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

This is a poem to the rote performers
Of the celestial bodies
Pretenders to perfection
Upon further inspection
They are not perfect spheres
More like phoenixes
Waiting to die in a billion years
And be reborn in a big bang
A trillion years later

Been living on cans and that garbage food
Late night out back behind that convenience store
Thin pickings but they’re in separate bags
Donuts and pizza ain’t that bad
Park bench or playground slide bed in the summer
All night coffee at twenty four hour restaurant
Sketch a couple of pictures write a couple of poems
Read a book or two a day
Fifteen mile bike ride in the summer swelter
Crash at grandma’s after twenty four plus hours up
Sunburnt starving but I am still living
Never learned how to be a man but then again
Better than being a rotting corpse mannequin

This is the place where I put my truths
A small lock box that **** blocks ignorance
Strands of genetic structured poetry imbedded in
My every blood cell and ligament

This is where all figments go to die
Where all delusions and illusions find their end
Where I bend myself to impossible positions
Like some contortionist magician
To tell you how much I love how much the truth hurts

There were times
I believed the lines
Of songs that said
There was love for me

Hoped that there was
Some happy family
That wouldn’t dare
Strike me
But would care
And accept me

There were times
When I wrapped myself up in
The illusions
Of religion
Thinking
Perhaps hoping
That god would stop the pain
Coping with the strain
Of trying to sustain
A positive personality

There were times
When dreams
Could carry me on
When anger made me strong
And I still had some hope

There were times
I knew my mind
Knew who I was
But the world spins
Times keep changing

And the old me
I don’t know him
I’m just a strange river
That keeps flowing
Sometimes shrinking
Other times growing
But never stopping
Just going and going
Wherever the times take me

Life is a gig
One twig
With no fig
No fruits
Just bitter bark
Baiting the waiting dear
The acrid swill
The **** you feel
When you swallow
Placebo pills
Maybe right now
I am bitter to
Maybe tomorrow
Will bring a better
Less bitter brew
A sweet scented
Flower kissed
With early morning dew
Maybe it will bring me you
And I will gift you
With poetry and smiles
But now
Is a poem of loss and pain
I wrote once
And I will write again
The cycle
Today is death’s dirges
****** purges
Of penciled sorrow
The stencils I borrowed
Are brown with
Burial dirt
The truth hurts
And all my metaphors
Are just beautiful butterflies
Fanciful fashioned distractions
Life is just a temporary gig

From where I sit
It sounds like
Basketballs
Dribbled unevenly

Across the field
The big brick building
Rises ominously
With tall fences and towers

I hope that I am mistaken
And those distant thuds
Are something other than
Bullets blazing

I do not step outside
I do not pull the binoculars
To my tired eyes
Because I am too afraid to know

Blue shirts brown shirts
Orange jumpsuits
What I imagine
Is not a pretty

People packed in
Like lengthy Legos
Getting stack on
Top of one another

Aggression breeds aggression
My objections are silent
Because I am afraid
That they might come for me

It sounds like thunder
Repeating
Am I better off not seeing
What horrors lay beyond the field

Beauty hurts
I stretched the dirt
To cut the crust
Split the earth
To reach out to us
And find the past

Infinity sparkles
Beneath the soil
Sweet scent of raisin rolls
Roll me into memory
Beautiful but transient

**** the armament
Touch the firmament
Hit heaven’s eye
Not with weapons
But with dreams of the morrow
And dreams of yesterday
When beauty still looked the same

Soft childhood smile
Permanently plastered
On my mind
Loneliness mastered
But still cracks the plaster sometimes
Chipping the armor
And leaving seedlings
Of regret

Posing in pictures of the past
Beauty breaks my heart
Because beauty never lasts
Spoiled by winter frosts
Sickened and assaulted by winter’s loss
But sometime it comes back
Reincarnated in a flower
Or a butterfly

I have a glass heart
That bleeds red
But sees the living
And the dead

A fragile funhouse mirror
That reflects the world
With exaggerations
Distortions and misperceptions

A window that takes light in
And lets weirdness look out

A soul that doesn’t always know
What it is singing about
Whether it is a mournful dirge
Or a celebratory hymnal

