We all long to be heard,
have them listen to our
well-intentioned words,
as we rewrite our world
turning in favor of
savoring the love
instead, of simmering in
the big batch of boiling
hatred and stupidity.

The sins of the father do not own the son.
It matters naught where we come from,
We can scramble out of the shadows of history
and become a better breed of humanity.
Just because it was and always should be
will not be a rallying cry for traditions.
We need not cow to superstitions
that diminish us,
because we have the potential to be
Brilliant.

I will not kneel or yield
in any form or field
to the fallen dreams
we call god.

She is gone and who I was with her died
Another bit chipped to be sorely missed
Another chunk with memories
That I need to recall certain parts of me
Will never be present again

She is gone and all I was with her
Will rot and wither
Wasting away like a fallen flower
Dying today leaving only remnants

She is gone and so am I
For every loss is life’s betrayal
The grief does not do the loss justice
My ego is diminished
Our relationship is finished
At best it become particles in a poem
And soon I will forget the meaning behind these words
Because she is gone

I don't care
if I burn
my brain out.

Even if
the pain comes
blaring in,
I’ll just block it out again
with slick distractions,
with the sick actions
of stimulant satisfaction.

Till, the fog
comes rolling back in,
leaving me drowning
in the sea of feelings
that requires
something stronger
to light the fire
that turns
the memories it burns
into ashes.

Eyes drawn to the dawn.
She was a visionary
seeing violent volcanoes
erupt and rupture
the air above her,
cutting holes of heat,
spitting vile ash,
and burning all
that crossed the falling
rivers of orange and red rage.
Till eve settled upon her
ravaged flesh
and the agony passed
letting her rest.

What is grief,
but the withdrawal symptoms
of a drug we may not have known
we were taking,
the transmogrification
of affection’s deeper emotions
into the compensation
and reorientation
of our strained
inner identity,
in the absence
of the loved ones
treasured presence.

I let the heater broil my skin.
29 degrees short of a blistering lobster boil
Turning my cheeks two shades less than crimson
Just so I can keep my weary red eyes alert.

Cause even though the night sky may relax
My raggedly overtaxed mind,
Exhaustion still ruins evening’s solitary stillness.

The stiller I sit
The more I wish to slip
Into dreams of yesterday
Dipping into deep and destructive waters of nostalgia
Scabbing over my itchy scratch and sniff pain
With highlight clips and theme songs
From my old favorite tv shows

Wanting to wash away today's pain
With chocolate covered strawberries
Till I restore my belief in the brotherhood
Of faith and purpose
That reason and enlightenment murdered

Mind running engine running
Vents pumping out dragon’s breathe
But the heat does not hurt
The carbon monoxide might suffocate me
But the fire does not burn
Memories keep strangling me
Till I can barely breathe
And the only thing I can inhale is regret
The only truths I know
Are the sorrows I have not felt yet

20 minutes to warm my flesh
To think and scribe the thoughts that others hide
20 minutes then I switch the heat too cold
Crack the windows and my bones
No longer stuck in the past
No longer struggling to come back
I exist in the now

I say nothing is heavier
then it’s fifteen to ten
pounds,
as I stuff it in
a backpack
for carrying
to stare at the air
of deep despair
there in.

Photo after photo
clicking and clacking
with predatory pain
that is ready to claim
my comfort,
ready to strain
this tired brain
with the terror
of its truths.

After days
of lugging it around
I have found
the one thing heavier
is the horror
of enlightenment
that resides
behind the page.

The way
it burrows
within
my skin
to the source
of my emotions
and makes me feel
something more
for the suffering
children
who are starving,
the poverty stricken
oppressed by
wars of hate, and greed,
wars that partially stem
from various religions.

Cut that country music in half
and laugh at that,
cause it has become so weak and sad,
sorry sentiments bend in a season
of uninformed political reasons
for patriotism,
a schism, and vision
for dumbing down.
Until, this clown
self-selects
for Darwin’s award
of a dumb death
that makes the rest
of humanity
smarter on average.

As an artist
I forgot
how to
draw the
feminine
form,
but
I used
the women
at the gym
to inform
and refresh
my amateur
artistry.

