It starts with a needling sensation. Pink ****** poking around the back of your mind. Consciousness receding in retreat as something else overtakes your brain. Placing time at its’ own weird intervals. Fuzzy projections like tiny porcupine quills sting and stain your flesh as you try to recall. It is one sensory input after another linked by some unknown band with its’ own elasticity. Memory is not immutable, but a soft and fleshy permeable thing, changing with the rearranging of your current identity.

       Identity is a sea of broken lines, experiences forming disintegrating and reforming again. Changing ever so slightly or ever so drastically. There is sadness in the losing of solid beliefs, in coming to terms with the transient nature of your memory. Even when soft connections are made, when emotions seam to tie you to old memories there is still sorrow. There is still an aching, longing for something better, or a baleful pain gnawing at your gut like an angry cougar. Memories attempting to devour you in its’ strangely reconstructed past.

I am the tired gypsy
who plays *****
tricks on thee,

the bloated king
of foolish games
who dances outside
in the rain,

the jumping fool
who was never cool
and never will be,

the lonely jester
who may pester
but promises
good humor,

the heartbroken poet,
pusher of prose,
arrows of words
pointed at your heart
to help us all heal,

the loyal knight,
lost samurai,
last willful warrior
ready to fall
not in battle
but in defeat
as I see this world
consume everything,

I am the ghost,
forgotten specter,
spirit inspector,
who was searching
for similar soul seekers.

Someone you love dies it is a tragedy.
Two strangers die in your town is a tragedy.
Ten strangers die in your states a tragedy.
Twenty-five strangers die in your country is tragedy.
Two hundred strangers in another country die.
You don’t even blink an eye.
How the hell does that work?
It’s a tragedy that you don’t see it’s tragedy.

I will not succeed
and knowing such
sets me free to be me,
let’s my sails open
to solar winds.

Wings are ready to rise,
because I am ready to fall
ready to be drowned
in it all.
I can fly for now.

We were born to die alone in the dark
A dissected corpse, a desiccated heart
Loose limbs tightened with rigor mortis
Broken bones and emptied bawls  
Becoming a morticians doll
To be posed and paraded before
Our loved ones

1.

Because I do not believe
There is any love for me
And that gender is a construct
Of this confused society
I state plainly or plainly post
For all who wish to see
My gender is not binary

2.
From one voice history flows
All hippie dippy flower child
All love and no fire power
Just truth and the hope
For a world where words
Can change dark hearts
To canvasses of light

3.
I choose my verses carefully
Line those syllables up in front of me
So I can see if I am a decent poet

These soft and hard hands
Beautiful and strong
Small and large
The same hands that held babies
Herded sheep
Softly stroked the heads of pets
Carried crops from the field
Wove cloth from wool
Formed pots from earth
Drenched the dry fires
Held spears, swords, and shields
In defense and for war
Hunted for food
Tickled newborn babes
Carefully cradling their heads
Against their bare breast
So it may suckle
Hugged a crying child
Reprimanded wrong doings
Raised a family
Folded cloths
Cut coupons
Drove kids to school
Wiped tears from strangers eyes
Massaged stress from a body
Satisfied ****** desires
Carried all she had to safer ground
Miles away from her home
Wrote poems, painted pictures
Snapped photos, posted prose
Clenched in outrage
Fought to protect her loved ones
Held high signs of resistance
These hands have shaped the world

It takes courage to love
to let a friend in
knowing time
will win again.
Skin wrinkling,
hair graying,
me seeing,
those I love walk,
or run away.
Collapsing
gasping,
dying breath
takes all the memories
that we tried so hard
to keep in ourselves.

It takes courage
to try again
to mend the fences
fixing the gate
that lets new people in
while letting me walk out
of that terrible darkness.
Till, the black swallows
my tired grins.
I recede like my hairline
failing like falling tears
that only soften
some of the losses
felt so often.

I know that I have that courage
because I love you all
and will die
before the last person falls.

