To my loves each and every one
You sweet ghosts of potential
Diaphanous specters haunting me
With what could and will never be
I do not lust for thee

Shame on me how I lie so easily
But I am learning to lose that part
To scrape that side of my heart clean
Till desire is just a passing thing
Just a mid-summer night’s dream
That only belongs to my memory

To you all who inspired said passion
I am grateful not hateful nor jealous
Of what I will never have or touch
For now the idea of love is enough
To secure my solitude with poetic platitudes
The attitudes I give latitude to reign
And not be ashamed is a full blooming pain
Parceled out with partial bouts of pleasure

You frequent my fantastic dreams ***
Coming and going as you please
Please do not ignore or forget me
I promise that I understand
We are just woman and man
As friends

Instead of being activated
by what you hated
you got isolated,
so you wouldn't be triggered.

There were photos of
human agony on foreign streets,
bombed out buildings,
bleeding children,
and parents weeping.

Instead of getting outraged
by what you saw,
you went to your safe space,
so you wouldn't have to face
any troubling thoughts at all.

People softened the discourse,
slightly dulling the edge of the sword
they use to cut the safety cord
we call human rights.

The bad things kept happening
while you were napping comfortably.

You should have been
an exposed wire
sparking an arc of heart fires.
Instead of highlighting
that which was frightening
you went into hiding.

While those who were fighting
didn't get the option
to ignore the horror.

Busted up and ******,
tear gassed buddies bruised
while you used that excuse
of not wanting to deal with bad news
cause you might get triggered.

The world is on fire so,
melt that snowflake heart sister
and brother
we've got no time to waste
in helping each other;

Look and see these tragedies
and get motivated;
Rise up in outrage,
get ******* triggered,
and get to work son.

Cause anger gets **** done!!

Loyalty makes a loser out of me
Deciding that the overriding emotion
Should rule my reason
Allowing the cowing to familial bonds
I am stuck in a sour situation
Facing no hope for improvement
Leaving this life with no secret delusion
The confusion of right and wrong
Stains my last shirt
It hurts because I am stuck in a blender
A ****** of identity
Between my father figure and me
Wanting and doing something better for myself
Would make a traitorous liar out of me
The guilt would devour me hour by hour
The freedom would empower me
Give me time to build a better me
So how do I decide

I like to love her from a distance
My dear daylight poet
The sunspot
So **** hot
Tan skin
And spectacles
Smirky smile
Deep intelligence
With a certain spiritual resonance
Pulls me from the pit of despair
With her deep thoughts and kind airs
Twisting language to wondrous purposes

I like to love her from a distance
Letting her dark words wash over me
Inspire the higher functions of my creative brain
Unshackling me from the dullness of society
Inducing, immersing, and freeing me to see the beauty
In the horror of our descriptive language
Pale skin dark hair piercing eyes of creative Fury
A cold fire that inspires desire and respect

Two angels of a sort
Ying and yang light and dark
Sitting on my shoulder
Even when I say
That they are tucked away
From a safe distance
So I can love them
From within
From their words first
Watch their beauty burst
Like bloated rainbows
Breaking beams
Shooting mercilessly
Piercing me
To set me free
Not lustily
But as fellow poetic human beings
Whom I will never meet in person

Green fields of grass
Brown fields to plow
Grays roads to ride
Must and dust
To choke both of us
A watery world
Wrapped from one side
To the other side
And it all spins round
Going up and down
Rotating
In infinity
Moving through eternity
Space and times specialty
Life is only temporary
Our membership is barely honorary
The universe will not miss us
When we are gone

Every time the sun comes up
I go down
And every time the moon shines
I am up
Ready to work on my stuff
Ready to play with my baggage
Packing and unpacking
To find what I am lacking
And putting it all back in again
Then I cycle back

Cold metal presses against the thin mattress.
There is no pea but he can still feel the springs
It is hard, sharp, jarring, and deeply cutting
He is no princesses and this is no fairytale.