The glass is cracked
On its way to shattering
Held together with glue
And love
Waiting for the breaking
But loving the unending bending
And mending of this fragile glass
Wonder

Burn it to the ground
Not the block
Not the town
Not the police station
Or the nation
But the system
We have been raising
Needs razing
Needs blunt blazing
I’m raging
It was my mistake
In thinking we could be better
So start at the local level
And work your way to the top
Start with the clergy and the city council
Go ahead and hit Fox
And don’t stop
Till the bottom rises
Till the rich find their surprises is
Christmas gifts
Of coal and ****
Because they have been ruining it
Just burn it all to the ground

I hope those beautiful flows,
Flowery verses, and deep prose
Always help me find my way home
Whenever I am searching these roads
For a place where humanity
Can finally see what I see
And celebrate the success
Of setting world citizens free
From the tyranny of greed

Broad generalizations frequently decrease the fluidity of human understanding and growth.

It is a horrible shade
something I thought
that I would never be,
but for you
I see jealousy.

I am jealous of the air
that fills your lungs,
that hears you breath,
and carries the sound
of your heart beats.

I am jealous of the rain
that makes you smile
while you run a mile,
touching your skin,
sweet intermingling
sweat moistening.

I am jealous of the night sky
that sees you come alive,
knows where you lie,
so that it can visit you at night.

I am jealous of time
spent to see you grow,
got to get to know
your heart, and experiences,
your art, and deviances,
your dreams,
from the cradle to now.

I am jealous of the heart
that held you first,
that hurt you worse,
knowing that I could never
commit such a crime,
could never waste such a fine mind,
I find time to despise
that male shaped guise
who swindled your younger heart
before I ever got to be a part
of your life.

I wanted to rip the sorrow from my hollow bones
But when I swallowed the poison to stop the pain
My faint and fallow heart failed and then started again
Came thudding to a new budding sensation
The pain did not find its’ permanent cessation
But the darkness was dulled turned to a minor aching
My tightened chest eased to find less painful breath
It was hers and would not become my own death
So though she was gone I still lived on
Allowing her memory to fade away
She may be dead but I will still live today
And though it hurts the anguish will pass
And I will find myself mostly okay at last

This tangled web
of red nerves divide
and separate
into strange vines.
Their throbbing heat
blocks my sleep
with surges of
pain and anger.
Roots work their way
to the broken tooth
and gums inflamed.
**** builds
its own bulge
then explodes
a yellow, thick,
viscous, poisonous
liquid.
My face swollen.
In defeat
forces me to seek
a dentist.
whom I distrust
because of
the previous ones.
I do not want to
but I must
or this ****
fueled folly
will be the death of me.

It is black, empty of color gazing deep into it
I see nothing, a void of sorrow and hopelessness
Helpless to face the onslaught
I struggled to stack it, one day upon another
Patting it down and compressing it
Till pounds became tons
I store it up like coal in cement structures
The center of the silo cracks in a circle
Part particles part wave of dark water
One moment breaks the building
And all that I am is consume by
Depression’s horror.

I want to meet a tree
That’s in love with me
You see
I have been watching
Those beautiful leaves
Changing colors
As they please
Feeling her breath
As she gives me
The air I need to breath
I have traced
The curved in her bark
Seen the rings in her heart
Laid softly against her base
To rest or read a book
Climbed her branches
To get glances
Of new perspectives
Like poets of old
I have been serenading
Searching and waiting
To see those tree
Express their love to me
But as of lately
They ain’t saying
**** to me

I love you
Or at least the seed of you
The one I knew
Through
Words and slight impressions
The one who stirred my obsessions
The little ink drop
Verbal hot spot
Linked to a photo

I love you
Or at least the idea of you
I am not prone to do
What all romantic idiots do
Claim true love at first sight
Cause that would be a lie
It’s more like
Lust at first verse
Which continues to flow

I love you
But it’s quite possible
That the tangible you
Will be a disappointment
That those words
You use
The ones that became my muse
Were merely light abstractions
Of your ever changing consciousness
And just between us
I want to be perfectly honest

I love you
I want to touch you
Do what those in lust do
I trust you
As much as I trust myself
Which is to say
Only fractionally more
Than everybody else
I fear that even when you say I love you to
You too may tire of me
As other lovers often do

I love you
I want you
I want to
Spend time with you
And in those hours
Divest myself of all the fear and power
I have
Be subsumed
By our passion
And if this is only passing
Then let me love you for now

It doesn't take
a kitchen knife
to butcher life
or a motorbike
to ride until I die.

