Let us pretend
That this dark portent
Is a potent precursor
To your painful pursuer
The perfect person
To persecute you
You have no defense
Against this prosecutor
No safe haven
No soft heaven
No monster to placate
Till you find a safe place
Just the terror you wear there
On your cherubic childlike face

1.
Winter holds no pleasure
When life lay dying
Or merely dormant sleeping
Plants fall, withering away
From cold and bitter frost
Which bites viciously at my flesh
Numbness creeps upon my limb
Congestion fills my lungs
Fever plagues my flesh
A limbo between life and death
White powder like, water crystals
Fall and scatter across the landscape
Blizzards blinding me with their fury
2.
Cold winters touch
White powdered death
Smothering the earth
Brown grass dead or dying
Life has been forgotten
The spring and summer ease
Of living now becomes
A harsh tribute to survival
Baby’s death first and last breaths
Stillness settles upon their limbs
Mothers cry while father work
Hunting for any vestiges of
Food or firewood
Winter

Come forth to dance my fairy kin
For long have I grieved the loss of innocence
Fluttering wings of fanciful dreams
Where children and cherubs sing
Where teddy bears parade and play
Till the picnic prepared is displayed
and they can devour delicious honey treats
Where goblins conceal themselves admiring
The playful Pegasus’s acrobatic flying
Where guardians with soft pearly feathered wings
Protect all young and saintly human beings
Where spirits offer solace to combat the grief
Of knowing that all things living will be deceased
It is a land of legends, fairytales, and myths
Where only children, fools, and dreamers visit
And I miss it dearly
For in adulthood I have been many years
Separated from that fantastic realm

Our love is a dry desert heat
Leaving me drowning in sweat
Till the scorpions sting me
Till life releases me

Our love is a furious tundra
Endless white winter land
Urging me on till my limbs go numb
Till I forgot where I came from

Our love is a hurricane
Wet and destructive
Violent and unproductive
Leaving chaos in its’ wake

What I am trying to say
Is our love really *****
So stay the **** out of my life
Oh **** wait, I’m *****
Let’s give it one more night

We are a species
with the ability
for self-directed
evolution.
We can decide
what qualities
are propagated.
We can be educated
not anesthetized by media lies.

We can be better
if we choose to be,
when we choose to be.

We can be
a great collective,
a shining light
that spans the stars,
extolling
the virtues
of creativity,
compassion,
and curiosity.

We can be
the heart
of humanistic priorities
that values
all of humanity
and treasures
this reality.

Some songs will make you cry,
some verses will make you wonder why
it feels as though no time has passed.

Some lyrics will make you think
spend your time perplexed
as you obsess over the talents
that other artists possess.

Some painting will
force you
to alter your view
as you turn your head
sideways,
to the left
and at an awkward angle
to the right,
even upside down,
in a curious query.

Some works of art
will stir a hardened heart
to actions
of minor and major compassion.

The horses do it
The chimpanzees
Do it as they please
I watch all of these
Dreams
Growing
Cell by cell
Mother and father
Express themselves
Creating tiny haploids
Making a zygote
Minds expanding
Into a newly forming
Consciousness
A new universe is born
Came into being
A natural thing
But this birth
Will never be for me
It is only an echo
Of a loving
Fairytale dream

My bifocals reject me.
Reality is not made for focusing.
It is made for massive blurriness.
There is no true form of clarity,
just varying degrees of disparity.

One man cries out to me
about how he is so hungry.
He has a bloated beer belly
that bulges out of his jeans.
He is crying about the purity
of his country, so angry
about the brown Muslim,
and so close to a stereotype.

Another man is merely weary.
Thin and drawn lines run down
wrinkling his withering form.
Each one that is found
is like the rings on a tree
reminding us all how he is aging.
His shirt is torn and holy as the mother Mary.
His calloused hands are as harsh as
the sandpaper he has been wielding.
While other yielding tools
play in digital pleasure palaces
of instant gratification
go on week long vacations,
he is working, fifty-something
going on seventy-two.
What is a Brown Muslim
supposed to do to prove
he is a good man?

Sister says it’s all gods will.
She loves all strangers.
She has faith and says that I should feel
the divine energy flowing through me,
but life is way more confusing
because more of the faithful
pledge their support
to the greedy and hateful

I can’t see through to the truth
The bifocals might have worked for you,
splitting life into two points of view,
but for me they are pointed askew.
Perhaps I need to find trifocals,
so I can focus on more varying perspectives.