The beast is indifferent, made of concrete.
Barbwire fences mark the difference from
Freedom’s street and the state penitentiary
and he cannot leave this abusive relationship.

They let him go and life was like a candy-coated cabin.
He got himself a job, but kept a lot of bad habits
hopping fences, then breaking into cars,
dating a troubled teenager, and an angry older women.

Head down body laid to rest he did his best
to fall into the deepest sleep in the porcelain tub,
drunkenly stupid, but somebody pulled him out.
He tried to burn himself the same **** night.

An angry apple red thread with a poisonous pointed head
awaits his next big break in mistake
but the price he paid, the things that changed
all came because he smoked some little thing.

It doesn’t take much, in fact any little thing
could take a halfway decent human being
and turn him into to a ward of the State
can take a loving human being and make him hate.

Not all stories end happily ever after.
Not all prisons are left even after
the prisoner is freed, his body may be released.
but the man still flinches,
hardened and tenderized by what he has seen
and what he had to do to make it through
that dark fairytale hell.

Is a flower
folding in
on itself,
petals
swollen
with
the last mist
of morning
dew.

It is a lost doe
walking through
the back yard
nibbling
on tree bark
and disappearing
before I can find
the camera of my mind.

It is the one song
played on
repeat
so, you can feel
the beat
and barely hear
the heart
the music declares
as the lyrics
sing
my soft hearted
soul
to a state of peace.

I do not enjoy
your anesthetized
clean pictures
of the Victorian past
with your fantasies
about nobility
and high society.

The truth is *****.
The people were poor,
and the poetry spoke truth.

It did not cover up such pains,
but placed them on display
in word play
to say,
“We are human and we are here.”

I cannot call back the broken bough
The rusted metal twisted wreckage
The torn sails flapping awkwardly
In the summer sea breeze

No body but nobody is left

Splintered wood
Water rising
Sea splashing
With such an ancient mariner’s passion

The boat will not unbreak
I cannot unmake time
See her maiden glory
See her masts a rising
Vanishing on the horizon
Cannons firing

The vessel is broken
The soul of the ship is devastated
Materials wasted

All hands lost to the brine
And no one but me
Who dreams such dark dreams
Will ever know the truth
About that broken boat

He smokes. Lips pull thin white clouds of relief into his lungs but when he is done he will head back in to the dark den of machine men. There used to be better days. Now strange alchemy has turned his soft body hard, smooth skin wrinkled, white teeth cracked and yellow, and soul into a mutilated mess. The fence vibrates with his passing frustration as one foot cracks the corner. Would have been a ****** mess if not for the tight steel toed shoes, that add about half a pound a piece. His fatigue weighs so much more. A heaviness stops him at the door. It is like he is walking in a world of gravity set at twice the normal rate. Safety goggles, lunch lady hair net, and ear plugs have become his nighttime uniforms.
“Five hours and twenty-three minutes to go.” He recites like Dustin Hoffman’s rain man.
The mechanical madness beckons him in with a thud da dud, thud da dud, thud da dud.
“At least it is a midnight shift and not a hot summer day shift.” He thinks as he shrugs off the last remnants of his reservations.

Depression is a hydra
Of loneliness
Head lobbed off
Replaced by a friends suicide
Memories of child abuse
Children Soldiers in Africa
I lob off the head of child abuse
A relative dies
A cop kills a kid
Military state
On and on it goes
For everyone cut off
Another one grows
Another one grows
Another one grows
Leaving me heartbroken
Sobbing alone
Facing a beast
I will never defeat

You cut her wings
And there she fell
Condemned to hell
The pain inflamed
She cursed your name
Cause your love was to blame

She cooked and cleaned
She sexed like a slave
She disciplined the children
Till they were well behaved

And all the while
The feathers fell
Withered roots
That once held her aloft
Were sheared completely off

She did your laundry
Took your abuse
She left her dreams behind
While you chased yours