Instead, I take this journey
on a broken gurney,
not a suffering soldier
but a poet older
than any bolder
active warrior.

My tourniquet tightens,
as blood loss lightens
my mental load.

This damaged road
is full of broken bones
and scattered scraps
of marble stones
that no longer fit
the foundation of
a safe home
full of love.

That's why I still roam,
searching alone,
staring at my phone
looking for answers
to a call I'll never make.

Every breath I ever take
should hold some purpose,
but the truth is
my search is fruitless.
This existence is useless;
Just another wound
that will not heal
but festers and rots
as everything I thought
held value gets lost.

In my mad mathematic trend
I subtract family and friends
from my equation,
becoming the inevitable immigrant
as I finally cross life's bitter border
to nowhere…

It used it to be
That younger me
Loved working out

From long bike rides
To short runs at night
To long walks
From light weights
To heavy sets

Couldn’t go a single
Day without
Some sort of exercise

From nineteen
To twenty three
I was learning how to be
Healthy

From Twenty four
To Thirty one
It became a settled pattern

From Thirty two to now
I do not know how
But the energetic young one
Who had so much fun
Exercising
Is struggling to find
The same set of mind
To do
At least thirty five
Minutes a day

Time takes
this pain
and replaces
it with an anger
that maims,
a mood that blames
you
for the weird thing you do.

Never been
more than friends,
but I was hoping
you would dump
those violent
cheating men.

You spent hours
telling me
all about their
cruelty.
How they make you
wonder why
you attract
those kind of guys,
the ones who lie
and lay hands on you.

Meanwhile,
I stop by
when you call me.
When I hear you cry
I play the nice guy
comfort and cradle
the cracked heart,
till you are able
to walk yourself
right on to the next
abusive ex.

Each time
I find my mind
darkened by
thoughts of
self-hate
wondering how bad
I must be
for you to see
sociopathic
sexist
violent men
as a better and
more attractive
alternative then me.

So, I try to move on
until you come along,
say that you miss me
ask me to go to the movies,
and I just jump
right back in.

He cultivated a passive nature
Made peace to pervade his essence
A sterling silver soul
But it was contaminated
Little dark parts littered his white heart
Abuse sparked black spots

Pass all those authoritarian lies
He saw the demon within rise
Not supernatural but emotional
With every angry words heard
With every heartbroken day
With every hope lost the cost
Paid was displayed in his ever
Darkening ways

And the kindness turned to hate
And the darkness consumed the day

Unaccepted left abject in retrospect
Perhaps he could have saved himself
But for the lack of love
He could not muster up enough strength

As his resistance eroded
His intentions were corrupted
And acidicly corroded
Till his innocence evaporated
And all that was left was
The monster they made him
The thing that he most feared and hated
He became a sick distorted image of
Himself

After the dark
When strangers embark
And blacken their hearts
The signal is lost
But the pulse still gets through

After the dark
Where horrors are survived
Where pretty little blonds
Barely make it out alive
And the sexed up teens
Were the first to die

After the dark
Where monsters hid
And did what they did
In the aftermath lys
The ****** disguise
Of human flesh
Is ripped from our chest

After the dark
When human horrors depart
And we hearken back
To the past
Before the last blast
Can we ever be
Humane again

The miniature brown banded
queer clock stops
no longer moving
or marking new moments.
Till one year is lost
to the timelessness
of a broken watch.

They say greatness
comes from grand
achievements,
military service,
athletic endeavors,
or the acquisitions of wealth.

I do not need that flavor
of false bravado.
I would rather wrestle
poetry
from the heavy heart
of humanity.

