Its heavy breathing,
heart stopping,
as a heavy man
crushes you
beneath the sheets.

You scream,
but he silences you
with threats.

Then shame
becomes the name
of you silence.

Years unsteady,
eyes unraised,
walking afraid;

Whistles
send shivers,
nerves
on an edge so deep
that sometimes
fatigue
is not enough
to bring you to sleep.

This is not my story,
but I am trying to see,
hoping to understand
so, I can be
a better man,
a helping hand
for those in need.

But when I speak to loudly
sometimes
you cannot breathe
because of the anxiety.

Then this poetry
of attempted empathy
becomes my shame.

You can paint infinity
on a set of plates
that lay here before me,

share a season’s story
leaving out what is gory.

You can dance in skewed
perspectives,
make rainbows cry
while a little child
staves off this painted rain.

You can make manifest
the spirit over which
you give dominion
to all who live in
this little world.

Let lovers walk
from pools reflecting
many shades
that illuminate
the end of days.

Can take the infinitude
of every instance
that made you, you
and summarize it
in multiple tints
of blue;

Take the beauty
and wonder of
a stranger’s face
lit by inspiration
as she reads
by a windowpane,

while I can take apart
and break the art
you made with your heart,
to write this silly little poem.

My history is T.V.
The closest thing
I had to a family
Was sadness
Loneliness
Tangled in strings
Of madness
And dreams

One life missed
Rescheduled to fit
My favorite shows
And the tumor
Of regret grows
As I wrinkle my nose

Skin twitching
Body aching
With isolation
And regret
For lovers never met
Chances never taken
Paths I never walked
Water never treaded

I dreaded real life
Because it hurt so much
All the violence
All the abuse
Took so much
Didn’t leave enough
Wisdom and courage
To hope for happiness

And all the resolve I had left
Was to watch my life
In a funhouse mirror
Playing out weekly
With the tv families

It bothers me
to want anything
unnecessary.

Desire seems
to be
compulsory
due to my
humanity,

a built in
glitch
in the
system.

I want
games, and
new clothing.

It is illogical,
wasteful
when pleasures
can be gain
freely.

Nature is open
to me.
The library
has all I can read
like a literary
all I can eat
word buffet
which is
intellectually sweet.

Then there is
the wanting
of someone
who is
unhealthy
for me.

Like a disease,
dangerous
and exhausting
costing
my sanity.

It bothers me
to have this
desire leash
tugged regularly,

but I know
with certainty
the only time
I will desire
nothing
will be
when death
takes me.

So, what
am I to do?

Give me stone lions
Guarding library steps
Grey gargoyles
Watching the city
As she sleeps
Keeping what secrets
They can keep

From dreamy children’s
Sighs
To crying bums
Bleeding on
The ground
As strangers walk on by

Give me the darkness
Echoing in each heart
The missed beats
Leaking valves
Because all hearts
Our broken
Even if we don’t
See it yet

Give me the lustful *****
Of teenage hormones
Hand flashing
Fastly unclasping
Drunk with ****** energy

Lastly give me the ghastly
The horrors
The violence
Give me the nightmares
So I can make poetry
Just give me something

I want to be unfettered
Loose the clutter of clothes
That confine my flesh
Swim naked beneath
The open evening
Let the salty seaweed
Exfoliate my feet
While scaring skittering *****
Away from me
Mostly I just want to be
A freer version of me

Why do I seek truth? I must be careful to not retroactively define the reasons behind my seeking of the truth. If I list the best reasons for seeking the truth as I understand them now. I might define my previous attempts by my current understanding. This is dangerous to the truth because are memories are an ever evolving things adapting to the input of new information all the time. I actually understood this before I ever listened to the audio book on memory. Which was a couple months ago. I wrote a poem describing the process.
Why should one seek the truth? To build a better brain
The constant pursuit of new truths creates new neural pathways not only does this prevent the disintegration of old neural pathways by reinforcing them and rewiring them into other pathways it also increases (speculatively) the density of neural pathway. This should help prevent or postpone things like Alzheimer’s or dementia which seems to be something that might run in my family. Although, I wish I had such foresight when I was younger, I cannot honestly ascribe that to my reasons.

The truth empowers us. Our options are limited by our current understanding of reality. If we do not know that there is way we cannot pursue that way. If we think we cannot, we never will. Understanding there are almost infinite paths to any giving destination allows us the fortitude and freedom to push through obstacles, from any situation. This has not always been my reasoning but it to is a good one.