You bled her of her spirit
Cracked the open wounds
And left the poison in it
Till she came to believe
That she never ever even had wings

Then she passed her winglessness on
To her daughters
And her granddaughters

Now generations of wingless women
Have barely even began
To find their feathers
Look up and try to fly again
Thanks to the wicked ways
Of you so called modern men

We are complicated
Beautiful water bags
With calcium sticks
Tiny members
Inverted ***
Smoking desire
Snorting up ideas
And vomiting
More complexity
Chunks of variety
Intertwine
With red wine
And clichés

She’s got that busted lip
But you figured it
Was not worth
Your attention

So, all that tension
Just tightens her throat
Makes here choke
On all of her hope

Cause every day
Is just another
Dark shadow
And bruise
Waiting to happen

And you don’t care
Cause you weren’t there
Kissing razor tip dreams
Cutting skins
Till the beating drum
Never beats again

Sheets wet
She wets her bed
But it’s not ****
Its salty tears
And snot
That stains this
Plain wish
She cries out at night
I wish I was never born

The teachers ignore
The children insult
More injury
Compounded upon
Her misery
And the pain never stops
Till her body drops
A limp marionette
Dancing shadow
That paints pain no more

The red apple
reflects
the randomness
of this
wild world.

In hunger
the white
and seeded core
becomes
a fruity corpses
where when
disposed
will posses
the rot of worms
and wriggling maggots.

Then to the grave
this delicious treat goes
to seed the earth
with nutrients
that other things
need to grow.

I can never go home
Cause home is not real

Never was, a place where I felt safe
Just a building with exits
Just people who no longer exist
No safety or happiness

So why do I laugh at this
Cause it is better than
Crying out loud

I am not proud
I just never knew
The same truths as you

Home was a beautiful lie

So I say goodbye
Before I say hello
I say good night
And close out the show

Never was a home
So I stand out here
Alone in the cold

Been wearing it for a while, the thickest jacket I own,
So **** tight it’s pathetic but it still fits.
Thirty one years and even though it’s snug on my shoulder,
Even though it cuts deep into my armpit,
Till my flesh shifts and distorts, it’s still mine.
Brown leather jacket permeated in ****.
All the baggage, all that angst just won’t quit.
Sometimes, I take it off. Sometimes I let it rest;
Let that leathered nightmare take a break,
From tearing at my tense and tired chest.
Sometime, I shove it in the back of the closet,
But it always returns, whispering in my ear
You missed this failed at that. What were you thinking?
Should have been there? Why weren’t here?
Man I wish I’d been drinking.
**** that jacket; Worse for the ware and tare of life.
Even when I throw it away the stupid coat keeps coming back.
One day I am going to die in that ***** ol’ thing.

Time is mercury,
silver liquid poison
to the living
taking more then
it is giving.

It is Hermes,
a deft thief,
burgling
what the Greeks
sought to keep,
putting fools
asleep eternally,
so that even Aphrodite
cannot recall
those loved ones lost
to its terrible march.

The dying flower ripped
From the earth
Drips chloroplast
The living liquids
Barely last
As the fragile stem
Begin life again
Imprisoned in
A vase or dark bell jar
Left to die
A slow beautiful death
On display

The gallows are full
Of shallow fools
Who fill their time
With harder wines

Drunkards, and party boys
Weekend idiots
Looking for a release
Just short this side of peace

Hang’em tall
Line them up
And watch’em fall

Cardiac arrest
Or police arrest
It doesn’t matter at all
That is how the sheep move
That is how the crows squaw

One more Saturday night
To beat the week
Noose and all

Shakespeare’s Caesar
Was never noble
Dripping blade dropping blood
Brutus nailed it
To cease the invasions
To end the destabilization
To save his nation
From a warmonger
Crimson smothered blade
Slick with sic gore
The ideas of march
Antony claimed
Noble Caesar
And the masses followed suit
The mob never knew the truth
Caesar was a monster
Gutted and blooded
Life flooded from his vein
But never came close to the stains
That painted his hands