You can have this body.
It is only a borrowed thing
made up of grass and mud
of burning stardust
and everything I ate
and everything that was
eaten by what I ate
every drop of water drank
every particle and wave
of those lovely raving solar rays.

I am only a place holder
for the next thing.
So, you can have this
soft body for the breaking
for the decomposing
and atomic, molecular reshaping,

But the dreams our mine
as are my thoughts.
For all that was gained
taken or lost
you cannot have my heart.
Unless, I decide to give it to you later.

My five-disc cd player
shuffles through
sad soft songs
that sing
me and my depression
to sleep,

a melodic muse
to still the
inner tempest
and let this
lonely witness
escape the deep
shades of darkness.

Alone with
someone else’s
consequences,
in so much pain
that I try to end this
but even suicide
is hopeless
for me.

There is no opening
out of this bubble
that I have been
living in.

There is only
the cycle that
washes, rinses,
and dries me out,
makes me cry out loud
when no one is around,
but never tell anyone
that I am hurting.

The pills and razors
are still not working,
so I’m just burning through
my terrible twenties
and most of my thirties,
never ever feeling worthy
of any sort of love.

Never had it
Though I want it
Long to find myself
A home

Lonely child
Older man
Never works out
Like he plans
There’s no home

The road gets heavy
His eyes get redder
For every written one
There’s no return letter
Sent from home

Memories buzzing
The swarm of flies
Sick and disgusting
They promise him lies
But no home

Loving arms
More like barb wired
Hands
Cut him
Shredded his spirit
Till he understands
There’s no home

Tears come
When he wakes
Tears come
When sleeps
Even when he dies
There’s no stone
To mark his final home
Oxytocin relief

You may drink
To obscure your pain
Play videos games
Chat on Facebook
Immerse yourself
In other social media
Watch movies, TV
And YouTube videos
Chasing novelty

Going after
That consumer high
From the merchandise
You buy

But in time
The silence will find you
And the anguish you were blind to
Will consume you to

Till, the pharmaceutical companies own you
Because you have to
Take so many anti-depressants
Just to get through
One more day

Blood on the red rusted blade,

Blood on the bed sheet
where we once laid,

Blood on the ornate
porcelain plate

Blood in my throat
along with the
black burning bile
coming back up
my esophagus
and out of my mouth
in slick drips
of ***** and spit,

Blood in my soul
drowning me in
crimson style,

Blood in the hot headlights
blazing in my wrecked retinas,

Blood in the ground
rooted in my hometown,
you will find the blood
everywhere
if you come around here,

Same sick stain
paints my pillow
and my satin sheets,
luckily for me
I bought a red pillow case
so that blood
just blends in,

Blood on my hands

Blood in your veins

Blood in my heart
beating out loudly
driving me insane

Thud, thud, thud,
more blood mixed in the mud.
It never ends.
My spirit rends
itself asunder.
I can even feel the blood
in the coming thunder

Blood, blood, blood, blood.

It’s kindness versus stupidity.
Good intentions beats censorship.
We don’t need repressive *******
To fight against insensitivity.
We just need information,
Intelligence, and the wisdom
To use it justly.

I slip into
a sweet change
in your room,
close the shades
so the light
barely comes in,
flickering
slightly
as the curtains
flow slowly
back and towards me.

I love the breeze
from your window.

I hold your hand
hoping this
is not just
some dream,

hoping
the coins
I tossed
in the fountain
made my
wish for you
finally come true.

But as your
soft hand
slowly slides
down the side
of my face
heading toward
my chest,
as I lose my breath
with excitement
and arousal,

You disappear.

My crusted eyes
flutter open
as I try to clear
reality.

Frustrated,
I try to fall
back asleep
so I can restart
that perfect dream scene,

but I am awake
and alone.

These marvelous mystics
work word magic,
in the realm of poetics.

Waves of sounds penetrate
the mental barriers
my peers have made.

They speak with silver spades,
digging up the beauty and wisdom,
bending, and breaking the light with
the weird wonder of their syllable prisms.