What a tasty trip
My finger slips
From soft page
Full of poetic texts
To the next
From light verse
I find my best self
I’m better in words
I’m better in dreams
But when it comes to the living
I’m more mundane
Than I seem
Words work
Their wondrous magic
Sometimes I cast
The spell
But in action
I am inactive
The activist
Only exists
In my poems

What’s so hard about being human?
Knowing our roots seeing our kin
in everyone
every father, daughter
mother, and son
is someone.

What’s so hard about being human?
Seeing other humans in pain
and knowing
that the growing
of their suffering
is wrong.

What’s so hard about being human,
about being humane?
I know it’s a struggle.
Struggling in vain
to impede the stampede
of the diseased or merely deceived
human beings
who think caring is a weakness.

What’s so hard about being human?
About feeding the hungry,
helping the homeless,
seeing a stranger as family,
seeing another nation
as distant cousins,
seeing a neighbor
as a neighbor
and not a competitor
for better
things.

What’s so hard about being human?
Giving A helping hand
to help us all understand
loving can
make the world a better place.
How hard is that?

I like loving beauty from a distance
A soft spot
Not lust
But adoration
Lesbians
And
Straight girls
When I was younger
The hunger for love and ***
Drove me
But now
I am a vessel for appreciation

The black spasmodic
Deranged and hypnotic
Silent sparkling star lit
Cool night time sunshine
Man I want it
The eerie iridescent light show
Beckoning us for a reckoning
Of the infinitesimal
Infestation
We call the human race

She is bubonic
In her blue bonnet
Like a little black plague
Little rose petals
Withered corpse friends
Flushed with life’s
Last red blush
Swooning maroon
To her oncoming doom
And when I kiss her
She passes it on to me
Her disease becomes mine
My little Mary Typhoid
Dreadfully beautiful
Deadly but so lovely
With words of love
She snaps me in two

I remember a story from long long ago
Even though it has been years since it was told
The tale still holds strong to myth and mystique
When people told it in dark corners cause they had to sneak
From shadows to shadow in whispered tones they would speak
Pagans fleeing from the Christian scourge
That sought there destruction and wished to purge
All of their beliefs from the face of the earth
And trample their children down into the dirt
I remember each word and though I am scared as well
My heart and mind demand that I tell the tale
Of the greatest lover man has ever had
Who was gentle, passionate, angry, and sad
We have forgotten she who bore us first
Scarred her flesh, polluted her blood and done much worse
Denied her existence so that instead
We could profit from her suffering and desecrate the dead.
So even as in rain she weep for us
We are lost, wicked and unjust
Thieves of life, time and wealth
We take and take to help ourselves
Plundering the world into the abyss
Forgetting what we lost and what we should miss
However even in our darkest hour
When man destroys and covets power
I can hear her silent voice as she makes her appeal
Begging her children to love not to ****
To mend the wounds that we all need to heal
And raise each other up  if we should fail or fall
So remember these words and please heed her call
We her are children united one to each other
So let’s make peace in this moment from here to forever

If skin color, place of birth, politics, or religions is what separates you from a stranger. Then remember your stranger was once a baby, has lost or will lose someone, and they will cry as you do. They will walk awake in mourning as will you, as you do, because they are human to. Syrian, Republican, Dominican, Cuban, American, Conservative, Liberal, Democrat, Atheist, Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, and all variations between and around these distinctions are part of our human family.

Who knows what thoust sees when thou lookest upon the sea.
No fragrant flowers wafting sweet perfume
No open fields full of **** born mushrooms
No sunny days where lovers pray to play their ****** part
Display their desirous heart naked and blushing
Not from shame but from such pleasurable exertions
No fairytale creatures like unicorns, elves, or hobbits
No dragons with emerald scales to catch and claw
Devouring my flesh
No fantastic sea serpent
Ready to rend the ships to pieces

I take a pause for the poetry
But the word won’t come
The pencil is broken
The pen has run
I am dry inside

I take breath for the broken
My purpose pertains
To the hearts that our stained
The ones who abstained
From feeling anything
But my voice is wrong
The syllables are gone