The madman works
Toils towards
An unknown purpose
Be it brushes or pens
Canvasses of color
Or lines in loose leaf
Emotions are erratic
Nothing is static
Everything is always
Moving towards something else
Nothing ever stays the same
The truth is change
With only little windows
The truth is
Tiny pockets of time
Emotions translate to
Déjà vu
The universe of experiences
Encapsulated in one mind
So the madman makes what he can
With what he was
Or at least how he remembers what he was

Where can I put the pain of the world?
Can I stuff it inside while people buy the lie
that the race to possess is worth the pain they cause?

I want to heal them all.
I want to catch the fallen
the broken people calling
Out for mercy.

So I take it all in
one video,
one picture,
one story,
one movie,
one piece at a time.

Let it simmer in my stomach,
till I’m full of ulcers,
till the tension is to powerful,
till I’m a poet bomb
ready to explode
and let my ink bleed out
what humanity
has planted inside of me.

I am twisted.
As self-inflicted
fissures
crack
from all the pressure
that fizzles within,

not from soda or gin
but from my growing discontent
as I contend
with this trend
Of infantilizing
women and men,

this categorizing
everything improperly
for the sake of comfort,
consistency, and certainty
labeling things
that need no label
instead of just letting beautiful things
be complicated and interesting.

A man is measured by his work
Stressed and struggling
Gasping for a breath of relaxation
A daily compounding of suffering
Dignity sacrificed
Life
Judged poorly if he is poor
A person should be measured better
Perhaps not judged at all
Could be judged by his kindness

The painter’s skill
Makes soft the flesh
Full blooming skin
Bleeding
Full colored man
Child
Eyes baring soul
Soul staring there
Memory and sight
Transcribed
Permanently placed
On the canvases’ face

I cannot trust a stranger’s touch.
Holding back giving to much,
Reserving enough of my love
To protect myself
From becoming shattered
Blood stained glass

Life is no place for fools like me
Because there are no other fools like me
Cloudy nights wearing purple and grey cumulous
Softly comforting in their silent beauty
Puffy explosions of midnight joy
Quiet ponds reflecting the quiet night
There is safety in the solitude
Wonder in the shifting clouds
I choose this over the hustling daytime
I love this over the breakneck bar scene
Dimly lit lamplights breaking through the dark sky
Giving me just enough glow to read by
And when the evening gives up its sounds
The singing crickets and other chirping things
It’s like a beautiful painting, breathtaking
I choose this over the mangled masses
The mauling throng of throbbing crowds
Rushing and rushing pushing and shoving
Just to get to the next spot
A competition for the best jobs
Keep what you can and leave me the night
I am not a competitor in your gladiatorial bouts
Leave me the silence and I will take it as a gift
Leave me the night and see how my spirit is uplifted

As a child I was devout
Faithfully glued to
An idea with no truth

But I spoke clearly
Understood the fictions
Better than most adults did

Like little girls understand
Barbies, My little ponies
And monster high dolls

Like grown women
Who still want to be
The princess they saw
On Disney

Like little boys understand
GIJOE, Spiderman,
And Superman

Like grown men
Who still want to be
The Batman they saw
In movies on tv

I clung to this fair unreality
Hoping it would be redemption for me
Because the bruises and red marks
Demanded I believe
Insist I must need
A superhero Jesus to save me

While I was drowning in a sea of sin
I had to beg the divine to let me in
Noah’s Ark,

Hoping that god knows my heart
Was full of good intentions

But the bathroom florescent lights
Made me feel ugly
Like everyone was judging me
With all my pores and acne
With all the scar my mom gave me
Though she hid them perfectly
Just beneath my skin

I thought god would save me from her whims
Or at least take me away to be with him

Instead of leaving me in pain’s den
To lose those faithful delusions
One heartbreak at a time
One history and science lesson at a time
One standup routine and comic book at a time