They crack the mental prisons
that embiggen
the cash flow of sexists and bigots.
They expose the spigot
that spews *******,
with chunks and bits
of acid spit and ****.

They turn the darkness
into lighted corners,
take the depression
and hopelessness
that was all consuming
and present you
with a new view.

They assimilate and share
information and inspiration.
With similes and metaphors,
they explore
all avenues to truth.
Though they soar
too close to the sun
they still manage
to bring back that blazing beauty
before their wax wings melt
and they sink into
the history of
salt water words.

Today I’m struggling
to find
a potent
portent
of the human
condition
to place in
my poetic
compositions.

I am not the wreckage
Your life was built upon
Or the side street
Were rushed lovers meet
To greet each other
In a panic with frantic fingers

I am not the hole
You fill to ****
That internal ache

I am not the hero
Or the villain
Of this small
Human production

I am not like
The similes
That litter
Your eulogies
Or the metaphors
You adore

I am simply me
Still searching
To find out
Who that is

Today’s episode
of America
is uninspired.

Like the writers
just retired
and rewired
repeats.

Meshing in
Old school hate
McCarthyism’s
patriotic rhetoric
Of division
through worshiping
things of symbolism,
leading to discriminating
and lynching.

KKK, and white hate is
making their guest appearance
just when we thought
we had retired them.

It is a schism
of ******.

What a
white privilege
you have to
not understand
what others
have been through,
not even believing
when they tell you
the truth,
just repeating
the talking points
of Bret Bart
and Fox New.

Well, I’ve got news for you
I am not watching
this ****** rerun
it’s time to
change the channel son.

I love the feel of
a cool breeze just before
an April storm.

The wind wisping
through my messy hair,
whispering the watery secrets of
wanton wanderers and wordsmiths,

As I stare at the small wooden windmill
The spinning become hypnotic
till the rain awakens me from
my fascinated stupor.

Robot boys,
metal jammed
god dammed
hot gears burning,
synthetic sounds
static blaring,
nobody caring.

Chrome gleaming
engine screaming
in lust
ready rust or bust
a robust nut.

Don’t startle them
or they will bolt.

Pre-programed
young to old man
machines made
to work
drink
and act like jerks
while they are
****** around.

Till they
finally shutdown,
no reboots or sequels
just scrap
for the junkyard.

Church services will resume shortly,
so, get ready to crowd the rectory.
Confessions are in session
cause these are concessions to con men
plying their moral dissent
to compliment other idiots.

Success, cause intellectual blindness
and devotion to a deity who
doesn’t give two *****
about all of you who
are not rich republican men.

We win, my gullible friends.
Come on in.
Kenneth Copeland
and Cresflow dollar
will be taking your money
to support their private jet
go out and get
more stuff while the poor
struggle in debt.

Why care for those who despair?
Why share what we have
instead of bailing out
big businessmen?
We got to open the country again
and we can start with religion
cause they already believe
that science is fake
and magic is reality.

So, lets get them out and about
who cares if grandma get the disease.

We need to please these rich dudes,
these fox news
red hat attitude
gotta get a clue
red state race bating
confederate flag wearing
NRA make America great…

Wait……

Yeah, go to church
your pearly gates await
just please stay in
for at least two weeks
when you get back from
hearing your preacher speak.

My love cannot heal you
Or save you from this wretched place
It will not save the world
Nor restore the human race
I am just a pebble
Pond’s distance from the end
I am just a droplet in the desert
Deserving a little more then
I began with

My love will not restore you
Or save you from the horrors
But in these softer moments
My love can hold you
Comfort not control you
Cushion you against the harshness
Give you time to find the self
So maybe you can heal yourself

Say goodnight
to that psychopathic
narcistic guy.

You all used to say
you were about to make
America great.

So, say goodbye
to that uncouth
wanna cause
a violent coup
dipstick dude
who many of you
were following
through to
treason.

Must be a
hard pill to swallow
cause you haven’t taken
the medicine
of getting rid of him
and accepting
the election.

Such a bad *******
for the fool who
won’t move on
fast enough.
Instead, he is
getting everyone
riled up
and stealing money.