He was a
taller and
much thinner
black bearded
roommate
in the place
I went
when I could not face
reality.
He snorted,
coughed, and hacked
while I tried to sleep.
Someone once
told me
that he didn’t shower
because beneath his beard
and sweat stained Tee
there were some
painful burns.
I do not know his name.
Still,  I hope he found
some semblance of peace
that even I have
yet to claim.

Older man
in the same facility
fifty to sixty something,
walking with a slight
spinal curve
and wearing his
cleanly pressed black button up shirt
along with his folded at the seams
to tight blue jeans,
seams normal enough,
but I hear him sing
Conway Twitty’s
“That’s My Job”
constantly.
Somebody told me
when he was younger
he watched his father
plant his face
on a cold metal rail
and let a train
smash out
his brains.

Farther back
when I was barely seven
I knew a sweet long haired man
who wore a dress
and pushed
an empty stroller.
He could have been
transgender then,
but I did not have
the experience to know
or desire to classify
or judge him.
Twenty years later
with seventy-five miles
between me and that city
I met a stranger
who came from there.
Jokingly to prove
I was from the same place,
I mentioned that man.
She gave me a name
that I had never asked for,
told me that he
was a veteran
from one of those
horrible wars,
and that Jet
had died a while ago.

I knew an angry lady,
violent, frustrated,
face curled in rage
because she hated
some unexplained pain.
She taught me
to love music
but despite the sweet
and safe melodies
of those old time songs
we both used to move to
I can still feel
the fear, and swollen skin,
the loneliness, and hurt
that she buried within.
She was as I am now
living but broken.

We sad strangers have stood idly by
Watching people suffering
Brown skin Muslims rounded up
While waterboard artists play cover up
Unmanned missile launching drone
Blow up innocent bystanders homes
Justice is just a joke’s simple guise
To promote social inequality
Worthless warfare idiot warriors
Public figures probably figure
Were just sheep cow toe to heroes
Noble sacrifices will quiet riots
Justifying all of those lies
Can’t call a soldier on his crimes
Well then string up the general

I only die
If I refuse
To use what I am
If I stop pushing
Past the parameters
That other people
And myself put on me

I'm not Santa Claus but I'm hefty.
I'm not jolly cuz life left me
navigating deftly
across time zones
where minds roam
while I dream of a present
that presents positive possibilities;

Not Marvel’s what if comic book realities
that I used to collect,
but issues that direct
my heart towards acts of compassion
as I ask strangers what they are lacking
that makes them malicious actors.

I have not discovered the ultimate factors,
or removable variables
that would enhance our ability
to be superbly gifted soldiers
of love and humanity.

Weary, I'm still searching.

I cannot for the life of me
See my way through
This fatigue

My mind shifts uncomfortably
Unable to maintain
Any focus

My drive is demolished
How many days lost
With nothing accomplished

Bags overcome my eyes
I can’t easily stay awake
But my thoughts are diminished

Speech stumbles
Words slur
I wonder when wakefulness
Will shine again
When clarity will inspire me

The exhaustion runs so deep
That my skin is aged with it
All time delays for it
Slowing to less than a snail’s pace

Even after hours of slumber
There is a soul weariness
That clutches the very core of me
And I wonder if I will ever be me
Again

It is a rough winter,
and I worry;
Not for me,
cause there is no need
to hurry,
but for the tall thin
black homeless man
who sleeps on
the strip mall
sidewalk
next to his bike
and black
plastic
bags of stuff.

These are
biting temperatures,
artic cold
and I know
many have froze
in the past.
I fear this
winter weather
will claim
the strange man’s
exposed skin
and limbs
while he is sleeping.

But in keeping
with my tight schedule,
a full day
of driving,
exercising,
then working
and driving again,
I do not bother him.
I do not talk
to the rail thin
brown skin
man who is sleeping
on the sidewalks tonight.
I just selfishly follow
the patterns of my life,
only pausing in retrospect
to write a small poem
that doesn’t help
the homeless man
who might
freeze to death
tonight.

Sorrow splits the night
like lightning in the sky.
I see strangers
with an endless reserve
of tears clouding
their red and bag heavy eyes.
Makes me wonder why
they had to live
to see their children die.