Till I lost my taste for the divine
While at the same time
I was just plain losing my **** mind

A hundred lines a day
To make sense of the world
Since I am unable to claim
The wisdom that I want
Stupidity is my shame
I am humbled by what I don’t
Understand
So in those hundred lines I demand
Better of myself and better for
The world I adore

Vice and debauchery are highly underrated
Underestimated by outdated modes of morality
But pleasure is the friend that chases away banality
Fights off the finality
We face existing in this space
Walking pounds of space dust
Apes we sprang from
Came upon some fun
Knew what is now forgotten
By some
You can’t buy one
Moment back
Before vision is blotted black
The spotted fact
That all we lack
Is fun
Forgotten in the rush to work
The race to hurt spirits
By contorting our flesh and mind
To the clock that kills our time
I am still feeling fine
But tell me how are you

It is the soul of the night that devours me. Hours spent in silence frightens, enlightens, and bores me. Nature spins in all her soft cool glory. Little pools of water lit by lamplights. Cold fences swing in and out in time to the shifting masses of shift workers. Trucks come and go at random intervals. I am tired, so deep in the fatigue that I require crippling amounts of caffeine. I am a stimulant fiend. Barely functioning as me, more like a specter of me. I watch the world from my comfy shack, letting it spin me back. Dipping in the solace of solitude, I search the universe for truth. Eyes cast everywhere, mind running wild, I ask the night for answers. Its silence says, find it yourself.

How beautiful you were
Dyed with life’s colors
Full flushed with blush
Gleaming skin
Moist from the raining
Now wearing crimson
In the mud

How beautiful you are
The undertaker’s art
No longer thriving
Nor feeling heat
Emanating from
The beating of your heart

How beautiful you will be
Buried under the roots
Of the now small willow tree
Tendrils feasting on your flesh
Feeding life with your death
Your greatest and final success
A beauty in all phases

The roads diverge
merge then re-emerge
somewhere I have never been,
so I follow them,
from the same point of origin
to the same destination
but following impulsive tangents.
The country road novelty
builds new neural pathways.

I know these are not the roads
that my grandpa drove
but I think he did
the same thing.
From the past
I can almost feel
his parallel curiosity.

We are two travelers
in different times
on different roads
with the same heart
to drive away
but always find
our roads homes.

My secret place began with a big bang, expanding as space divided and multiplied.
Intersections and dark lines forming strange corridors
Watching each mass in flux become its own synaptic map.
Gloomy ghosts of the past intersecting with visions of the present.
Energy always pushing forward constantly rerouting old wiring.
My secret place is a radiating pool reflecting infinity within a cave of glowing moss.
Shallow puddles paint theses surfaces but beneath their glimmering façade
There are endless depths funneling to dimensions beyond my own comprehension
Worlds of what if and why not places where loved ones are never lost just locked away
Saved in an astral plane to be remembered any day I choose.
Emotions are evident through the rocks as they cycle through cliché colors
Red for rage, blue for despair, green for calm, and purple for passion.
Siren songs of yester everything echo through the wet walls
Sounding lamentation and celebrations of every degree
From overjoyed and apathetic to all the shades of agony.
Angels and demons manifest in varying degrees of desire.
Ego and id sipping slime from the pulsing membrane of the cave walls.
Red rocks thumping like an African drums beating to the rhythm of my heart.
For some their sacred secret place is a safe zone but my home is fraught with danger.
There is always ying and yang *** for tat.
Abstract things born to balances great happiness with deep sadness,
So I can appreciate the beauty and irony because security is an illusion and stability is for fools.
My secret place is fluid always adapting to me, a changing sea unencumbered by destiny.
Better than Wonderland worse than Neverland, and almost as sweet as OZ.
I won’t lose my head but I may lose my heart while flying far to slow to start.
All dreams and fantasies rise and fall from within these corridors.
Prison cells of DNA forms certain passageways flaring with neurotransmitters.
My secret place will fall one day receding into the dark shadows of collapsing stars
Be ****** up into the grand void of space and spit out a wasted mass of molecules.
No matter how hard I try to describe this, you will never really know my world.
As I will never live in yours, so I wonder what is your secret space like?