They say wait
Things will get better
Wait it’s in god’s hands now
Wait it will all work out
Cause our lord has a plan
Wait
Wait
Wait
Wait says the man
We’ll I am tired of waiting
Of people debating
When I get the right
To be who I am
To love who I do
To stand up for what’s right
To fight
I ‘m not waiting
Tonight I write
For the rights of life
To get what we deserve
Instead waiting
For something
That will never come
On its’ own

Face flushed
I taste dust,
cause she’s livid
with a vivid
imagination.

I move up
one bar
then back down
to the clown car.

Light signal changes
to the wrong color
giving me
a signal to see
that is a
confusing
communique.

I am enraptured
by the next chapter
she used to capture
my heart.

The past is the spark
where she parked
her poetic heart,
as I asked to see
whatever she
would grant me
freely,
in her poetry.

I long for
a great dialogue,
but she
doesn’t
long for me.
So, I am left to see
the slow decline
of my sanity.

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

I got a friend who finds her heartbreaking
Even though she is breathtaking
Perfect flesh made for the taking
Of love of air of hope and dreams
It seems that screams haunt her heart
The lines built in her skin
Are threadings of the once him
She has lost a light that I never knew
I never had the pleasure to see it shine through
Only now do I get an inkling of her truth
She is a violin in the cemetery
A wolf with bat wings yes she is that scary
She is a writer like me a dark art beauty
Whether she will ever know it or not
She is a beloved dear friend
And I will treasure these moments
We shared till the end
Or until my Alzheimers kicks in

I’m repulsed
by callous jokes,
from wealthy blokes.

How rich men thrive
while the innocent die
choking on their own bile.

A thousand lives
of hard knock
lessons we learn
as businessmen
take their turns
making cities burn
with bombs
that blow up
leaving children
growing up
and crying out loud,
“I miss my daddy.”

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.

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.

Soft tissues connect our bones.
Our flesh feels mostly the same.
Skin tints may vary
but strangers aren’t scary
cause despite what is different
so much is the same.

The painter breaks the paper.
Paintbrushes soften the paint,
spreading colors of beauty around us
and help us to feel something
again.

The poet puts himself
in the position of everyone else.
With heavy water words
and emotional verses
the pin ****** the skin
showing ink blood
and he bleeds art for
the world he sees.

Reporter, novelist
playwright,
comic strip artist,
don’t get paid right,
but they play with life
to bring us to the light
that we all can share.

Sorrow was never my scheme.
Pain was never my friend,
but tragedy makes us human,
and losses make us all kin.

Give me an artist that loves us
and I will show you the start
of a true revolution
of love.

Could we break it down to an algorithm
Brain chemistry working like mathematics
Measured and predicted with perfect precision
Calculating the chemistry down to the last molecule
Timing the firing with pharmaceutical accuracy
Flip a switch to fix that ****
So pain only exists if you want it
Machine men and women
Flesh formed robots
Modern nanobots
Becoming more assembly line
Then we already are at this time
Sure, but let’s not

People move
in fear,
migrating from
the dangerous militia
chasing them
with death’s gleam
in their eyes,
fathers carry
their daughter,
mothers urge
their sons
to move on
as miles pass.

Strangers
and
family members
are tightly packed
and stacked on top
of one another
as a world of choppy water
moves them forward
to a harbor they hope
is safer than the home
that they ran from.

Thin tired faces
hungry and anxious
hoping to escape this
nightmare,
easily inches from death,
move to march
across soft lands
and desert sands
seeking something
us soft bellied
cheeseburger
loving sedentary
men and woman
could not comprehend.

I hear the horrible hate speech
screeching out at me,
beer bellies bulging dangerously
with prechewed stupidity
denying the humanity
of these struggling human beings.
Tears of strained patience
crease my age lined face
as I try to explain
the reality of another being
who is suffering.

My peers do not hear me
instead they promote fear greedily,
But I see some strangers
holding up signs of love
speaking the same truth
that I eschew
to show all of you
that refugees do not walk
without a reason,
and we have enough resources
to be decent human beings.

Outside is the hive mind where it hurts to hunt for facts
Were the bees will sting me to prevent things from being seen
So I stow the words in a honeyed larva
A sweet secret space where no one has to face
Any uncomfortable issues
And from that hole is birthed a blackness
Soft sickles slice through the sadness
Forgets to destroy the madness
And I lose myself
In one drop of delicious conformity after another

What a strange constellation she makes,
sweet stellar body
that I view from
a safe distance
cause she would
burn me like the sun,
scorching me
with her radiant beauty,
as I study her astronomy
the anatomy
of cosmic glory.