It’s not even funny,
how he hurt so many.
It’s a cold chilly January
as he tries to dismember
that capitol with his fans.
Then throws them
under the bus.

This is how he uses
and abuses his stooges,
just ask Mike Pence.

So, forth hence
say farewell
to the ne’er-do-well.
He might not be
going to hell,
but if we are lucky,
he will be going to jail.

Can’t Sleep

The heat will not let me sleep. Sweat pouring into my crevices as I move my seat back and down. Twin trickles slide down my temples. The exhaustion tickles my already fuzzy and tingly brain. Thoughts become clouds creating new forms of stormy confusion.
I need one hour to at least regain my rationality. I roll to the left slipping my black shoes off, because I sleep better barefoot. I roll to my right, shifting the keys in my side pocket so they won’t stab me. Still, I cannot sleep. I roll down my window and place a small black jacket up, to block out part of the sun. The white interior reflects some of the heat but not enough to let me sleep.
The weatherman promised rain, but I would settle for snow or sleet; anything to reduce this heat. I close my eyes to try breathing exercises. It doesn’t work. I try making a blindfold out of a shirt. It doesn’t work. I try daydreaming to relax, but it doesn’t work.
Now I have to go to work. I am sure I smell like smelly car. It is a beautiful day and I am sure the night will be quite gorgeous as well but I got a fourteen hour shift ahead of me and I am dog tired. ****, I wish I had been able to sleep.

---------------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------------------------------------

Afte­r I Finally Got Some Sleep

I awake, slightly sweaty. Eyes blurred, sleep dust crusting up. A lump of sorrow fills my gut. I recall arms around someone I loved, holding on to her. I recall love. I recall happiness.
It is all an illusion. That soft skin lay only within the realms of dreams.  Vividly she appears to me. Her smile, her long red hair, her *******, the softness of her belly held gently with interlocking arms. Her voice is only a construct of my memory as it tries to put together the specifics of that wonderful dream.
What a dream girl. Maybe she was that girl from that tv show I used to love. The last dream like that she was a girl I knew fourteen years ago. If I could I would go back to sleep, trade in the coldness of this reality for the wonderful love. But it is too hot, and I have to go to work.

It is skyfall
lightning cracks infinity
splits eternity
between the dangerous
jagged white lines
and the booming thunder.

Ball point ballistics,
not quite as destructive
as an empty heart,
but powerful enough
to shake us up.

Even in its fury
I still sleep soundly.

Now it snows
The frost falls
The ground retreats
Beneath a sheet
Of whiteness

Now it rains
The water falls
Soft snow becomes
Mush
And slushes
As I walk outside

Now it is day
The sun
Sees the earth spin
Into its’ light
And the slush
Recedes
And the ground reappears
Until it snows again tonight

There is a little fleck of blood
lightly smeared inside my yellow shirt
hiding like a speck of paint
from a day’s work that I did not do.

It is a thing of shame because impulse
prevents me from being sane
as I scratch at scabs I know would heal
if not for the urge I have
to pull and peal until
a speck of blood pools
inside my now open wound
which is less than half the size
of real life bullet holes.

Now some sheets at the hotel
hide a small blood spot,
but you’d have to be an expert
to find it amidst the folded fields
of thin bleached white covers.

Like someone being abused
I try to cover this ****** bruise
this scab that wounds my fragile ego
making me feel uglier than I did
cause I can’t help picking at it.

