This city drinks me in
Scratches my skin
And calls life sin

I am one bottle
Half empty
Sick salt water
Made to spit
Wet ****
As this vile brew
Slips pass my
Cracked lips

Drunk to get free
Buzzed to be me
So people can see
I don’t care what they think
How sobering

Dry eyes sealed shut
Crusted sleep dust
Thirsty, sore
If I flew before
I do not remember
I am disrobed
And dismembered
Exposed in December

Towering teeth
Swallowing me
Till I cannot see
Till I cannot breath
Till I have to leave

Water skin broken
The tab is busted
The words drained
Fizzy water
Becomes my
Clouded brain
I am spent
So I hit the train
Exiting as other dreamers
Come raining in

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

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.

I have been coddling you in swaddling cloth
Speaking while gently critiquing your lack of truth seeking
Holding half of my heart in so I can let you begin
To be better than what you see and believe
I have been daydreaming and scheming
With verses, stanzas, lines, and pages
Simplifying while truth lying
Taking a creative license to inspire  
Before the lighted fire expires within you
Making my milk sour in disappointment
Seeing days end and more tragedies begin
But still struggling to believe in the human
There is an acrid odor amongst us
A bitter taste that tightens the tongue
But I am not done
The light in me will see how splendid we can be
And in my poetry I will show you how to be
As beautiful as I know you can be

I spent years
with poor circulation
nerve ends strangled
in abject agony,
following your insanity
while blaming myself
for the way
you obeyed your rage,
but I might be getting
a little bit better.
I might be
a little less bitter.

I spent years on fire
like a burning house
seeing every optimistic
inch of me
defeated and incinerated
by your incessant nagging,
and jack slapping.
Till, I nearly choked
trying to breathe easy.
When it took
two swallows
to catch my
anxious breath,
one gulp
then halfway down
another gulp
so, I didn't drown
in my own saliva.

Now my freedom
is a bitter sweet
symphony
and though others insist,
I do not need
you to be
in my life,
do not need
the present
or even the slightest hint
of past strife
to be happy
and complete.

We are a chorus
of chaotic consumers
of materialistic addicts,
of capitalistic users.

We are violently virulent,
cashing checks
that are already spent.

We devour and destroy
to acquire
the new toy
or gadget we desire
to employ
for temporary amusement.

Then when someone
explains this,
claims it
can be better
we become bitter,
and break them
on the wheel of
social separation.

We consume and excrete
all the metal and plastic
crap that was manufactured
to satisfy this corporately
fractured life.

Oh, how it makes me smile.
How my mouth widens
like little tropical islands
spread on for miles
in continental drift.
How with one quip
I find my wit
the perfect fit
for the intelligent
philosophers and artists.
It is the heart of solace
so, please know this
your unique presence
makes me very happy.

The brown mound of earth
slightly elevated
to support the tree
the children played with
but our parents hated.

The big old gnarly thing
outer skin
always barking
rough against
my young flesh,
but I still climbed it.

The thick branch
that hung out
and let me lay back
to read a book
in privacy,
despite the threat
of gravity.

The way I relaxed
free from all below
an unobtrusive
lonely ******
who was outside
to escape
the black hole
of a home
where darkness reigned.

The pleasant wooden memory
like a ship at sea
which carried me
to my present
where all those
childhood dreams
are obscured
by time’s
unalterable course.

We got the buy in  
If you cap the high end
Of potential growth
For this nation’s youth
Keep the glass ceiling
With your clouded feelings
By shearing and clearing
Any real transparency
There’s little chance of truth
Breaking out or coming clean
And nothing is free
It just costs you
Your reason and your liberty

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

You birth is an invitation
Few received from quintillion plus
Possible people
A gift to exist
A choice given
The variables
A ticket to the freak show
Or to the joy ride
Of expanding life
And human consciousness
It was not stamped for approval
Nor is it dependent on the permission
From those in power
Who required you
To live by their patterns
Why would you
When you can build a better loom

I think his name was Sam.
There was poetry behind his face,
Wrinkled and world weary
brown and drawn
deep and porous
battle damaged
from fights and loves
from losses,

now blind.
Half a homeless heart
still hoping to be reunited
with the other part.

With his last bucks,
He buys his lover
A shiny trinket.
Taps the sidewalk
with a thin white stick,
hungry
but holding on to
the precious gift.
which he will give
his Italian lover
when they meet again.

In dreams he sees,
not blind but two young studs
still so much in love
with a full future ahead.