I pass by these borders you plan to build
thick brick walls to block you from how
all these strange foreigners feel,
but I will take all the pain they receive,
make their scars a permanent part of me.
I will see this life break me
of all those playful star trek fantasies
of how we will be better human beings.

Cause, I have seen babies wearing bullet holes
like little red onesie, and crimson bibs,

seen pictures of places we will never be,
decimated cities, with scars so deep
that even the stones bleed.

I shudder
knowing we do not need
Hollywood monsters
because real nightmares
exist over there.

Please tell me how
do I move on
from these portraits of pain.

Looking for
a pull up bar
that I can put on
my bedroom door,

because I am working on
building my
back strength
and overall
sexiness.

Looking for
all the episode
of my favorite shows
that I didn’t know
I hadn’t seen yet,

because I am
super obsessive
and have to know
how the whole thing goes
not just the beginning
and end.

Looking for
Star Trek,
Buffy
The
Vampire
Slayer,
and graphic
novel books,

because
I love to read
about the things
that sustained me
when I was a kid.

Looking for
humanity,
all those
struggling
people
who strive to be
better,

because
I feel like
this club of only us
against all other
human beings
have lost our way
and we need to be
reminded
we are one people
not disparate parts
set in a spark
of constant conflict.

Hard stone skin
is slightly glittering,
temperature shifting
seasonally,
a place full of friends,
and literary kin.

Carnegie classic
home to the fantastic
collection.

Stairs to the entrance
and a black bannister
on which I slide
even though I was told
so many times
not to.

A sanctuary
from the abuse
a gateway
that I used
to escape my isolation
and find myself
enlightened and amused

friendly fictions
books well bound
my little safe space
in a redneck town.

Soon it will change.
They are not tearing it down
but building a better building
near the outskirts of town

But to Sarah, Kathy
Karen, and Tammy
whether you know it or not
you are my family
and though things change
as they always will
this was my home.

Orange lines
interrupted
by gray road
charge forth
falling under
my crimson car
as I drive on.

Rusted metal parts
change color
then flake off.

The struts shudder
as they bounce over
decent sized bumps.

Like an old man
the grassland
changes color
from vibrant
to dry and dying.

Still I keep driving,
keep trying
to get to the same place
that I went to
yesterday
at the same pace.

You break me beautifully
split the fabricated flesh
that once felt like silk
under your soft fingers.

The heat is a memory trigger
looking back I figure
all those high temperatures
make a line in my mind
of sensory familiarity.

Sweat on my brow
soaking through
my receding hairline,
wet spots become
darker shades of
whatever color
shirt I am wearing.

No ac because I am
to cheap,
so I sleep
still sweating
with a box fan
pointed towards me.

A gallon of water to drink
and I ride dangerously
on my mountain bike
through countrysides
and city streets
listening to music
that pushes me
with its hastening beat.

Today the heat index
is a hundred and ten plus
very dangerous
to anybody else,
but I have no fear
I have been here
in the clear
summer swelter
for thirty-seven years
and it is kind of fun.

Fare thee well.
Silence may not be golden
but it is the best teacher I know.
I’m a failure but what the hell.
All the lies I told myself
were a way to buy
a ticket out of my hell.

Fare thee well.
I won’t meet you there,
and I am not coming back from
where the streets cross to black
but please don’t cry because of that.
I was always headed that way,
one foot on the road
and the other in my grave.
Planting my spirit
On a broken highway
with my hands in my pocket
and nothing much left to say.

Fare thee well.
Particles passing in space.
It is time for me to go
thrown out with the rest
of this waste
we called the human race.

I loved you, beyond the grasp of words.
The paint brush I used to describe you
Was weak and withering
Needed re-configuring
Cause you were boundless

I loved you dangerously
Even when you hurt me
Scars and scabs
Nightmares in history
Bleeding insanity
Across the canvass of time.

I loved you even when you hated me.
The outsider, with ***** ideas
The spoken artist broken heart with this
Dark daring dreams
To help heal all human beings
When you were already so happy
Being subdued by propaganda

I loved your expressions
Your poetry, your sketches
Your philosophy and science
Your rejection of dogmas
When you had the strength
To reject them.