Those in power
Play power games
But the people
Remain the same
Working hard to stay afloat

A president here
A king there
Prime minister
And other offices of power
Where power plays are made
But the people remain the same

Wealth is lost and gained
Then lost again
Passed on
To the wealthy sons
While strangers starve
While laborers struggle on
The whims of the wealthy
Impoverish us all
While people remain the same

Seasons change
As does the land
But the basic principals
Stand the test of time
Battles fought
Battles lost
Hungering poor
Lumbering fools
Politicians play Loki
As they are want to do
Tricky Tricksters
With labors few
But the people remain the same

Err I ever asked
Such kindness
Of such a few
Remember as remembrance are due
The heroic
Is but a dream
That ignores
The stable things
Fathers and mothers
Working to take care
Whilst those in power
Are nary aware
Play us as chess pieces
Hold different agendas
Move as the wind will carry them
But the people remain the same

The sheep minded
Elevate ignorance
To celebrate
Their own mundaneness

Claim this enslavement
Is natural
That the moral
Shun the strays
Who walk in
Diverging ways

Cling to status symbols
And fashion trends

Their mind bends
To fit their servile situation

Praising the nation
Instead of humanity

Consumers not real creators
Products not innovators

Digesting stupidity
And spitting the same
Uniformed madness
Right back at me
And that is why
I love working nights

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

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

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

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

I let it grow
The brown and grey
****** hair
Spreading like a plague
To cover the face
I used to hate

Now that shaggy man
That scraggly hound
Isn’t so bad

Despite the rough
Times he had
He has a heart
To hold the whole world
In loving esteem

Who cares if he is raggedy
And smelly

He is love incarnate
Messy but brilliant
King of mercy
A little *****

But
Who wouldn’t have
***** hands
When they are struggling
To plow a field
Full of angry fists
And replace them with
Love

If I remember correctly
That book that you taught
The BS we all bought
Specifically, said
No false idols in god’s stead

But today I see
Your televised priest
Asking for a G-6
Some deep strange ****
Talking about how
If god wants me to be rich

Hold up I thought Jesus said
Denounce all worldly goods
And follow me
Not get rich on cable tv

And thou shalt not lie
Well you blew that guy
When you told your wife
You’d be out for the night
But went out to **** some guy
Get two for one
Cause you just committed adultery son

I recall turn the other cheek
Not go out and get a gun
To shoot someone
With whom you disagree
And do we have to add
Thou shalt not ****

I also recall
The meek will inherit the earth
And as you have done
Unto the least
So you have done to me
Which doesn’t mean
******* on the poor
While sitting on your nice porch
I’m sure you got a lot to say
You can go on and shout out
About how we need to pray
But maybe you could start
Acting in a way
That doesn’t make your Jesus
Want to run the **** away
And stay in a place
Where he doesn’t have to face
Such deep hypocrisy

Used to punch
metal freezers,
shred my bare knuckles
on a black bag
when I didn’t feel like
wrapping my hands with
***** dishrags.

But I put those fists down,
lost the pit fire,
let those flames expire
cause I was so tired
of how that rage burned.

Simmering passed
a soft-boiled brain,
used to workout
just to dull the pain,
now I workout at night
just to feel a little more alive.

Dreams won’t let me
go to sleep gently,
or rest peacefully
but it is the waking hours
that are more disturbing.

Always been a fighter
even when
I wasn’t even
scrapping with
other slack jawed idiots.

Sometimes it is just
my own mind
that I am battling,
as my demons come
ready to swallow me.