Cold concrete and pillow
for his head
one blanket
and hope, a fruit dangling,
just barely on this side of death.
He is alive
and still in love

The falcon stole the sea
Soft pebbles broke
Beneath my blistered feet
Dark dreams of water
Black waves drowning
The very core of my being
Salt burning my last breath
The wet fire of fear and desire
Tempting the void
To claim its cheap carny prize

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.

She took from me
Not one cent
That she could not
Give back again
Though I declined
Cause the debt was benign

She ate my food
She drove my car
A dented Ford POS
Did not always
Get her far
But I never ask
For the gas back

Still beating heart
Beneath my chest
She tore and scrapped
At my tender flesh
A monstrous action
For her own satisfaction
An undead fiend
Feeding on my broken valves
The heart attack
The love she lacked
So stole from me
What I sorely needed
And though I pleaded
Please give it back
She left the shovel in my breast bone
And would not return
My heart to its’ rightful home
So every night I cry in vain
Give it back
Give it back
Give it back

The light changes
Shifting shades
Slip across
His weary face
Shadows sweep
The sun away
Leaving the cool day
Under the tree
He rests peaceful
With one eye open
Just barely
The breeze hits
Just a bit
Leaves flutter
In unison
The sun returns
To my skin
Now he is wide awake
Again

We let their lies influence our lives
Subtle reflections in the tv screen
Glowing static telling us stupid things
Defining what is beautiful
The magazines tell us how to think
Defining what is normal and exceptional
Movies defining how we should dream
Neighbors defining how we should compete
Little whispers in the dark saying
That what we should be praying for
Is the beginning of wealth
And not the end of all wars
Is the brand new digital device
Not intelligence, compassion, and wisdom
Our vices have us locked up
In separate cells we call homes
Programmed little sacs of flesh
Sick circuit boards in a city of consumption
Spasms of flickering images
Broken billboards beating down our brain
Till the young ones learn the same lessons
And they perpetuate it with their own ****
Their subtle social cues
Their cruel attitudes
Their blatant statement
The art of exclusion
Weeding out what makes us wonderfully different
To create more carbon copies
That fade and fade
Till the carbon copies turn into blank pages

The urgency of desire
Sacs of hormonal anxiety
Directing me subliminally
Sublime ecstasy
And anguish
Lavish pain
Pulsing in the member
Ready to dismember
All conscious control
Hands on flesh
Or flesh on hands
Two ways giving
Relief
An atomic explosion
In which two crazy creatures
Find calmness and contentedness

With a wrinkled face
scorned by age,
you work and scrimmage
to try and save
your wage
for the better days to come.

Tired and betrayed
you see change
rushing from
the power of some
who want and take
the things you make.

By force of will
and money
they legislate
for the sake
of profits,

and we feel powerless,
like our voices have been stripped.
We feel as if
we are crippled
by the likes of that which
gives them power;

But there is power in a voice.
There is strength in a choice.
There is a gift in
giving compassion,
actions
that takes the harshness
of life and lessens
with lessons
and examples
of kindness.

You find this
in the giving of time,
the sharing of food,
while listening to
a lonely dude,
or stopping to help
strangers in need.

You may not see
the positivity
generated.

You may feel as if
it doesn’t mean ****,
as you watch all those crooks
shift and twist
the masses into
a hateful mob.

But that’s not
all you got,
there is more power
to be found
if you look around
and help those
who are down.

When there are profits to be made
the corporation's will sway
politicians to the warring ways.

When people believe
there is more to be gained
from war then from peace
more to be gained from bullets, bombs,
body armor, commodities, and unmanned planes
then it will always be easier
for the sick, slick, and sleazier
war profiteering *******
to trick this submissive
population into being dismissive
of the artists and other peace makers.

When there are many takers
big spending capitalistic money makers
instead of scientists, poets, singers, and songwriters
it is almost impossible or at least improbable
that we will live to see a free and non-warring society.

But if we can change a few minds at a time
if we can see change expand from me
to you and beyond
Finding such influence expanding exponentially
that is when we will see
a better world waits for us
if we can change enough.

I cut my teeth
On sapphires
Not pacifiers
Sweet chunks
Of painful beauty
****** gums
And bleeding teeth
Broken drums
Still playing
In my heartbeats
With no repeats

It took me a while to figure out why I am attracted to the darkness, human suffering speaks so deeply to me. It is because I am the light and light longs to evaporate the veils of sorrow that cloud human senses. It is because I am so deeply in love with humanity that I cannot abide it's pain. It took me thirty four years to realize and believe it. Now I know it is because I am a good person.