Your affections are not gold.
They are more like acid showers,
like thin tendrils that compel
a deep dark inner shiver.
The grating timber
felt like summer in
early December,
when I was yearning
for the cold of winter.
Fingers like shadows
strangle day light
and when I say no
you say you might.
We may have been
friendly at first,
but it hurt when
you tried to push in
to be more than just friends.
You know what they say
how you can’t trust men.
Well *******,
you just proved them right
once again

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

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

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.

Time does not pass in this purgatory
Imprisoned with all you gory judgments
Weak and weary from the fear of
A universe full of unknown stuff
And though you tried through tired lies
To repress my dreamlike nature
I still soar through super-heated
Space particles that cause cosmic storms
In a constant state of awe at their glory
And my dear fellow human beings
You are always welcome to join me

I write
a little life
littered with
the broken bits
of split
and distorted
reflections
I recorded
and reported
as reality.

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

In deeply disturbing dreams,
Heavy metals thunder
striking 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 throp.
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.

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

Do not seek to balance me completely
Or sedate me so I submit meekly
I will speak softly ease you gently in
To the new truth we keep forgetting
I am not afraid of uncertainty or ambiguity
Life is not black and white and shades between
It is lush with green foliage
***** brown with earth
Hot and red bleeding lava veins
A sparkling spectrum of all life
Comes from the prism
From great sorrow can come great beauty
If you do not believe me read Poe or Keats
From great pain can come new and returning wisdom
If you do not understand read a book my friend
From all things can come new perspectives
Can come the resurgence the convergence
Of knowledge ever evolving all involving
Loving and preserving
Loving and destroying
To build something new
Or rebuild what we forgot we knew
In my imbalance I am alive
And if you do not have the courage to live so freely
If you are not that greedy
Then I will live it for you
And share things you do and do not want me to
I will be your poetic scapegoat
I will be your teacher
And in my words then in my death
I will be your loving martyr

I wanted to be dispassionate
To prove that I didn’t love anything like that
Resigned to old designs of loneliness
I was fine living with this benign cancer
Social disease of desires and needs
To want to plant my seed in your furry weeds
But you were bubonic ***** and ****
Violent without a fist to hit me with
No guns just lies and manipulation
Leaving me disgusted with me
But more disgusted with you and the whole love thing
The whole romantic scene that left a hole in me
Burying myself so deep into my mind
Until I finally realized
Finally opened my eyes
Let go of expectations
Freed my soul through *******
Emptied the veins of my frustrations
To be or become a truer version of me

I love the sound of laughter.
It is the sound of despairs defeat;
Enemy now fallen to the side with no ill will.
Chuckles Bounce back and forth volley per volley
Set match and serve has made you smile.
There is less stress in the sound of laughter.
Tensions easing out of our bouncing bodies.
Spirit safely restored with a strong sense of pride and dignity.
Even if it cost me mine,
As I take a tumble or make a frantically funny face,
Laughter is endearing knowing by hearing that here there is just for a second a little less hate.
Laughter can mark each moment with new lessons learned,
Or simply take away a tid bit of pain.
I love the sound of laughter cause when it’s good,
It echoes from stranger to stranger to stranger ,
In danger of engulfing the entire room.
It is ironic, it is unexpected, and it is easier than an ******.
Give me laughter or give me death.
Preferably laughter, please.

The smoky spasms
of specters passing
fill my teary blurred
vision;

Forced phantasms
of former friends
and family
which I remember
quite fondly,

The young girl
across the street
who was missing
a few teeth,

The old lady
and old man
who brought me up,
helping when they could,

The elderly grocer
of Kregor’s store
where I purchased
penny tootsie rolls,
and three cent
laughy taffy

The long dead dogs,
the trees,
the memories
of a younger me
living dangerously
hanging upside down
thick branches,

these spirits haunt me
partially paining
but mostly reminding me
of the good times.

To be in the age where dreams began
Smoke and mirrors, silver plates
Rotating presses
Books to be made
Page begat stage
Films to watch music to hear
Radio Waves
I am afraid
We have lost those days
Sacrificed our sense of wonder my dear
The awe of hope
The love we dared
If I could I would revisit there
Bringing back that childlike smile
I’ll take you there in a poem
Seeing our inner children
So once again we can know them

She is the only Christmas gift
I wish to unwrapped
Red cap, red lips
Fitting my tip
In this desirous being
Emptying all that I have
In her soft silk stalking

Can you see it
Or is it just me
I use to wonder
Quietly
If anyone else noticed
The circular rainbow
That glows
Outwards from
The late night lamp lights

But I never asked anyone
Because I was afraid
That I was the only one
To see them
And if I asked my friends
Or family
They might take me
Away to the sanitarium

The fact that I heard
Music
Beating drums
Playing lightly
Behind me
Didn’t frighten me
Because it sounded
So soothing

In my dark life
It was only the light
The rainbow in the night
That scared me

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

As I gaze across the vastness of all that is
All time and space in which we exist
A sense of love overcomes my heart and soul
For all who live young and old
On this massive floating ball
We who are one are joined as all
Brothers and sisters in our fight
Not to live alone but reunite
Let no one hold us back
Stand in our way or provoke an attack
Hate has no place in this world we live in
Let go of your ignorance so we can all be friends

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.

