blue eyes
but swim those seas
for as long as my
lifespan allows me.

No surprise
you know that
this is not a lie
I am ever your devotee.

So, whatever or whenever
you need or want me
call and I will come running
yours until
you are done with me.

She is an addicting drug
and the DTs
would be devastating to me.

She is a dark cavern.
No other human beings
are following me
into her grand beauty
with glowing green moss,
and slippery stones.
Harboring potentially puncturing
projectiles like stalagmites,
and stalactites
which with one misstep
or violent quake
might leave me with
the worst case of heartbreak.

She is a dangerous labyrinth
with so many twists and turns
that I am very concerned,
certain I will not return
from my addiction.

She is a cool pure blue pool
of glimmering water
that is deeper in the center
so, when I enter
I run the risk
of falling prey to
her dangerous
undertow.

Knowing all this
I still choose to be
whatever she says she needs
for just the inkling
of a chance
that she might choose me.

I sail down the stream of consciousness, aimlessly, while the moon's chesire grin lights my way.Crickets serenade each other.The wind ruffles the leaves with a rythmic and harmonious beat. I find myself chuckling as those standing at the shore yell at me, "your going the wrong way." Their faces are weathered by the daily storms of petty concerns. How can they tell me the way to go when they rufuse to get wet?

Morality and ethics are abstract illusions/delusions that are relative to the place and time of ones existence.

The Earth is art. A production of natural forces projected to projects beyond our basic comprehension.

This dismal day
dulls my emotions
in favor of
some distant
tv visions
that I used to love.

I’m holding onto
the abused child
who used to
play in realms
of fairytales,
myths, legends,
comics
movies, tv shows,
and books.

I’m holding onto
the ones I long to
reunite with,
dead people
I still miss,
ghosts who painfully
wake me
from sleep,
crying.

I’m holding onto
the guy I always
wanted to be
stronger, more creative,
more compassionate
more patient,
more giving,
and a more intelligent
self-sacrificing gentleman.
Despite how easy it would be
to be greedy and deceive
I always strive to be
a better version of me.

I’m Holding on to
a silver sliver
Of slimmer hope
that glimmers
in the distance,
just a small chance
at a romance
with someone
I’ve loved
for almost twenty years.

I’m holding onto
slightly subdued
versions of dreams
I used to dream
for me
and all humanity.

Till, the end
I am holding onto
my friends
and this one life
we all get to live,
cause I’m not waiting
for the sequel
that is supposed to be
coming after this.

Everyone
has there
earbuds in.
So, no one
is talking
or listening.
They are
just walking
and missing
any human
connection.

These brick buildings
are built up from
the ground
wearing empty porches
with no sound of
family conversations
or love.

If i withdraw, and do not call for weeks do not be offended or think some offense needs amended. This is merely my nature, to seek insights through silent moments of introspection and to work my demons out of my system with a pen and a gym membership.

I am just
a pretty purple
placeholder
for her old lover.
A holdover
until he
gets his
**** together.
So, I’d rather
give her the cold shoulder,
but I love her
too much to abandon her.
Even though
this is killing me
slowly
but sweetly.

They are
petty parents
parroting
previous
patterns
of poor
behavior.

There is no warmth
despite the
sweltering heat.
It is winter
in the middle
of summer.

Strangers are all stiff
with a frigid
temperament.
They wear cold shoulders
and give off
icy stares.

It is an hour plus
long walk because
I don’t want
to take the bus.

Audiobook in one ear
so, I can hear the traffic
loud and clear
as I march from here
to work.

I greet and compliment
women and men
who walk by
with serious and sullen styles
transforming them into
delightful smiles
that shine through
so other walking strangers
can see them to.

Crosswalk lights
and lunch hour traffic
**** blocks my speedy flight
slowing my time by
ten to fifteen minutes.

Tall and strangely designed buildings
pass by the right and left of me.
I stare at them longingly
imaging all the books
that might be hiding
behind the stone and wooden wall.

I walk pass
lots of foliage
and many trees
but only one
really interest me.
I see the clinging ivy
creeping,
crawling all over
the brown bark covered
body
of that beautiful tree,
as the roots
move scarily
wrapping around themselves
and shaping to form
strange bodies
frozen mid scream
like they are dying.

I pass it cautiously
imagining
the green vine and leaves
consuming me,
pulling me down
into the hungry ground
as I struggle gasping
for my last rasping
breath.

Then I smile
feet moving ever forward
onto a long walk through
the city I love.

I read the signs
and let my mind
wonder in other daydreams,
while tracking the time
it takes me
to reach my workplace.
One bathroom break
and then five to ten
minutes and I arrive
sweating and smiling
time elapsed
one hour and
twenty minutes.