Maybe you will see
fake flakes swiftly
swirling in a globe.

What a gimmick,
a water world
made to mimic
a furious flurry
of blizzard like fury.

Shake it up
but do not let
the glass ball
ever fall
because
if it cracks
you will
never be able
to get that
snow dream back.

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

The stars are twinkling guitars
Sending out radical vibrations
Signals to our expanding nations
They are Vikings burning in space
And dying a billion years later

There is a smile
Slightly chagrined
Light red grin
Adding clear lake reflections
Of soft water sorrow

Existing on the verge of
Partially forgotten loves
Chapped lips partly parted
Nearly whispering
Almost trembling
With the pain of
Remembering

Night clears the fog
Dulls the deadman’s drums
Slows the engines hums
Bidding all old thoughts
Enter anew slightly renewed
Some pleasurable
Others come unwelcomed

Specifics exist
But abstractions
Are better fits
Vagaries are safer
Smiles grow smaller
Tightening till
Their terrible weight
Explodes and dissolves

The broken are my people
Each lost child bruised
Tears assaulting their faces
with suicide dreams

Each stranger
Sitting slovenly
On the streets
With no family
Or food to eat

Each elder lost in the system
Blisters and bed sores
The agony of isolation

Each lonely person
Forgotten or discarded
Wounded or broken hearted
These are my people

In allowing love
to envelope us
we lose so much.

We become robots
preprogrammed to
procreate and create
another generation.

The veneration of
people who are
only fulfilled
by the ******
they spilled.

There are other
ways to be,
other versions
you can see,
of struggling
to set yourself
free.

But most want
to abdicate
their responsibility
in favor of
the love they savor
that craving addiction
an easy prediction.

Tv and literature,
movies and songs,
got the good stuff
all wrong.
We are more
then halves
of a whole.
We are unique
people who
always have
room to grow.
You have
a million memory doors
to walk through
and gain the lessons
from the things
I never knew
you went through to.

So, please write something
deeper than your cliché
heartache
and romantic fantasies.

Intensity was the face he wore.
That grave and gravel voice
that made such guttural noises.
Face scratched with a thin greying beard.
Razors that cut against the grain.
A ***** that bled him.
The red that wet him
was not the barber’s blade
but bullets biting fiercely
dropping bodies near him.
Hearing nightly pleas,
Young boys cry
“Please, please let me survive.
Let me make it out alive”
While they dig their own grave;
In holes that tare both ways.
And on the other side
of the barbed wired enemy line
Other young men cry
“Ich will nicht sterben”
Still as stone and twice as stern,
he watches the world
and both sides burn.
Each rose plucked,
each stem broken,
replanted permanently in the battlefield
to feed the fierce war machine
which is never satiated.

Her sweet blue eyes
are as deep as the
turquoise sky.
They pierce my heart,
and I hate
any guy
who makes her cry.

--------------------------------------
There is a knot in my stomach,
with a deep seated dread
that though my love currently needs me
she will leave me when she returns to
the dude who misused her heart.

I never watched them all the way through
Wanting to quickly
To get to the ending
Folding pages
Skipping scenes
Just to find out
What it all means
Patience was for the living
And I was always dying

No tell for the heart
No raven clawing at my soul
No sweet Anna Bell
No black cat
No never more
As was before
An open end
To tell me
But my heart is as black as Poe’s
Dark prose pose for life’s light
No agony
Just enough pain
Not enough to **** me
But enough to keep me in limbo
I know I can go lower
But there are only so many circles of hell
So I tell myself
No Shining on it
No misery
Or pet cemetery
No killer clown
Or Last Stand
But I stand on
The shoulders of others
From Stephan King
To Stephan Hawking
From dark dreams
To dreams of science
From shadows to the light of reason
To seize them
Steal and change
Everything
Life is but a dream
And I dream far too darkly

Better to butter up
that butternut
burnt out building
leaving you feeling
the loss of
previous employment.

She’s bitter because
the ones she loves
are struggling
and after fifteen years
of working for
that bread store
they don’t have
work for her anymore.

So, she’s broke
and looking
for someone
who will hire
an old lady
cause living ain’t free
in a capitalistic society
and she has to eat
she could really use some bread.

Instead, she gets to stress
as she undresses
to go to bed
she gets to apply
for unemployment.