They broke me with the shadows;
Fears and uncertainty,
loss haunting me,
till hope turned towards
celestial possibilities.

They broke me with love;
One father figure
who I figure
has something better
for me.

They broke me with confusion;
Contradicting rules
cornering this fool
till, I submitted.

And when I didn’t,
they broke me with fear
and hellfire.
Till, I either died
or gave in
to their desires.

She was darkness,
magical princess
of ecstatic pains.

Queen of wishes,
lips bruised
with the brush
of lust,
and the power
to pull from
all of us
the very veins
that worked
webs from
within
our supple skin.

Tantalizing terror
goddess Arachne
who spun her web
to entrap thee,
the enraptured
rotting zombie.

Poison on her lip
with nine inch
finger nails
that scratched
the flesh
of innocent men
and sent them
straight to hell.

Hazel eyes
with specks of blue
swimming around
her dark irises.

Like black holes
surrounded by
cosmic gasses,
and like those holes
she swallowed
lost souls
who dared to
venture near.

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

Today I stopped to help a stranger
Pulled over on the highway’s shoulder
to make sure they were ok

but for every one time I do that
I recall ten or more times
I looked the others way
Because I had somewhere to be

Today I picked up a stranger even though
I know that in my state it is illegal
Most people are scared but not me
Even though for every one time
I picked up a stranger that I found
There was five or more
Where I left them on the road

Today I gave a homeless person
Some money and or some food
I felt good, pride,
That is not something everyone
Would try to do

But for every one or two
I am able to help
I can see a hundred more
Some starving in silent desperation
Some crying in public locations
Some holding up signs

Most I recall haunt my mind
And find their home in these line
I write and cry knowing I can be better
Knowing I can do more good
But knowing that it would cost me
My hard earned peace of mind
My hard earned wallet of green
And all those other precious things
That apparently I value above
Other human beings

I know a girl who writes
The same poem over and over again
A dark hearted artist
Sultry mistress
Who dismisses
All other lovers
But her pain

However
She plays it so clever
That I can’t help but love her
And read all the variations
Of the poem over and over again

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

Dopamine swelling
And swarming
Our brains
Fingers hands
Arms
Touched
But in loss
We lose ourselves
Shivering in withdrawal
The agony of life
Is in the loosing
One by one
Addictions
Not given up
So much
As stolen away
And we tremble
With tears
Knowing
But still living in fear
It has been that way
For hundreds of thousands of years
Since the first burial
Till the last mound is past
Till the last human basks
Withering in grief
Wallowing but raging against the thief
Who stole eternity
And will not give it back

Why do we allow
these shallow
stubborn *******
to acquire annual annuities
on slick sick
investments;

Like oil refinement
or weapons,
such detriments
to our social health
and our environment.

Will we be able
to restrain
this barbaric disposition
that manufactures
guns and
environmental disasters
with our false bravado?

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.

Oh how cruel the day is.
Slant rays invade my space
because the curtained covered
windows can only bend them
not completely conceal
the light that I feel on my skin.

Partially piercing my eyelids
daylight becomes a strange shade
Of red, orange, and annoyed.

Warmth trumps cool sheets.
Sunny Sunday sounds sneak in
with the interrupting day.
I wish it all would go away.

Bring back the melatonin moments.
Bring back the colors of the night
dark, quiet, and tranquil as death
with my memories still intact.

But if I brought the evening back
I would want to stay awake
cause I love that silent night
and hate that ******* sunlit day.

Here is a secret,
To those who are close
and think that
they know me.
they don't.

It is a shade that they see
partial reflection
distorted version of me.

I am more than
you realize
and less then
you know,

cause when you are certain
I am certain your wrong
and when I am right
you say the words
I share don't belong.

Academic
intellect
artist of
endless depths,
passionate
and
depressed
by all of your
callousness
and lack of
curiosity.

I am luminescence
in the form of excellence
self-celebrant,
brilliant,
creative,
compassionate
and­ a consummate
gentleman,
mostly,
constantly learning,
growing,
and changing
with the integration
of next generation
information.

That is my secret
those who are close
and think they know me
don't really.