I loved your filth
Desire and rage
Lustful urges
***** thoughts
*******

Even when you beat me down
Like a trailer trash wife
When you reeked of hatred
Stunk of consumerism and racism
I still loved you

Even when I hated you
For breaking my heart
With all the bombs
And violence
When you turned my hopes to ash
When I watched you flash past
And finally come back
From dark ages to enlightenment
And back around again and again
I still loved you

I still love you

It is this world that makes me weep
Broken bodies and burnt babies
Exist in fiery moments
Then digital references
Etched in the bloodiest corners
Of humanity’s mind

And I find that I am to weak
Too tired to speak
To many thoughts to think
Ideas on how to link
That which is already connected

These invisible strings
How you forget them
Denying that we are part of a collective

Violence is a ****** wound
I stick my finger in
Pulling out viscera
And making paint brushes
Canvassing all the horrors
So you can see the sick splatter art

So you can feel what it is like
When warm becomes cold
When soldiers do what they are told
Without questioning
Playing
With the video game
Bomb dropping
Remote control plane

I cry
A less tempered metal
Melted flesh
That matches this madness
Holding your hand
And hoping
Something of me
Infects the essence of you
With love, peace, hope,
And understanding

I find my humanity
in stories,
in Japanese Anime
and cool manga,
where all those heroes
spring from things
that seem unbearable.

I find my humanity
in far flung fantasies,
of fictional realities
where characters strive to be
better than they were previously,
where they are constantly
working and growing like me.

I find my humanity
in flowing verses of poetry
that sweep stale cobwebs
from my sad cluttered head
and help me see things differently,
which is what my scifi perspectives
also offer me.

Even though, sorrow stains my
poetic flows,
bringing in
cynicism,
and anger towards my fellow men.
Even when people tend
toward hateful trends
of violence, sexism, racism,

somewhere in the art I love
lay similar hearts of
humane ambition,
of nuclear fission,
of dreamers on a mission,
and there my humanity
is frequently restored to me.

There was a man sitting at the docks with a boat as he watched a young boy drown. The drowning boy cried help me in gurgled tones. The man with the boat at the dock sat and said "I will pray for you." He prayed patiently waiting for an answer while the boy drowned.

I believe that the world is blind
Must be ******* blind
Because the horror images
Are so easy to find
You can see the sick disgusting
Blood and gore
Results of war
So ******* better be blind

I belief that the world is deaf
Must be ******* deaf
Because the voices are there
Strangers crying
Brothers plying better poetic wares
Screaming out you better beware
Poetically, comedicly, musically
You have got to be kidding me
When you say you do not hear

I believe this world is *******
Must be ******* *******
Change is overdue
And we cannot undue
The climate calamity
The span of our inhumanity
How the pain spreads
Like bubonic plague
While you walk
Your blue bonnet *** away
Oblivious

I believe in you
Has to be you
You have to choose
Because I can’t do it for you
Perhaps you can see beyond me
Look beyond my fatalism
My sad and painful cynicism
You can’t be worse then I once believed
Maybe you can be better

Have you mastered the art of war?
You, artist of destruction,
poet of pain and devastation,

do you see these bodies
pierced by our technological evolution?
Skin polluted by metal
stretched, torn, and eviscerated.

Mass graves of stillness;

Parents who hope this
is just some nightmare.
Life relegated to rigormortis.
Bone thin, friendly corpses
that touch such fierce coldness.
Photos that beg in black and white
for the shutters to stop.
Instead, we shudder and start
to forget all those body parts.

No ticking clock, just silent hearts;

While you acquiesce
I sit in shadowy corners and obsess
over our well-equipped darkness
as each victim becomes a painting.

Some splatter art spreading
all the shades of red
that they know,
while others are punctured pointillism.

But each body was once someone.
Now they become a hollow chamber
in a soldier’s gun
as a wounded warrior scratches another notch
in their already razor scarred
memory.

Some say it would be great
to go back to those better days
but I remember a younger me
escaping in dreams
but waking in tears
no fears
Only a slight inkling
of my sad self sinking.

I am not certain
if the hurt was worsened,
stayed the same, or was softened.
I only now know
how much I have changed.

Old pains may remain.
heart bled a puddle strange
but so much feels unchanged;
Even though, I am unchained
from those past burdens.

Old pains only find me
in the remembering of
my younger self.