The foaming sea
The turtle stone
Marks the beach
I stride alone
Memories
Made of
Vain and venomous vipers
Stinging
Poisoning
The present
No longer pleasing
Convulsive flesh
No longer easing
But coughing
And wheezing
Snotting and sneezing
Waking to sleeping
Living while dreaming
Loving but leaving
I melt my skin
Loose what is within
My vice so called sin
Lay slip slip slipping
Drip drip dripping
Identity and vanity
Escape me
Eyes loosen from their socket
Lost picture burnt from
Mother’s never was locket
And I become the same salted sea
Distasteful, though birthing place
Of the entire human race
Drowning, oozing, and losing my illusions
Of once dear held humanity

I have heard it said
That the blank page
Is a daring but lonely journey

Some doubt lay grey clouded
Rain enshrouded
The weary words
May not yet come flooding
But I am not afraid

I will not waste the day
In a wasted haze
Instead full blushing
I keep the bile flushing

I try to put most attachments
In their proper place
Death will wait
Or come when beckoned
May even come uncalled
I know it comes for all

Skin will wrinkle
Thoughts may fail me
Inspiration may not avail me
But I do not fear
The potential of the blank page

We got a history of killing dreams in the streets
One man stands up to be struck down
One leader who can’t be bought off
Gets his head shot off
If they can’t subvert you
They pervert the image of you
If they can’t use violence to silence you
They put a bullet through the heart to
And I get tired of trying to put poetry
And music to the truth
Just so you will listen
Tired of using the humor trick
To pierce that thick skull

What you weren’t told
You are the mold so break yourself
To make yourself stronger
And pass it on so it lasts a lot longer
So the dreamers can stop
Taking shots for all of us

I am headed for a heart attack,
tension and stress are
pressing against my chest.

My voice is garbled
and I am unable to
adequately express
those repressed
truths.

Wake up to early
get my food and cloths ready
then rush out the door
before I can catch
my morning breath,
and take an hour-long drive.

I hit the gym
keep on pushing
trying to accomplish
a goal that
doesn’t really matter one bit.
Who really cares
if I get super fit?

Get to work,
knock out
an eight-hour shift
while I eat
walk,
read,
think,
write,
and draw.

Then hit repeat
on the cd player
of my groundhog’s day life.

Time is a ballet dance
Sweetness in form
Nostalgic beauty
Moving in and away
Up and down
Sweeping the ground
Soft body hardened
And hard body softened
Tears, and adulation
Till the curtain falls
And the performance is over

The thing is
The system don’t give
Two *****
If you did it

Quotas and budgets
Require them
To prosecute
Innocent men

Looking for numbers
Not trying to solve
The problems
They got all the power
And you wonder why
I am slightly unnerved by them

Justice is just an illusion
Suits and robes
Don’t make right
All that money
That goes to them
Now you know why
I question how they decide
What to do with my life

It has been almost
Two thousand
And five hundred years
Sine Plato’s cave
Spewed us out
Into an odyssey
Of light and
Philosophical
Humanity
Two and a half
Millennia
Spent clawing our way
Out of the dirt
Into this age
Of technological wonders
And now you
Want to blunder
Back in to
That cave that
Gave birth to
A new science
You want to
Take back
Evolution
And electricity
Medicines, and
Other utilities
Letting Freon
Burn a hole through
The atmosphere
That was protecting you
Letting old ideologies
Rebloom and consume
Taking the opposite
Of mushrooms
Twenty-five centuries
Till we succeed
In failing so completely
As you drag me
Back into
Plato’s cave

Slickened skin
Slightly moistened
Glittering
Scales
The swimming queen
Of thee Atlantean
Glowing iris
My mermaid
May bite
But she glows
Oh so beautifully
In the oceans at night

I do not fault thy breath
Nor curse the blood
That simmers just beneath

The chest and organs
That bleeds and beats
That agony that groans

The moans that sweat
Sweet honeyed mead
Through stranger seed

I do not blame you
For the road you ran
The hands you held
And all you planned
For you are merely a man
No matter how high
Or hard you stand
For now your bitter actions
Though ill conceived
Receive my pardon

What a beautiful fiend
That crept upon my sleeping form
To ****** a heart not fully formed

What a vicious tyrant
To take what I was not ready to give
Stealing in cruel dealing my love

With her precious lips
Full red and ready for a kiss
With her fulsome chests
And her eyes afire with an emerald quality

What a mean sprite to slip through the night
Making me desirous of her touch
Making me long to hear her musical voice

Hair afire long and exploding free
For my pleasure and mine alone to see
What a gift she chose to give to me

For when with nimble fingers
She did deftly burglar my heart
This paragon of desire plucked her own
And laid it gently in my sleeping hands

I know I won’t be here forever,
and I am just wasting away,
watching politician playing their games,
play acting outrage while preventing change.