Fear is a good reason to seek the truth, and one that is probably much closer to my original intentions. Fear stems from uncertainty. If you know something bad is going to happen you can learn to accept it or by referencing the previous paragraph you can find a way to change it. As young man I was afraid of myself more than anything. I was curious about the cruelty of humans because of my mom’s behavior, and those around me. As much as I would like to believe otherwise I was very reactionary and I still am. My pursuits where a matter of whims. Educational reading did not really start until after I developed a taste for fiction. Even now I am a lazy self-educator. Well, lazy by the standards of what I know I am capable of. It has been my understanding that many people do not engage in much introspection and self-education. It is not their fault they are constantly bombarded by the pressures of life which sap their time and willpower.
Now I am getting bored with this process of self-discovery so I am going to go back to engaging in mindless dvd entertainment.

Prayer is an act of complacency. While you are waiting for god to answer your prayers you could be taking measures to make what your praying for come to be. So by all means feel free to pray but do not feel empowered. Your goals and dreams are achieved by action.

We lay down so low
let go so slow.

Till, the tremors in
their voices
mirror our own.

Congested in fear
as we hear clear
the final call,

Green swamps
see sinking dreams
of stinking sewage
and hear our horrors
as we scream.

The earth is softened.
Till, brown mounds are moved
to cover your corpse
from their sorrow filled view.

It is what we fear most.
So, we claim heavenly hosts
will come for us.
We trust the lust
of a white collared thief
who sales us relief
from our fear and grief,

but we all go down
into the ground in the end.

Soft pink petals,
part unfolding
as the flower blooms
sweetly growing.

Arms around me
while I am moving
in a sloppy circle
cause we are two
who are grooving,
while her
soft flower arms
enfold me in their
springtime charms.

A tiny droplet
becomes percussion
as soft music moves us
to a percussive mood
in this wonderful interlude.

She clenches tighter
and I smile.
Her head rests
on my shoulder
and the world
gets less colder.

So, watch this weary
old romantic
start to tear up
as he imagines
a true love.

In the evening we are talking
while soft footprints
on the beach
finds us walking
sandals in hand
because we both
enjoy the feel of sand
on our bare feet.

In the morning
we wake together.
Her hazel eyes
and hair of fire,
her tender touch
does so inspire
that in this moment
I loose
a hundred pounds
of life’s abuses
and gain a shiny new
point of view.
  
I wake from wonder’s reverie
knowing this is but a fleeting dream
that will never be my reality.

Old blue jeans
haven’t faded yet,
still unblurred
as he moves
undeterred
by a painful past;

Slightly slumping,
shoulders sagging
like a soldier
who is dragging
his body back
from an unknown war.

Well earned
wrinkles on his face
are deeply ingrained
as deep blue eyes
shield a soft soul
from feeling
to cold.

Brown spotted skin,
but his hair is still black,
the pain is still there
in the past
as a matter
of facts
that others lack.

It is all superficial.
People can’t even see
the surface scars
that he hides
behind his sleeves.
Desert dry eyes
can no longer
sooth a parched heart.

Outside
of our ability
to perceive
is his grief,
strange subtractions
from his life
like his parents,
his friends,
and his wife,

All we can see
is a solitary
sad stranger.

In deeply disturbing dreams,
Heavy metals thunder
strikes lightning quality
violence,
inciting tension,
inducing exhausting levels
of stress.
Till, fatigue and anxiety
snaps a fragile mind.

Thud, thud, thud,

“God, please no more.”

Thud, thud, thud,

“Make it stop, I just need
thirty minutes of sleep.”

Thud.

A single trigger sounds.
The breath of brothers in arms
stops.

A softer bounce, rattle, and thwop.
as one tired body finally drops
of its own accord.

Thud, thud, thud.

Other adult children move forward,
while the self-inflicted sorrow
stains the hollow fox hole.

Thud, thud, thud.