The cold glow
of a frozen morning,
the thin layer
translucent,
I look through it
to see the stiff blade
of nature’s green
barely surviving
The sun is up there,
but seems to be
emitting null energy.
It is a subdued
ball of fire
burning softly
in the dawn colored sky.
I remove my shoe
then the other one to
to move through
the wet grass
as the ice cracks
and releases
its hostages.
My tank top shoulders
shiver straight down to
the fingers I used
to poke holes in the earth
for no apparent reason.
For now, I am immortal,
unaware that death
is always there
unable to identify
that black shrouded guy
who hounds us all.
I just enjoy
this early frost in fall
as I crawl across
this ice laden landscape.

Some people seek thier own stagnation. I seek the novelty of new information, and the knowledge i need to shift my understanding if the evidence i percieve requires that of me.

I get frustrated by those who think they know me. I may come off as intellectually arrogant but spend more time trying to see the world from different angles. Since I suspect that i'm frequently wrong I endure a lot and forgive more then I should.

Do not conform to the cold confusion that we are set apart in a constant state of competition. without a strong sense of compassion and collective we could not have come this far.

Every action that is taken is shaded with bias and intent which is spread from friend to friend.

How come two fo the most important topics are taboo? Talking candidly about religion can lead to resentment just as quickly as talking about politics. However, these two things are the most powerful forces in our modern culture. Sharing insight and learning from each other , should be the most logical thing. While Remaining ignorant of these topic or avoiding themseams kind of dangerous.

Keep it sweet and succinct
as your heart starts to sink
I will sit here and think
about my feeling.

As I dream about your lips,
long to hold you as we kiss,
then whisper an ocean
of loving truths to you.

But our eyes do not meet
and you do not see
how much I am willing
to sacrifice.

So, we go our separate ways
like our lives are tragic plays
lost in a bittersweet melancholia.

Still, there’s a small spark of hope
that keeps me
from swinging on the hangman’s rope.
So, I write it down as a poet.

I distort the story just enough
so that if you look close
you will know how much you are loved
but if you don’t
no one else will notice.

life is an exercise
of humility,
and I am hemorrhaging
my sanity
waking walker
stumbling in futility
knowing my existence
is less than a pittance
knowing that
in the cosmic swirl
of heavenly bodies
constantly moving
I am not even a speck.
My power is limited
as is my comprehension.
I am settled on
shifting sands
and this position
is even more precarious
then I can imagine it to be
because this planet is spinning
while rotating around a star
that is the heart of a
moving galaxy
in a rapidly expanding universe.

I feel like a strange man of contradictions As a rational human I want to aproach every thing logically, but as a dreamer I want to live life with such amazing zest and passion. I want to be consumed by the beauty of life and lost in its wonders drowning so deep in the moment that I can not escape it, yet still be able to focus and do what needs to be done to acheive greatness.

Life is like your feet. You can go around wearing shoes all day to protect yourself from rocks, glass or other things that might  hurt you, or you can go barefooted and feel the soft moist earth beneath your feet, enjoy the cold hard concrete.  Think of this as a metaphor for your heart. If you are constantly gaurding against the pain of life you miss out on alot of of the good stuff.

There is malintent
maliciousness
by a maleficent
monster of a man.

Long ago destruction
became the landscape.
Bullet and bomb holes
punctured the earth.

Though once a field
of fetid forms
filthy with decay
where all the bodies laid
now there is no more smoke.
Here sweet roses grow.

Instead, there are new
war wounds.
Violence blooms.
Each day new battles loom
one man wears down
one woman’s defenses.

For what it’s worth
her heart hurts worse.
Her skin was swollen
and very bruised.
Despite the truth
and her trust issues
she tried to stay
and weather his
horrible ways.

Until, one day
her face collapsed
under his furious force,
and her body went limp
as life divorced,
soul torn from flesh.

The words will not save
or even obey me.
They are not my salvation.
Truly they enslave me,
keep me from escaping
into dark bouts of stupidity.
Ignorance cannot invade me.
The words work their will
becoming my ****** poetry
as they try to elevate me.

the stars spewed
swirling waves
of raging fire,
bleeding light
that finds us
inspired to
reach higher
then our predecessors
were want to do.

There is a slight heartache
but not as bad as it could be
because it is so familiar to me.
It came when and where
I was expecting it be,
like a gut shot
when I tensed my stomach.
I wasn’t flummoxed,
just a little ******,
and annoyed
cause I am tired of
the girls I like
putting up with so much
from the bad boys
while I toil to cultivate
and perfect
this nice guy shtick.
Till the person I want to be
is the person I have become;
Kinder, gentler, compassionate,
stronger, and faster
with more endurance,
but the man I want to be
seems to be a hindrance.
So, it comes to this
must I sacrifice
the person I strive to be
or suffer alone for eternity?

I'm not Patroitic. Patriotism breeds a sense of arrogance and causes people to succomb to hate propaganda. Its a tool the government uses to stir people up and condem those who think for themselves. 9/11 was tragic, but it gave us an oppurtunity to unite for a noble cause. Instead people turned their fear, and anger on their fellow man. Instead of furthering the cause of harmony. Polliticians have promoted racism.