There is a no place for my face
that shifts and distorts from the pain
that I am forced to witness over and over again.

I’m not the cleverest
but stating facts makes me feel like
I’m trying to scale Mt. Everest
while screaming against the bitterest winds,
like I am going to have to watch all of my friends
slip off the top and drop nonstop
until our whole civilization ends.

I’m just dressing my heartbreak up in
stark sparkling words meant to
amuse and enlighten all of you,
until the same fate catches up to me to,
and my legacy disintegrates
with the rest of the human race.

It is a dreamy disaster
I forget myself frequently
Giving in to the hope
Wanting to be desired
Wanting a connection
Not an *******
But a mental line
To cross wires
My desire
Is for far more
Makes me strive for
Equal companionship

The yard is green
Lush
Wooden bench
Begins to chip
Soon it’s gone
The pumping well
Goes from green to red
And back to green
Now it spits up dust
The cracked side walk
Used to be pristine
The basketball hoop
Hangs at a an angle
The house went from grainy grey shingles
To boring siding
The dogs are dead
But in my head
It’s like it was
Even though I know
I can never go back
Sometimes
I close my eyes
And relive the old days

Her fingers dance deftly across the white ivories. Music spills into the space between us. Chords bounce up and down. The waves of sound crash across time and space. They vibrate at a different frequency.
I touch the air swirling it around my fingers as if it were cotton candy. I can taste reality. It is sweet for now. Later it will burn like jalapenos, later still there will be a sea saltiness. For now the music continues, and it smells like tangerines.
Her light skin radiates with love. Hazel eyes reflect the pureness of the song. Tears fall and I find the saltiness of life a little sooner than I thought. The sound surges, creating barely perceptible mists of green and blue. Electric currents fire releasing the memory of another piano.
Wrinkled fingers connected to wrinkled hands connected to a wrinkled body vibrate. However, they vibrate at a different frequency. Sound escapes me. It is the thud of my heart beat.
The music continues, but now I can hear two distinct songs playing. The tunes mingle perfectly, becoming a new symphony. The mists converge creating a purple vapor which spirals and separates into the original colors. The colors converge then separate again and again. Repeating the pattern, they spiral like the ladder of dna.
***** blonde hair weaves in time with the dancing fingers. Curls cross each strand and become entangled in a beautiful mess. Above the stars spew out their own music. It is a strange static mess. I know that to someone it to is a beautiful song. A frequency spanning infinity and eternity traveling slower than light years; Swinging and singing in its own frequency.
The music stops, as does my breath, and my heartbeats. The colorful mist dissipates. More tears swell and fall softly moistening my cheek. The loss of beauty breaks my heart.
The young pianist turns, slides off the bench, and walks out. Cold shivers vibrate through my being. The taste of jalapeños burns in my brain. Light shatters and dissolves splitting into sparkling fragments, then split even more. I smell burnt cookies. A harsh light explodes through this strange white cascade and burns my retina.  New sounds force me back. In the distance a mangled voice says something.
The blur and slur of reality works its way into normalcy. I smile as my sense of touch returns. Cold cuffs comfortably restrain my hands and legs.

“How was it?” the voice asks.

“Amazing” I say. “Best trip ever. Now let’s change the frequency and see what else happens.”

Couldn’t be bothered to remove your knee
from a man’s neck.

Couldn’t be bothered to protect
the huddled masses of poor,
when you and your buddies can make more
from building machines and waging wars.

Couldn’t be bothered to tell our youth
the deep and painful truth
about our history.

Couldn’t be bothered until you were
inconvenienced;
Until your bosses see this
and you get in trouble
for vile rants.

Couldn’t be bothered to be
a decent human being,
and you wonder why
people cry,
let it burn.