Though I wish it was
like the long-lost love
that I still miss,
or the sweet mist
of soft citrus
squished fruit
that squirted in my mouth
in my youth.

Time is a snake
devouring itself,
scouring souring seconds,
and removing buildings.
Till, thirty years later
I cannot recognize
any of the lost landmarks
from my long-ago life.

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.

I’ve been told or maybe it was just implied
That this life is just a short ride
On a one way rocky road to the other side
And this shell is more hell then heaven
That day is a better time than night
That I am mostly wrong and they are mostly right
Those mighty moral men of higher ideals
But my coolly clouded kin have very little trouble compromising
Adopting and adjusting ancient beliefs to support their greed
Toying and destroying this environment in favor of the next
Simplifying and denying the beauty of the complex
I have been told that learning is burning me up
And I should accept what is because it is
Makes we want to cry what the ****
I’ve been jeered at when expressing truth
Yet, those who sneered and called me queer accepted said truth later on
So I am the inferior one uninformed until that masses catch on
Maybe they lied maybe they tried to accept but rejected it in fear
That now is here and tomorrow may not make it there
I have been told many things
how I should not be me you see
And that everyone else knows better how to live my life
I guess it’s funny how I do the same thing to others
But I am just as certain that I am right

You’ve got nothing better to do
then start spreading your truths.
Well I’ve been spreading truth to.
Since before you were growing your *****,
I’ve been shedding my religious blues
by shredding all the lies, you guys used.

Till, I
brought you
the good news.

You are free

from

Dogmas

Sexism

Racism

Xenophobia

and all those judging your sins
with that outdated, poorly written text.

Yes, you are free from all that hate printed within
your savior’s false bleached tinted skin.

Though, I might not reach you
or your slew of pew hugging dudes
the few who I do get through to
will live a much richer life then you do.

I am a child of light and love
Stuck in a rut of emotional stuff
Drowning deeply in the darkness I see
The pain that infected me
The rage that was enacted upon
My innocent form
The violence that continues
The ignorance that persist
Sees my sorrows deepen
Caverns open ready to swallow me

Yet I aspire to be of love
To speak love
To act love
To be kind
And gentle

A rose without a thorn
Despite the storm
I am the fluid form
Only fulfilled by acts of kindness
Though life rejects this heart
I yearn for the light
While I create in the dark

I am transient, a river
Water flowing against the stream
My schemes are dreams
That see me separated
See me dashed upon the rocks
That wear the shore
And still I charge asking for more
And still I rise to love once more
Till I evaporate alone
A Smokey mist of love

I never leave but live to see
Life play out on a computer screen
All the beauty all the pain
Put on display
Brown wet sand
Then curvy lines of foam
Foot prints scattered across the beach
Part borrowed memory
Stirring the old ones left in me
Murky water
Small pool of cool non-sparkling
H two o
And tiny fish poke and nip
My family and friends
But never bite me

I drive while I am overthinking,
watching as I run through
a hundred thousand
floating firefly butts
that lessen the darkness of
the highway I’ve been
driving;
  
Reflecting on
the corruption
of politicians,
and businessmen
who are war
profiteering,
arming up soldiers,
and bringing military
grade gear
for policemen
to use here
within our own borders.

How these thugs
take their orders
from the rot at top
and brutally torture,
hearts once hopeful
that now turn to dust.

I am amazed by
the ease at which
I see all that ****
but keep on
swimming through
the gross cesspool.
I know I can walk away
but I am fool
who has something to say.

Evan though,
there are no great
ways to demarcate
stages of human pain. cont.

I have been furnished
with a burning furnace,
a form famished for
seeing those justice ignored
even the score.

She saw love
A false shadow
A glimmering reflection
Rippling in the pond
Aphrodite’s arrows
Flying ten times faster than sparrows
Through narrow vessels
Of flowing blood
Heated expressions
Beating breath and perspiration
Matching feet for destination
Fated end to mend the broken spirit
Clear the essence of those who fear it
She chose the illusion
For the alternative was agony
And she could no longer bare it

It was long ago
when I wept
with the wind swept
children of
human wreckage,

When bare feet
felt soft soil
and muddy pools
squished themselves
between my toes,

When dark dreams
danced dangerously
inside of me
pushing
death tolls
and grim reaper schemes,

When family
was something imagined
and love was a desert,
or a half empty silver flagon
with dragon’s flames,
fiery liquid burning my
already parched lips,

When the church
claimed my soul
until I finally said
hell no,

When in vain
I tried to explain
a stranger’s pain
to another stranger,

When I slept
and woke in tears
or sat in the dark hallways
because I had no home,

Though many years
have proceeded old pains
the child of humanity
still remains
with red veins
ready to be ripped
to bleed out our shared pain,
stored in the library of my brain
and written
upon these crimson
stained poetry pages.