I only write when the light has faded
When the day has been downgraded
To the cool evening I am celebrating
When different dark shadings paint the landscape

I only write when the sun is shining
When daylight is divining
All the secret we are finding
Shadows no longer conceal how we feel

I only write on days that end in y
If even you have to ask me why
Then why even try
I just write

This is not a love poem
Or an infatuation poem
This is a mad respect poem
Not wanting to own or dissect poem
But a poem of true appreciation
For present and future enlightenment

I’m an ally cat,
straight up
******* strange.

I’m an ally cat
with a strong
case of mange.
Ain’t no
women alive
ever going to
tame,
this grey haired
wandering
battling
ally cat
can’t be trained.

I’m an ally cat
always on the prowl,
haunting
the ***** city streets,
looking for
something meaty
to eat.

I’m an ally cat,
*****, furry,
sometimes friendly.
Though you hurry
I don’t worry
this ally cat
always knows
how to survive.

I got running water
Cold or hotter
And I never have to
Watch my daughter
Get *****

I get internet and electricity
And I never had to watch my city
Get burnt from drone dropped bombs

I got air conditioner and heating
Even though I took a few beatings
I don’t have to be afraid
Of getting shot today

I got a job paying minimum wage
So after my bills I got a little extra
Coming my way
So I can buy books and go to the movies

May life may not be great
But I can’t debate
That when I wake up each day
I don’t wake up a slave

When I walk home at night
I am not walking in a state of fright
Anxious that some stranger might
Hurt me

I live better than over seventy five percent
Of the world
Even my worse days
Beat the haze of foreign war ways

I am building a river of grief
Raging waters red run through me
Sorrow fills my beings
Sending me into an ocean of despair
But I am served well by the darkness there

Currents of electric and liquid pain
Drive my poet brain
Allowing me to walk in and out
To feel what most would not dare
To dream about

I am drowning
Wet with life
But to write what I write
I must feel it all
And it feels soooooo deep

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.

The greatest propaganda
In America is
The delusion
That you are free

Though you do not
Rest in a cell
You are not free

When you submit
To the ruling class
To get by
You are not free

Standards and laws
Made to protect
Divest you
From yourself
You are not free

For the sake of stability
You conform to a job
That you hate
A good little drone
You are not free

Even if you do not agree
With the laws that they make
You must obey
Or they will take you away
You are not free

In order to maintain
The basic family bonds
You are constrained
By their wants and needs
You are not free

If you want to fish
Or hunt
To feed your family
Or just for fun
You need a license
You are not free

Even when you vote to decide
What’s wrong and what’s right
And elect politicians for your side
Those people lie
Doing for the rich and their own kind
And the choice you had
Be it good or bad
Was a fractionally effective
Cause you are not free

Tolls on the roads
Taxes on your checks
Fines and other fees
Cause you are not free

Been a while since the draft
But that could come back
If the private war contractors
Ever get busted
And taken out of the field
The army will make you yield
Or imprison or ****
Cause you are not free

And freedom of speech
Could cost you your job
Slander if spoken
Libel if written
The rich lawyers and judges
Give and take permissions
PC speech
Abstract unwritten rules
Condemn you and yours
Cause you are not free

Any laws that you break
The ones you did not make
Could turn you into
A prisoner of the state
Enslaved, forced labor
Cause you are not free

And if you want to leave
This great country
To travel freely
You must pay for
A small passport
Or you will be confined
To the imaginary lines
People made up
Cause you are not free

Some will say
If you speak this way
You are not truly American
That other countries are worse
But what they lack
Or if I can’t solve this problem
Does not detract from the fact
Does not make lies true
What I am telling you
Is you are not free

I’m tired of this rant
Cause the list is to long
And I wish I was wrong
So tell me please
Where is your true liberty

I am disconnected.
Though I long
to be a part
of the collective heart
that binds all,
I do not feel
its tangible will.
I do not see
the helping hand.
Apathy stands.
Dullness fills
this ill fed
fawning,
yawning body.
The heat saps,
makes me
want naps
more then
human
connections.
Today dies
the dullest death of all.
nothing ventured,
nothing gained,
and only a
small poem
to mark this
mundane Monday.