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

Desire is the ocean’s distance between us
Ethereal fingers that long to touch
Lips of dust and smoky lust
Deep blue and green oceanic eyes
That gaze upon winters
Windy white and cold landscapes

Desire is wondering what words inspire
Knowing when eyes are not cast
Toward nature’s wonder
They are down deep dipping into other wordy worlds
Absorbing all their majesty

Desire is blonde hair falling past
Her soft and desirous shoulders
Curves that cut like a silhouette
Leaving a powerful impression
Of the feminine form

Desire is a daydream of
A stone fireplace that crackles
Keeping us warm while we read poetry
Uttering each verse to one another
Full red loving lips softly mouthing
Old odes of love, and philosophy
Closing the books with
Purple blooms as bookmarks
To remind my heart that nature is love

Desire is the unreachable
Fair skin and brilliance within
Imagining that what I am seeing
Could be close enough to touch
But knowing that what I want
Might as well be Mars distance away

Desire is waiting to read what she wrote
First thing in the morning
Hoping her passions have become
Another cold fusion Estonian sun
Full of the soft natural beauty
The grey roads, the foggy mornings
The white frosty plains that adorn her horizons

If I told you my desire was purely ******
Than that would be a lie
My Eros lies closer to the other side
Halfway between erotica and love
Pushing me curiously towards
Wondering what a smile looks like
On that face

Desire is warm hand to rid myself
Holding her heartfelt image in my mind
I find time to cleanse my being
Of that ache full lust
Parting with ****** passion
And returning to calmer and deeper affections

She speaks with Shakespeare’s passion
All beauty and poetry
All art and fire
Full of unrelenting desire
To inspire dormant feelings
Her words ring upwards
And echo down
The sound of fury
Of lovers hurried
Rushed upon
A fatal path
And with her last gasp
In the last act
The black asp
Or the daggers sheath
I see the love from me
Bleed
And beg her back to life
But she is dead
And I can only love her
In my memory

We do the right thing for the right reasons
Struggling with moral questions
Questing for truth beyond misconceptions
The poet, philosopher, heart seeker
The speaker, social worker, Teacher
Without weapons and violence
Our hearts bleed as much as our bodies
Locked in love marching on
To be better, to be an example
Even when they trample us
Beneath their steel toed injustice
Pushed by pulpit pedophiles
and political predators
When they say fear and hate
We say hope and love

Every heart beats in 3d
Waits for the world to see
What it will or won’t be
Not pre-destiny,
But sometimes expectations
Set up the situation
Till only one outcome
Becomes reality
Letting 3d hearts
Grow, shrink, shrivel, and beat
Pumping out heat
Imprisoning or freeing
Our 3d humanity

With their indifference
lack of patience
and hostility
they scream at me,

“Go back to sleep
you black sheep.
We do not care
about the struggles
of all you others.
We do not regard
your pain as true
Or even equal to
our own.

Go back to sleep
and take the scraps.
Unless we decide
to take those back
trimming your thin skin
and adding to our fat.

Go back to sleep black sheep.
You are not allowed to leave.
We get to keep
you trapped in our greed
while we take what you need.
Just stay asleep
working and dying
while we are
high life flying.
Go to sleep…..

Wait wake up.
Another other
is coming for your stuff.
Vote for us.

Good little sheep,
now go back to sleep
to work and die for me.

I got stuck creatively
So, I started looking for a prompt
Just by accident I found a million
One in the green grass growing
Another in the moonlight glowing
The blue seas flowing
The white winds when it’s snowing
The soft bare flesh of naked *******
The beautiful dancer was showing
Every sight worth seeing
And every thought worth knowing
Became my prompt

The starlings and the sad seagulls
Slowly searched the sandy shores
But the barren beach does not hold
Any clams or other life as it had before
Only my soft footprints mar the earth
And the birds are glad give my grief wide birth

Slick stones flew skipping through
To memories of me and little you
Tiny ticklish toes laughing cheeks blushing
The bitter briny ocean always rushing
While deep wells of water rise
To meet the slaughter of innocence
Partly sad and quite belligerent
Wailing words of rage incoherent
I curse the beauty before me

The last cold wet cloth is removed
At last the tiny body is moved
As the ocean exhales foam

I sit upon the shore to cry and puke
Chunks of greasy guilt and grief
In the form of bubonic blood laden *****
Followed by furious fits red phlegm

I beg the ocean to take me instead of him
But there is no mercy in Poseidon’s face
Only the grimness of this painful place
As I wait to find my final fate
Only meters away from my little brothers
Burial space

No cell phone allowed
so I feel naked,
with just my notepad and pen,
back to the boring bank.
I am blocked by boredom
and for a while
all I see are blank faces.

“Would you like to add
a backup account to prevent
overcharges.”