I take minute for myself
But I am only a shade
Sparse specter fraction of
The person who always loved
The person who was strong enough
To cradle the world with the warmth of his heart
Who took the steps to start
And watched it all fall apart

I take some time
Then time takes me
I lose myself
I lose my dreams
Settling in to old patterns
Struggling to make what I earn

I take one last look
As things disappear
People pass away
Memories become unclear
And I cannot remember any lines
From the music I used to hear
I cannot see the words
Taste life’s sweetness
Smell or feel anything

I take nothing
And give it right back
A wasted life
Some heart attack
Funny when it was
The heart I lacked

Time is
flexible glass
that reflects our painful past
showing transparent shades
of our better angels
bending to pressure.
If we push forward hard
we break the glass
lose the illusion
of our troubled past
and have a chance
to move on.

I thought you wrote of the heart you broke.
The poems spoke of sorrows familiar,
but not your own.

The verses were benign.
No identity to find,
just plaid sentiments
parsed out pieces
of other people poetry.

Pop sensations,
predictable platitudes,
empty verses
with no sign of your heart,
so many syllables to hide behind,
but what I couldn’t find.

It was you, I was looking for
in those words.

So many artists struggle to find their style.
Then fully become said style.
As writers work to find their voice
and fully become that voice,
but I have no voice or style
I am multitudinous,
multi-dimensional.
There is an infinite variety
of possible and impossible realities
which exist inside of me.
So I express such diversity
with almost the same variety
of verbal and visual tools provided for me;
Not confined to how you define I should write
but free to discover everything.

I was made for rivers of pain
Not plain crab but red grass
Smoked inside an appled colored flame
Dazzling while I dapple in the rain
Stained like church windows
Ready to crack before I crumble
Ready to rock before I rumble
Ready to bleed before I am humbled
Loneliness and uncertainty
Are spooks that keep ******* me
Ghosts that keep haunting me
Camouflaged and hunting me
Longing for the curves of her spine
To touch that thin line
That creases her smile
But I watch from a distance
Keep the memory of a dream
Keep the lie of what might have been
Add it to my repertoire
Stirring it in sweet saccharin  
But bitter as black coffee
The same color of her luscious flesh
Another heaven that I haven’t touch yet
Another sorrow for the lack of
That makes pain in to artistic stuff

Scabs crusting;
Feet wrinkle
with an unrelenting
wetness
in cold socks.

The soldier walks
reaching the point
of contact,
a swift interlude
of gorilla combat.

After the gun fight
he collects
small bullet casings.

Then when silence
finally comes at night
he takes them out,
rolling them
through and around
his fingers.

Various
colored casings
of memories chasing
each potential
point of pain;
He imagines
the cycle of sorrow
that each projectile
might have injected
into this world.

Then the soldier
buries the bullet casings
and
finally, leaves the battlefield.

The flag flailed flawlessly
then fell flaccidly
under the bushy
grey brow like clouds.

Restless winds
settled in
to a plain old boring
temperate temperament.

Then the dull day
gave way
to much ado
as the clouds grew
dark and heavy with
evaporated wetness.

The calming clouds
could not contain
their weighted frame
anymore.

Soft trickles
turned to
a thick downpour
moistening
my dry skin
till I was soaking.

Thin T
sticking
awkwardly
to me,

but the water felt good,
so, I sat and basked in
the rushing rain
that was falling.
Till, the earth beneath me
began sinking
muddily.

Then, I sloshed
my soaked self-home
sheepishly
spreading all the muddy
mess around me.