Those cold crab legs let you scuttle away
To turn your pincers on other strays
Snap the trap
Clickkity clack

Deep blue eyes
Disguise those lies

The truth is
Your conditioning
Is breaking in
A new human trend

Not some human being
But a little monster
Social sociopath
Corporate ****
For capitol crack

It doesn’t matter that
Your siblings and your children
Are left bleeding
Broken little seedling
While you **** greedily
On the system that is treating them
Like some soft commodity
Like some factory fodder
Born to serve society

You sharpen your claws
With apathy
Your teeth drip
With inhumanity
Tongue lashes taste
Of violence and battery acid
While, mercy is a blue Martian
Or the Lockness
Like god who never helps the helpless
You are just another child
Of Corporation Echidna
The mother of all monsters

I can only resist
for so long
challenge that which is
so strong
before my mind breaks
and age takes
what makes
all resistors great.

I can only be an insurgent
casting shadows of love
instead of waging raging
battles of blood
for so long before I am all gone.

Right or wrong but mostly right,
I can only fight this lonely fight
before the light fades
and I say goodbye to my
better days

Two friends and I
spend part of the night
hanging out.
It last about
two hours
till I excuse myself
feeling bad.

Cards, and anime,
once or twice a week
but I can only hang
for an hour or two
before I need to leave,

Video games
And Netflix;
Nostalgically
we reminisce
my oldest and dearest friend
but I can only sustain this
energy for an hour
three tops.

Godfather to his two kids
take them both to different movies
barely make it through the second
tell their dad I’ll be over after I take a nap
but I sleep a little past four.
I apologize, but it is not the first time
most likely will not be the last.
He gives me what I ask,
says he understands.
I still feel bad
for breaking plans.

It is just who I am.
I need the quiet time
to recharge
after a couple hours
of social interactions.

He is not a victim
Just offbeat and strange
Fighting off the pain

The memories play
Repeat once and while
Bruised smile
No one ever came

Little boy begging to die
Bleeding tears
So much
And all that snot
Made it hard to breath
All those nights
It was so hard to sleep
Couldn’t find
Anywhere safe to be

The bedroom boy
The window watcher
Timid eyes
Pleads with the daylight
To disappear

Even in his dreams
She was still chasing
He lay wasting
The best part of life

He chased butter knife hopes
Hoping to slide it in the plugin
Hoping to hit the perfect spark
Hoping to end before his heart
Got broken again

And in morning
When she was to tired
To start storming
He headed off
To school
Were kids were cruel

The only time he was ever safe
Was coming home
And on his way
The in-betweens of his day

Now it doesn’t really matter
And sometimes he is ashamed
To even admit it
Because he is not victim

Bluish blackish night smokes grey clouds
Letting the lonely and lazy mists go floating by
Yes those loose vapors like spiky specters splitting vectors
Expanding the moons yellow haze, such a strange midnight afterglow
Now tall stick fingers form long wooden hands
Waving goodbye to older oak trees
Letting their brothers and sisters disappear from the land
Yes this is just another night of visual delights

We were not written in the stars
Or woven onto golden threads.
We were not some intricate line
of pulsing powerful predestined
circle of energy.
In fact as far as I can see,
we simply are.
So, why not be happy?
Take a little bit of me
Mix it with some you
And see what we can do.




My darling whispers
where the wild things stay.
I can hear the broken fairy winged
creatures pray while they play
saying that today
will be a wonderful day.


September is a lie I tell myself
Hardly on the way I say winter is not here yet
The cold will wait
The winds will wait
The frosty fear that marks this time of year
Can hold its tongue
Now is fall
An eternity
Between me and winter

Never was a death so gracious
And I fear there never ever will be
Granted fools may feel salacious
Let their limber bodies bend
While the savage animals rend
Their flesh to scandalous designs
The killer cabal contrives
To take away all lives
Because their body has no divine designs
It will fail faltering and fall
To ills and accidents that attack us all
To ages and we will find ourselves
Lost
We live
We die
And all that is between this and that
Is just a dance against the evening sky