Rain falling, black umbrella bobbing
like a limping parasol trying to escape
this mundane storm.
Not allowed to talk to the customers
for more than casual pleasantries.

“I have twenty calls to make
but they are the same people.”

Stranger in a black Toyota
parks in poor pools that reflect
the same cold dreariness
of this security shift work.

“She just walks in my office
while I am on the phone
trying to make my quotas.”

Balding ginger with a white streak
that cuts across his small beard
looks as tired as I feel.
Two grandmas hug and talk about
the same grandchild.
White paint covered man
comes in a with a wide grin,
and good greetings.

“I’m so tired of fake smiling.
Did you see the Lip Sync battle?
What are you reading?”

My fidgeting fingers ******
the notepad in my coat pocket.
I slip it in and out taking notes
on the people that come and go.
It is good for me to be without my phone,
but like an addict I am itching for
a distraction.

“Quiz me. I sort of passed.
Missed a few so  
I have to do an onsite test.
You know you can add
a checking account for free.
You only have fifty left in.
Do you want to deposit that?”

I bank each stranger.
saving them for later
racking up interest
in my interest of humanity.
I bank them in my little
red book, so I can write
about my basic observations.

“Where are you from?
Hey, where are you from?”

Oh me, nowhere important.
I am just a banker of stories.
Do you have one?

Dinners end
Table cloth must be put away
Butchered heart
Silver spoon
To mark this moment
People passing plates
Take their meals and look away
Hands touch only for a second
Charged by old memories
Lust
Confusion
The knife reflects
Tears not yet
Wiped away
The ****** beef
Salty and sweet
Oil caked skin
Digested grossly
Like lazy lovers we depart
The dinner with stomachs empty
Desires unfulfilled
Wasted day without a meal
Move on
Move on

My art is equal to
cracks in reality
that I can
almost peer through.

Space and time
crack and shatter
with sparkling splinters
trying to force themselves
through.
Till they
pierce me
and puncture you.

I’m not as gifted
as I would like to be,
cause my language
does not fit perfectly.
It is mostly limited
by the limitation of me.

As the cracks widen
I can almost look in
and make out
a mirror dimension.

It is just an inkling,
art flowering
not yet infirmed
is interred
in my minds
frozen
mid explosion

I will tell you
the truth,
adjust and fine tune
till your view
matches
the matchstick
reality I made
for you.

I will cut and clip,
snip and rip
all of the
fanciful
fairy wing bits
that I want you
to forget.

I will mold
and distort,
stretch and contort
till your
red clay mind
conforms
to the norms
that I formed.

But if you dare despair
act scared
and air
your understanding
to try and repair
everyone’s
perceptions
of our shared
reality,

I will find you,
and take your rationality,
ostracize, or exclude
till you die
or submit to
the prechewed
military issued
world order
I eschew.

When I was young
I loved a little red haired girl
Who never touched me
Physically
But left deep impressions
Upon my mind
Softening the harshness of time

I loved the blond girl to
For her brightness
And individuality
With different vibrant
Hats

When I was twenty
I loved a seventeen year old
Who turned eighteen and left
Who promised nothing
And broke my heart

I thought I loved a girl I knew
Three times and more
I went back to
But it was a wretched attempt
To fight off loneliness and lust

I loved another of no real note
Except for the knot in my throat
She played me better then
A country fiddle
At twenty three

I am thirty four
And in eleven years
I have not loved another
And I think I never will
Except in distance and admiration
In respect and goodwill
The general poetic platitude
Of loving everyone
Even Though I do not know everyone

When she sings I cry
I am stuck on stilts
Kissing clouds
Suckling on her voice
Supping up the gravy of her thighs
Her music
Makes me feel
The soft muscles
Her tight abs
Behind those glasses
Light eyes sparkle
White lies
Dancing in the lyrics
For anyone who wants to feel it
She is like ******
My addiction
And I keep coming
And coming back again
Running my hands through her hair
But that is in dreams
That is when dreams end
And I come back down to earth
Crashing
Comet cracking the crust
Spitting and spewing musical dust
And if lust isn’t enough
Then I must
Keep my distance

Let the seas claim me
With their salty foam
Rushing and frothing
Rabid with life
Grabbing my night
With their rushing tides
Pulling me into
Their dangerous depths

Dragging me to the same spot
Where you claimed your lot
Loving ghost gasping
For any breath

Let the seas that crushed my dreams
Crash and smash
And for the love of you
Drown me to