The world can be a cold and dark place. Whispering winds of change force us on into an uncertain future. We struggle to maintain a strong sense of identity, but so many loose themselves in the crowed, and their potential is losses to the desire to conform.
phew, lucky for me I don't know how to conform. Being a nerd has its advantages sometimes.

A shadow cloaked in darkness can not escape its fate to fade as light shines upon its pained and embittered face. Their whispered words of wicked intent curve and cut what was never meant to be damaged or destroyed but explored and employed to make the world a little better. Now those dreams of good intentions are lost forever.

She was not an angel
but  still she had
the gift of empathy,
with eyes able to see
deep inside
to human suffering
because she knew
that well of sorrows
better than others.
With a siren’s tongue
She could speak wisdom
softening the sharp sorrows
of the strangers that
would come
to her for healing.
She was a gifted healer
though seldom ever able
to ease her own suffering.

He was a slender trickster
with a strange aspect.
Dark shadows danced
deep inside his corneas,
reminiscent
of the old apparitions
that still haunted him.

Neither evil nor good
but misunderstood
the trickster
moved to entice her.
He wooed her with words,
wines, and revelries.
Till she succumbed to
his devilries,
and for a while
they laughed
and smiled,
living a little
happily ever after affair.
Eventually,
darkness ensnared
the light that they shared.
The trickster ran away scared
leaving the enchantress
alone to bare
all the dark shadows.

I tried to approach her,
to break the barrier
she built up in pain
to help the healer
heal again,
but her long
lover affair
with the trickster
left her unwilling
to open herself up,
and now I suffer to
knowing there
is nothing that I can do
to save her from the pain.

I do not know
where the trickster went,
or if he ever returned
when his fear was spent,
but last I saw
of my sweet sister
she was still struggling
to get clear
of the chaos.

Sometimes
at night
I hear her sorrowful songs,
they are beautiful,
but I find tears cloud my eyes
and I cannot listen too long
or I just might
cry until I die.

The rockets flare fast.
Multi-colored explosions
spread across the night sky
while I
sit alone and stew.

I am alone
suffering in silence
succumbing to
the sovereignty
of my loneliness.

There is a woman
who hurts my heart,
a smile and voice
that presses my sanity
from the inside out
like a tube of toothpaste.

She has a family
and I have spent
thirty-seven years alone.

One taste of domestic tranquility
has enslaved me
made me want to be
her partner for eternity,

But sadly
I am not the one
she longs to see
and it breaks me.

Like all things
this will pass
but right now
it hurts to be alone.

Her sweet blue eyes
are as deep as the
turquoise sky.
They pierce my heart,
and I hate
any guy
who makes her cry.

--------------------------------------
There is a knot in my stomach,
with a deep seated dread
that though my love currently needs me
she will leave me when she returns to
the dude who misused her heart.

the greatest thing an artist can aspire to is masterpeice, the same can be said for a novelist. But the greatest thing a poet can aspire to is love and all of its wonders

She is a waking obsession
possessing every second
of thought that I have.

Each action I take
each thing that I make
is for her.

When I go to the gym
I push myself to the limit
to get stronger and faster
so I can protect her
and her children.

While I walk around
at work
I hope she’s not hurt
and wait for her
to get the urge
to call me.

Be it three in the morning
or ten o’clock at night
I never mind if she calls me.
I maybe a little drowsy
but I love hearing her voice.

I don’t mind cleaning her dishes
or doing her laundry.
She can ask anything of me
and I’ll do my best
to accommodate her request
and do what she asked me to.

I’ll stay late
or come over early
no matter how tired I am,
with no expectations
or devious plans
to be her man.
I just want to do what I can
to help her
because I am her friend
and I love her.

I hope that when you feel love for yourselves and others that it becomes a driving force, that inspires acts of daily kindness, and courteousness. I want love to be contagious, so that when you smile at someone, or help them out they can't help but smile back and pass it on.
-2010

What weary traveler wanders slowly down a worn and dusty road. Knowing that it has been year since anyone last traversed these dangerous trail. Still he dares to bare the burden of clearing this once wondrous street of debris, so that those who wish to walk this road once more can do so unafflicted by dark memories of the struggle once undertaken on this path before.

2010

The battle was brave
but today is the day
when the heart will falter.
There will be no tomorrows,
and all previous echoes,
each individual iteration,
each past person
who stood hurting
but still struggled
will lay this heavy burden
down to rest.

******* up
on a rocket ship,
send me fast
on my final
fatal trip,
skip this ****,
tip your waitress,
and let me leave this
graceless existence.

How fresh the fields
of pain I feel
has yielded fruits
bitter to the tongue
and slowly rotting.

Where there are tears
there is hope.
If you are crying
you’re still surviving.
Unless you are dying,
but there are still seconds
to keep trying,
to be better,
to be kind,
and pass that goodness
down the line,
plant the bloom,
so someone can find
compassion on
that old grapevine.