Going back in time
in my creative mind
is like picking a scab
or biting my tongue
I still feel it.

It helps to see
some of what was
but I would not go
back there for real

Baby girl
You put your dolls away
Cause in the modern age
You are just dust and decay
Waiting to wither away
Voice limited by our digital way
PC problems
Facebook issues
And all of your Teddy bears
Still miss you
Furry friends that stood by you
Till your nightmares ended
Softness against a cold hard and bitter reality
Become the fatality
Of our stumbling steps towards
A techno society
And the comforting conversations
We shared with our stuffed animal nation
Flicker and fade into the forgotten
Less technical age

The rhetorical implications
of what we're facing
has us chasing devastation,
but I'm way past the crazy station
and on mile marker mad hatter.

I got no boat to row away with
No time to float and say that this
Is a dreaming play date

I got no plane to hit the skies with
To fly high in the night life
Letting those clouds kiss the tips
Of my wings

But I got me and a little bit of
Daydreaming space tripping stuff
Lying in bed
But in my head
I am everywhere

Fear steals the air
Kills the vibrations
Stops fresh creations

Turning giants
To timid rabbits
Turning gods into
Demigods, and then vapors

Legends fades
The ones we made
Failing to create
Cause we were afraid to fail
So we failed ourselves

Dark lies we tell ourselves
To fit in, but in the end
We take the sunset
But **** the sunrise
We fakes a smile
While we rot inside

Until, one night
The maker’s hands
Turns palsy
And the energy
Fizzles out

We forget to trust
Try to breath
But choke on dust
Dying without the heart
We were born with

The nighttime is perfect.
It is silent while I am working,
etching my thoughts
into strange poetic marks.

Past the heart of the evening
onto what I am seeing
the stars are obscured
by the curves of cool clouds.

A block away I can hear
strangers partying.
Heavy bass popping out
rhythm and rap.
I kind of like that,
so I bob my head
to the beat
as I walk around
the brick side of
this big building.

The AC stutters to life
making me jump.
For second I think
there are strangers
watching me,
but I am all alone.

A red shirt stranger
startles me,
but he’s no danger.
He’s just checking
the ashtrays
for stray
butts.

Three and a half
hours in
and it’s time for
my caffeine friend
to pep up
my lagging steps.

Healthy snack
every other hour
broccoli or cauliflower
and a rotisserie chicken
for dinner,

then when the nighttime
is over
I head home
on the highway
and come back
the next day
to do it all again.

Too ambitious,
too **** vicious,
watches suffering
and thinks
that’s delicious,
I can use it.

Gets the crowed
crowing,
stirring rage
hatred growing,
a perfect way
to stop them
from thinking,
and getting them
drinking
that bitter Koolaid.

Turns a cheap phrase
into a simple slogan
turns a bitter man
into a bomb exploding.

So, the rich men
get richer,
the middle gets scared,
the poor gets trampled,
and only a handful
notice and care.

Little boy blue
Burning in the stew
Cooking piping hot
In a crock *** full of bits
Chunks of me
Parts of you
Boils us till we are done
And eats us through and through

The introductions come
Words phasing
Crossing the barrier of my character
Or at least what she thinks
My character is
Pleasantries are reduced
To simple statements
No observations involved
Only assumptions made
And I do not care enough
To trump their misconceptions

You short haired
soft lipped,
round hips;

You shining eyes
of hopeful poetry
that beckons me
in nighttime
and daylight dreams,
wearing a white tee
without any brand promoting
icons on it.

You fellow snow white
pale skin,
blinding tint
that is matching
mine,
so reflective
that I see
all of time
in each crevice
and wrinkle.

You false hope,
heart of a
never was world
that never will
exist
only making more real
the pain I feel
in this aching loneliness.

Better I bang my head
against that
brown brick wall
till I fall
then let my heart break
with the fake
thoughts of you
who are
nothing but
an ill-conceived fantasy.

A need something beautiful
A sun rise
From the dark skies
Of a starless night
Or a twinkling
Moonlit evening
To distract me from my grief

Give me something beautiful
A playing baby laughing
A friend’s hug
Or kindness from a stranger
To restore my faith
In humanity
And distract me from my grief

I demand something beautiful
For the loss of a beautiful person
Balance for a life no longer living
Cause I do not wish to survive
In a world that keeps taking and not giving

Sleep deprivation,
extreme caffeination,
and frequent urination
to the point of dehydration,
what a dangerous
work combination.