The clouds come
Cause there must be balance
With highs must come lows
Great joy costs great sorrow

Understanding creates empathy
Empathy leads to compassion
Compassion compounded by
Societies failures makes me cry

I question how before I get to why
I pose probable possibilities
Before I get to the revolutionary changes
Exchanges must be made
To improve the way we live

And for each failure each falling foot that stumbles
Each time another human suffers
Cause another human was indifferent
I crack exposing the back of my black and bitter heart

The void is an infinite empty expanse
Waiting to be filled with stars and solar heat
Waiting to warm the numbed shoeless feet

I see the streets I was there to
Violence, fear, aggression, intimidation, ignorance

The clouds come in again
But swimming in the cold grey thinning veil
The stark dark hearted self
Serves only to sicken my soul

It never softens the blows
Or helps me to expose
The true depths in either direction

Laughter breaks the silence
A smile interrupts the bleakness
A conversation during breakfast
A librarian or other friends
I break the balancing boards
And swim towards happier shores
Discarding my depression and
Other dreadful expectations

Like Plath said
“dying is an art”
and though someday
we will all be
masters of such
a sad and sweet artistry
It is an art form
for which I would
happily delay
my graduation day.

When you died
the world did not change.

A pebble tossed to the bottom
of a bottomless lake
left only a fractional ripple
and disappeared.

That you were here
mattered very little.
It did not change the tides
or stop the winds.

In your end
A handful of family and friends
felt deep anguish
but the world still turned.
Infinity still burned.
Eternity did not feel
the aching cost of loving that
which was forever lost.

The view outside my window
Did not stay the same.
The season changed.

I felt the cycles of pain
bouncing back
year after year
harder at first then softening some;
Waking in pain,
then easing some.

Till, I was intermittently numb.
Then I forgot to grieve.
You are still a part of me
but even I go on
turning like the earth, without you.

When my gut starts bursting
From the blue button up shirt
That my friend just bought me
And Walking a few blocks
Leaves me wheezing
Well at least I know that I’m alive

When I nick the tip of my chin
Barely piercing my aging skin
And a tiny droplet starts falling
Then at least I know I am alive

When I bust my knee
From falling upstairs
While I’m trying to run
Tripping up like
Your two year old son
Well at least I know I am alive

When my vision blurs
And my back cracks
Like I got a pair of spurs
Clacking and smacking
Pop, snap, crackling
Like a bowl of rice crispies
Causing a severe state of pain
At least I know I am alive

When my brother and best friend
Go doing that grave dancing
Dirt napping coffin trapping trend
I will cry to see them die
But at least I will know that I am alive

When my memories start to go
Till I don’t know
Who you are
Or where I am
And I forget my brilliant
Exit plan
Losing the best of what I was
And not what I am
Well, **** man
If the Alzheimer’s kicks in
I won’t be able to remember
What I was just saying
So, put me on that morphine drip
Let my consciousness mist up and slip away
Cause on that day
I’m not going to say
At least I am alive

The words will forget us
Like other dead languages
Surreptitiously replaced
With a new phrase
By a new phase
Like Latin giving way
To the languages of our day
All the worlds that lived within
Being forgotten
Leaving only fragments
And taxonomy behind
The words will forget
Our exactitudes
Will settle on platitudes
Vagaries and simplistic
Representations of our present
Will be all that is left
Of this life we led

With a little help
from richer family
and friends
I could live on
the high end.
I could follow
fashion trends,
find a fabulous mansion
and go dancing
with actors and
their model companions.

Just three steps up on
the social ladder,
I could become
a capitalistic
champion
and conquer
all the lesser men
who are barely
managing
to compete
adequately.

I could plant
golden trees
which spring
financial
gratuities
in perpetuity,
and my annual returns
would cause others
to yearn and burn
in jealousy.

I could leave all
the human suffering,
as I detach from the facts
of human empathy
taking all the pleasure
for me
and leaving nothing
for the rest of humanity.

Then I could run
to become
president
and pretend to make
America great
while I continue to take
more and more for me.

Retrace the waking mind
Retract the black steps
Back towards the first breath
Lips opened for first air
No memory exists there
Only a glimmering
A fraction of emotion
Then further back
The burst of light
The watery life
The swelling inside
The chicken becomes the egg
The egg becomes the chicken
Flesh of her flesh
Cycling back
And back to uncertain beginnings
If only we could see the truth
Peer deep into some sort of
Genetic or sonic remembrance

The flowery fruit fell
into the briny blue
sea froth,
and saw the tides
pull it farther from
the tree on the cliff
that was once
its home.