This is winter. Low hanging leaves wear frozen dew droplets. Crystalline dots dangle precariously above the thin layer of snow. My boots sink slowly in to the soft slushy earth. Whiteness permeate the air, a cold but beautiful glare cascading across the infinite horizon. Across the flat field folds of snow sparkle like diamond dust but twice as precious for their impermanence. When I go inside, I know I will be blind, but it is better to be blinded for a bit and see such a spectacular view then to never see such a wondrous thing.
Off to my peripheral there is a giant ball of snow with bits gravel, grass, and mud checkered across its’ body and a trail of bare earth following behind it. Someone was either trying to make the biggest **** for a snowman, or just wanting to see how big they could roll a snowball. It reminds me of the old cartoons where some crazy character would roll a huge snow ball down a hill but the ball would bounce back and crush them.  
My feet finally sink the last inch in till they meet solid ground. The snow rolls over the top of my boots and then inside, melting through the socks, and sending a shiver of alertness through me. I crunch through the white expanse running franticly to free my frozen feet from cold and soggy socks.
A patch of ice loosens my tread and I slip slightly towards my front door. It feels almost like a carnival ride. I stumble struggling to catch myself, then fall back busting my ****, but it is ok. I brush some snow from my backside and laugh. The only damage done is to my pride and that will pass.
It has been a spectacular day. Deer darted across my landscape, stopping only long enough to chew on the bark of an old oak tree. The white specks on their brown fur dancing across their backs and sides. I love their black noses and wonder if it is wet like a dog’s nose.
Though I was distracted by my minor musings I still managed to see a snow owl swoop down just in time to catch a white rabbit. The earth spit up its cold dandruff from the impact. Bad luck for the rabbit despite its foot but an amazing thing to see on this end.  
Now the snow that stuck to my pants is soaking through straight into my underwear. I slip my black leather gloves off to pull out my house keys. Rummaging through each of my many pockets.
What a wonderful day. What a delightfully wonderful day.
Oh, ****. Where are my keys?

Grey waters wear
Sun strained ripples
With one hippo head
Less than halfway
Out to a greet the new day
Till the purple sunset
Suffering from a slight
Foggy haze
Loses the day and sets
Far far away

I do not know a sadder song
Then a happy one remembered
Nary be a verse to long
That it can’t be shortened
Or dismembered

Summers, springs,
Falls, and winters
Cut to smithereens
Fading in our memories
Till only shards of notes remain
Lost
Until the true tune
Returns to us

The song recalled
Calls forth the tears
Turning memories to sadness
Knowing that we were once loved
But cannot get back there again

He’s a huffed up
tough stuff,
bulbous
but head,
shifty show pony
shuffling up
cause he thinks
he is so well-bred.

He’s a bad boy nuisance
with his lack of patience
and eloquence,
no verbal skills to speak of
cause his language
usage
is at less then
age ten
level.

It is so frustrating
cause when I go on explaining
why this situation
is so degrading
people just say
I am player hating.

As a little child I prayed for the pain to stop
for a my heart to burst, becoming
A ****** bloom under a corn red moon
No answer came just silence
Leaving me to stew in my room
Under the doom and gloom
Of the oncoming matriarchal storm

These moods are dark encroaching forces
Shackled to sad fortunes and unfair fates
They wait for things to improve without acting
Saying that by praying they will make it alright
Bent knees in supplication suckling on this greedy nation
Brown smelly droppings like they were caramel toppings
Fools facing downwards while surgeon’s hands deftly
Strangle any angle of retreat or success
Stealing the last happy hopeful breath
Till my brothers and sisters retire to death

The seconds soon pass into the minutes, hours, days, and years
Still the moments never last that bring upon us calmness or good cheer
The simple mind of man is disturbed from all that he has seen
The atrocities committed by a barbaric race of human beings
Once these deeds have been witnessed they can never be forgotten
Nor denied out of existence no matter how evil, vile, or rotten
We will always know how deep we can sink into the mud
Because our crimes are forever etched into the history of our blood

It seems frivolous
The frailties of humanity
Wasted potential
Perpetuated by sleep deprivation
And dehydration
Foggy eyed mouth dried
Dumbed down
Overworked
Overstressed
Then in the ground
What a waste
To waste away
In such a dreadful state
With only the hours between now and death
To enliven your dying breath
Perhaps there are better things to do

The alchemy of memory
Will not transform me
Turning gold into dirt
Does nothing to ease the hurt
I find little of value in this earth
All that is, is so transient
All my memories will go
The way of death
Partly fading into nothing
Partly falling into obscurity
So all that security
Means nothing you see

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.