They tell you
That you can be anything
But if you try
They’ll stifle your dreams
If you want to be
The same or different gender than me
If you want to be in love with
Him or her
If you are a boy
Who wants to be a girl
Or a girl who wants to be
A boy
If you try
To beat the lie
To decide
Then you will find
It’s hard to change
With the changing times

Come closer
as the earth’s crust
crunches, covers,
and **** near smothers
all existence;

As clouds conceal
the mad mass
of human tumors,

and hide the high tides
that move
to their moon perpetuated
groove.

Come here and hear
the sounds of nature.
They may not ring clear
but are held dear
by this queer
wanderer.

Come now
and see how
the splendor
of our floating sphere,
this space rock,
is so much more;

Look up
from those
strange screens,
get your *** over here,
stand with me and see
how this world moves
so **** beautifully.

Peace is the still waters
of space and time
that no longer
ripple in my mind,
sweet stillness.

But your boulder
bounces from
the bottom up,
splashing and splattering
all that brain
that matters to me.
Till, I am unable to think clearly.

Peace is a pleasant memory,
a space where I find
a specific a place or time,
and revisit them
when I close my eyes.

However,
your heavy presence
shifts the soil
which these memories
sit in,
and their sediment
is swept away
by the currents you create
when you intrude
upon my day.

Peace is detachment
from toxic connections,
but my heart can’t
release them
when they keep returning.

Tis, an age of knightly lore,
of greasy and grizzled
wealthy nobles
that seem to signal
some sick cycle
of destruction
that they are
desirous for.

Battle born ballistic,
armament physics
of pain causing missions,
missing all mercy
because of their
Machiavelli
machinations;

Mud slickened and sweaty
armor wearing
super smelly
fellowship of fools,
discourteous tools
who ravage
and pillage
poor peasants.

Inflamed by such infractions
I chafe under the yoke
of violence and oppression,
whilst searching other actions
for the slightest scent or sight of
of human decency,

but hope is less then
a liminal sensation,
and there seems to be
no cessation of
humanity’s violent tendencies

Greed is a slippery assassin
That slips in
To insert itself
Into the core
Of our society
Pushes us ever forward
Towards
Our self-mutilation
And eventually
Our self-destruction

The stars cross the grand expanse
Exposed hydrogen bombs twinkling in the distance
While the moon in sheathed
In its’ grey cloudy scabbard

It is a solid ache
Harder then
The chest tightening
Cardiac devastation

Hands shake
While I wait
For the world
To catch up to
My kind of love

Tears fall
Unless I distract myself
The cemetery
Holds more like minds
Than I ever find
In these times

I am alone in a sea
Of self-satisfied idiots
Who think the idiot is me

Muscles melt
Legs bend
Minds tend
Towards fantasies

Chants and prayers
Inaction in subservience
While they let the madness go on
But I am wrong

A child starves
They pray
A war goes on
They pray
Rug burns
And sore *****
Bent over
Waiting for an answer
That never comes
But I am the *******

The rose melts
Painted crimson
In fairytales
Of wonderland

The sun departs
Vacating its hydrogen heart
Leaving me with
Only its darker parts

Cascades of liquid
The coagulating kind
Float inside
My troubled mind

Thus, I wonder
While my fingers tap
Beat for heart
Equal to the first
As it will be the last
Will I ever live to see
Such madness pass

I knew a woman who used be
A beautiful intense kind of mystery
Deep and dark as a star less sky
Who found friends so easily enthralled
By her surgical and creative madness
Red rivers running still, filled with sadness
With the deepest affection I embraced her
Like a little sister

When she disappeared
I feared pain had overrun
The wonder and deliberate darkness
I had drawn so much inspiration from
Keeping my own company
I wept for the loss of a dear friend

So when she came back in
Beautiful Emily transformed  
Into radiant Darrin
Glowing from the growing
The seedling of his truest self
I wept gently, happy to see
How close to happy he could be
Daring to pursue the truth
In spite of those who insisted
He  persist in pursuing a lie
I love how he found the truth inside