There it went
recently wind swept
into the red depths
that swelled
and dwelled
on the edge of
some underwater
coral bed.

But there were
little clown fish
that swam by
and nibbled a bit,
there was
soft tangles of seaweed
that occasionally
stalled the trip,
and above there was
a shimmering spectacle
of light bent
but still coming in.

I to
was once
a sweet fruit
born of beauty's
looming sorrow,
not living for today's harvest
but grieving
for the thieving
loss of all
my tomorrows.

Until,
I forgot about the light.
Then all my fears came clear
and consumed my
sea faring soul.

It is a quiet and uncertain passion
that rips my painted paper thin skin.
False bravado to show even though
we all know I have no real machismo.

But, under the night sky I am second
only to the full moon’s illumination.
I am cool as my midnight walks,
as sweet as my imagined talks
that flit across my flat notepad.

A thousand lines of what I would say,
a million bits and syllables of what ifs
dying quietly to become whatever
in the pitch black infinite indifference
of those stranger’s black hole souls.

I crack the plates tectonic,
stack the shifting landmasses
one more put upon
parallel spinning kitchen ware.
Till all of time and space breaks.
Cosmic energy crackling
with me in the middle
absorbing all that I can see
alone in the silent vacuum of observation,
inspired by the void my peers sired.

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

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

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

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

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

The terrors come
Beastly
Feasting
On flesh
Carrion
Consumers
Nightmares

So I beg you
Play a song
To help me sleep
A piano
A violin
A beautiful voice
And even if I weep
Please keep
Playing me
To sleep

It is not as poignant
as an abused animal,

Or powerful as
a crying child,

Not as memorable
as a warzone,

Not a battlefield
of brain damage
from repeated blows,

I am not a hero
and I am to old
to be a victim
because the expiration date
was a long time ago,

So when people
talk about their trauma
I do not expose
those old wounds

Because,
no one really listened
when I told them the truth,

So I take my shovel
and I bury old scars
dig as deep as I can
until I can see
the stars
on the otherside

The roaring wave rushes forth
Taking mere inches and feet
But wanting oh so much more
Collapsing on the beach
Then falling back in retreat
In defeat till the cycle repeats
The wave’s valiant struggle
---------------------------------------

I wish I had some of that old fury
That inspired me to be a better me
Pushing me physically and mentally
But in the calming
I have lost the favorite parts of myself

I got so many friends
Who’d be willing to stand
In an endless line
Just to find a sign
For the end of times

Bathroom reading
The left behind
******* propaganda

Pants wetting
While forgetting logic

Riling themselves up
With biblical justice
From a petulant deity

And that is just
An inkling of what
Is gnawing at me

Programed people
Getting brainwashed to believe
Far out fairly tales

Those poorly conceived
Spiritual explanations
For what we can see
Things that can be explained
If you studied diligently

I got a problem with
Guilt for built in sin
From a god who made men
An all-powerful being who condemns
My family and friends
For what comes naturally
For desires deep and genetic

When preacher teach things that are pathetic
Flood stories and tales of whales
With men living in them
Burning witches and the apostic
Because of some drunk prophet
Who is vile and caustic
Some slick wicked trickster
Who convince you to demean
Our sisters
Said all sin is their fault
And birth is the punishment
That the fruits of evolution
Are seeds of deceit

And this is just a sample
Of why religion is bothering me

If desire was a wild white rose
Would you let me paint it pink
Slam your back against the wall
And grind you while you’re sitting in the sink
Take a handful of bubbles to wash
And consecrate your flesh
As the holy temple your body is
Feel the goosebumps on your skin
As my tongues slides deeply in
Twirling in a tornado fashion
As I take you beyond the rainbow
Till I know you have cummed
And when you think that I am done
Oh dear let’s be clear,
That’s when the real fun will begin.