The tension is always there
Cold steel coiled ready to rumble
Muscles strained to the limit
Life and work pushing
Till the flesh bulges and breaks
A ****** bulb busting
Bursting with life’s juices
The truth is we don’t need this
Happiness is achievable
The weird web we weave
To shape our destiny
Is not a trap to clap back
And smash happy facts
But to take the mind
To greater times
Traveling so fast
That the old corrupted institution
Warp and finally collapse
Leaving a space for us to make a better way

Dear fancy dressed dancing dragon girl
Flaming trimming burning as you twirl
Eyes glimmering as the world is consumed
By the same fire that burned your bedroom
Waves of orange expanding, demanding
Every bit of wood and air as food
Consuming and exuding only ash and sorrow
As your flesh shifts forming patches of melting skin
Changing and rearranging itself
Shedding bits of burnt hair and sanity
Screaming for peace with no relief to come
Arms flailing as you run
And when the dance is done
When the flames no longer sway
In their dangerous and wind swept ways
When the fire ends
Dear dragon girl I hope that you are dead.

Behold the beautiful poet
The baggage she had to keep
Even though she couldn’t stow it
The secrets swept away
Even though we didn't know it
And all the opportunities
The ones her parents said don’t blow it
All that **** she wanted to forget
Comes out between ten and twelve o’clock
When the grandfather hits the top
And time finally stops
The poetess is freed

While you were swallowing
the t.v. news
that the corporations use
to sell sick perspectives
that get sales projections
and stock market values
going up,

I was back here loving you,
watching while you choked on
the pricey drugs you use,
to numb those American blues.

While you were slinging the gospel
casting your almighty god spell
so, no one would buy in
to that fact that you are trying
to deny facts in favor
of your favorite brand of lying,

I was trying to learn
the lessons you spurned,
so, I could take science and poetry
combine them in this flow you see
to share our shared humanity
and help us be better human beings.

Rules do not make something
Right or wrong
Talking heads do not
Make something
Right or wrong
Fake gods
Do not make
Something
Right or wrong
Traditions
Just because
It was
Always done
Does not make
Something
Right or wrong
Your law
Does not make
Something
Right or wrong

She is a waking obsession
possessing every second
of thought that I have.

Each action I take
each thing that I make
is for her.

When I go to the gym
I push myself to the limit
to get stronger and faster
so I can protect her
and her children.

While I walk around
at work
I hope she’s not hurt
and wait for her
to get the urge
to call me.

Be it three in the morning
or ten o’clock at night
I never mind if she calls me.
I maybe a little drowsy
but I love hearing her voice.

I don’t mind cleaning her dishes
or doing her laundry.
She can ask anything of me
and I’ll do my best
to accommodate her request
and do what she asked me to.

I’ll stay late
or come over early
no matter how tired I am,
with no expectations
or devious plans
to be her man.
I just want to do what I can
to help her
because I am her friend
and I love her.

Do not write to me
of the white blossom tree
when you never look up to see
the bright daylight
that reflects off
the bleached white petals.

Do not write to me
of the horrors of war.
Do not explore
the picture you
place before
the face you hate
much more,
when you have
never ever even
gone to war.

Do not write to me
of love and love lost
when you refuse
to yield to the blues
of loving someone
who will never love you
or that you will eventually lose.

Do not write to me
of humanity
when you seclude yourself
in a shaded corner,
sitting in cemeteries,
dreaming of heroes,
trolls, and beautiful fairies
while life goes on
without your participation.

Do not write to me.
Go out and live
to be free,
expressing only the things
that you live through and see
because every other poem
is just a fiction,
a projection
of the emotions
as you think they are
or believe they should be
not necessarily partially punctuated
stanzas of reality.

Oceans part each stolen heart
forgotten boat with wooden oars
that never hopes to revisit their shores.
Waves running to catch nothing
reflect the infinite star lit sky.

Lovers leap to their watery death
risking on a feeling for something they left;
A sparkle, a dream, some sort of remembrance,
hope that love will finally give us
the peace we were always denied.

Because our love wanders lonely
sand in toes exactly where who know,
singing sad songs somewhere on the other side.