The struggle is futility
Patient people play the part
Of impartiality
The wiser are restraint
Castigated for their intelligence
Castrated by their class
A classless struggle we abide
Poor children barely manage
To survive and seldom thrive
Not given access to the tools
Of excellence
But we wield the sword of obsolescence
Antiquated ideas put on the same level as
Modern machines and moral philosophies
Broad language discarded for
The disinfected nature of stupidity
Our language is censored
And free thought is crippled
Thus to succeed we must
Write to their level of understanding
So they can understand it
Which means we do not expect grandness
From the masses
That we underrate what they are capable of
The papacy’s power is palatable but detrimental
The Popes presence sends his parishioners
In to servitude as they submit to the
Sublimation of their identity
Unable to identify the truth from the lie
Unable to separate the flock from the I
I become the villain
For stating these things
So I drop names like Darwin and Thomas Paine
I wear the scarlet letter of poet and philosopher
Of Supplicant to science, Of literate romantic
I the son of Percy Bysshe Shelley
The son of Twain and Poe
The Son of Shakespeare and Baudelaire  
The son of logic and poetry
The lost ******* of peace, love, and understanding
I leave the eve of man’s ill behavior
To see the seething corps of corpses
Rise in ignorance strive for pestilence
With hopeful hate in their eye
To perpetuate the self-fulfilling prophecies
Of all types of apocalypses
But in the end it will be I that am despised
Thus if I must be hated then at least
Favor me with this tiny justice
Like Galileo, Giordano Bruno, and Copernicus
I will wear chains well earned
There is so much knowledge to be had
So learn, live, love and then learn some more

Perched perfectly on tumblr and facebook
For everyone to get a good look
At how I felt a month ago
But why wait so long
Because words need trimming
Stanzas need perfecting
Lines need to find their proper place
And that takes time
And in my mind
A thirty day cycle will suffice

Under rain the green leaves weep
Rich with life
Still the sobbing will not keep
Her sadness softens brown earth
Feeding the soil soothing the dirt
Under weird blues and grays
Strange hues still fill these days
Soft drum beats upon my skin
Ba dump ba dump ba dump
Like my heart always beating
In a strange rhythm
Always falling from outside
But I feel it deep within

Shakespeare my dear friend
I can only devour you
In small servings
Till you become my pen
And make words sing
Like long lost children
Birthing new mirths
And rehashing old pains
Till I regain my balance
Releasing all that is pent up
And then storing it up again

He never was completely a rogue
Daring thief
On grave sleep
On water dreams
Of secret things
And over used
Things
indistinct
In his dreams
Of poetry
Yet he stole
Old thoughts
Mingled in mangled new ones
To make something
Beautiful
To share his wonder
Stealing moments
And sharing the wealth
The world will watch him
Fade
A shade of his endeavors
A slave to his thoughts
Dead and long buried
With only fragments
Left
Only his words remain
Whilst the rest of him rots

Adonais, thine eyes crushed, bleed like watery wine.
Bruised flesh, spoiled spirit, heart broken.
Tears flow faster and farther than any river,
Raging against futility, suffering your insanity.
Your are beautiful, so full of the luster of youth,
So innocent, so unique, and so freaking stupid.
Wear your folly like a cracked golden crown
Vanity chaining you to a dead path
Rocks and dirt, pretty pebbles and thorns
Bleed your tender bare feet.
You hunger for truth but in your youth
Would not know it really?
Adonais sweet brother of mine
You feel betrayed because I strayed from your side,
But I was once Adonais to.
I walked similar shades of life as you.
Now, you become a brighter reflection of the shade I am.
Your agony rages are like red hot irons
Your sobs fill my heart with sorrow.
I cannot save you, but will not be faulted for trying,
And though we are living, cannot be faulted for crying.
Adonais one day you to will feel your soul dying,
And find yourself reborn newer not better,
Dryer not wetter.
Oh my dear sweet stubborn Adonais
Only time will tell,
But you are special now and will be then as well.

There is darkness
and major melancholia;
She is trembling,
a tiny lady
dry skin
chapping,
flesh cracking
and losing blood.

In those
open spaces
merely moments pass,
but those cracks
grow and expose
more of her soul.

Dark dandelions
and crimson roses
explode from the holes.
Tiny ruptures
fill with the rapture
of delightful smells,
as she takes
all of her hells
and makes art,
as she sculpts
each heartbreak
into a grand sculpture.

There is no noting
some grand healing
or great transformative power
in her transubstantiation
of pain into beauty,
merely art.

A good man suffers with the suffering
Aches with the lonely
Cries with the weeping
Crumbles beneath the heavy weight
Of human suffering
Self-destructs or
Dies trying
No self lies or denying
He feels for humanity
Is unable to bend with society
A good man hurts beyond measure
Thank goodness, I am not a good man