The artist
Because before she is she
She is light
Not some romantic heroine
But more like ******
Dangerous
And addictive
Powerful
She is not a body
Not just flesh
Made to feel
Or fulfill male desire
She is fury and compassion
She is furious in her passions
Not clad in shallow fashion
Not mine to define
But one who shines
Throughout space and time
Part and whole
Of the human divine
A flickering candle
Dangling in the darkness
Trying to help me and you
See through to
What we need to do

Hell while I am at it
Not to be to dramatic
But for every her him
He who was a she
Or She who was a he
For you, us, or them
This is just one mad respect
Poem

Jealous roads
of gray gravel,
cut across
the black tops
bringing back
the dirt and dust
that we track
from the tread
of our black
dead tires.

Gingerly
travelers like me
work
the waves of
winds that
bluster
and brag about
the voices
of the past.

Daylight shifts
to nighttime bliss,
as the melody
of madness and poetry
consumes me.

I know
that it is
time to move on.
Still, I strive to hold on
to hope,

but hope is
the same torn
and tired rope
that I use
to wrap around my neck,
till all consciousness forgets
I ever bothered to exists.

A harden heart
Won’t heal
A Broken bone
Might mend
Flesh maybe malleable
Skin maybe valuable
Joints may be flexible
Soul maybe sexiable
Desire maybe satiable
You maybe able
To overcome
What makes some
Unstable
May turn the table
Maybe a better man
Than me
As long as you retain
Your empathy

After years of bleeding
Seeing society retreating
On oil slick sands
On bible belts
And boy bands
The world is ovulating
Waiting for the impregnation
Of a dreamer’s nation
Intertwine
With an age of the mind

The birthing pangs
Blanking on the dark ages
Yet we cycle back
Again
Rising up from
The ocean’s foam
Then sinking
Deeply into
Their dark depths

Another age of greatness is due
Returning
From the spurning of
Science and poetry

FDR to McCarthy trials
Beatniks to Vietnam
The Roman Empire
To the dark ages
The last sages
Got trampled on the road to war
The great poets
Frequently ignored
But it’s time
For another revolution
Evolution
End of pollution
And the dissolution
Of our greed ran
System man

He who works
with mortality
seeks morality.
To be good,
to be kind,
he walks into
the burning
sands of time
alone.

But a man should not
stand alone,
should find a home,
work out his wanderlust
but settle down,
should have a tribe
to stand by his side,
to be his guide,
when he is wrong
and listen when
he is right.

Perhaps,
I am a fool
who is too far gone
and always wrong,
but how far would I go
to come back home
to my friends again.

Will I always be
one second to late
to see them succumb
to the only true fate?

This is not a depressive poem,
merely a preemptive
elegy for the heart of me.

Between you, me, and everyone in this society
I am not currently smoking leaves or burning trees
But if I was puffing up smoke like the Beatles
Eric Clapton, Bob Dylan, and Bob Marley did
Not snorting coke like our former president
But if I lit up at home when I was alone to get ******
If I had a pound or more of natural plant goods
The kind that Mother Nature made with her green wisdom
The kind that help chemo’s patients and other victims
Of social, physical, emotional, and spiritual ailments
It is not the state’s or the patrolmen’s business
They shouldn’t get me locked up then put me on parole
Then on some list so I can’t get government assistance
When I was just trying to ease life’s tension
And I have to mention we need freedom
From prison as a profit type business
Locking up children for drug offenses
Turning young men into harden criminals
While people making a hundred grand or more
Do not get punished for their narcotics store
Cops keep picking on the poor when they should hunt for
White supervisors who run and ruin other people’s lives
Those punk ******* telling lies
Using the law to steal other people’s houses and pensions
Making drug offenses look like a pittances
But the poor have poor defenses
And the rich ***** our lives like it is a business
Because it is their business to make money from our suffering
So why don’t they go on a hunt for the white rich ***** punk
And leave the poor *** smoking people alone

What does it mean to be

inhaling oxygen
breathing life
into my weary being,

culpable to my constant
throbbing consciousness
as intricate webs
that were once woven
into my mind
crumble to
the onslaught of time?

What stories could be told
about the needle in
the metal garbage bin
in the gas station bathroom,

about the thin
brown skinned
woman
rolling up slow
as I ride my bike
while getting soaked
in the pouring rain
after eleven P.M.,

about the misconception,
the keys clutched in my
tense hands,
a heart of suspicion
that never becomes reality,

about the uncertainty,
if I should be at ease
or stand tightly on guard
while strangers watch
and walk around me,

about the social programming
that even though I know exists
still affects the way I react
more frequently
then I care to admit?

They wrap a bag in a big bad bow,
silk that sparkles in the day’s reflected wonder,
blue that shimmers and waits to plays outside.
Instead the bag hides a steaming pile.
I spit rage and bile cause that vile
package is just one
more piece of purchased *******
one more perfect present
to present
a fake pre-constructed sentiment
of pre-ordered individuality.
It is consumerism, our kryptonite,
which is slowly destroying
curiosity and morality.

Come my dear take your fill
Fatigue will wait as no one else will
Cause I want you naked
Wet with desire

I want to rise and fall
Like phoenix feathers
Burning in my own ashes

Soft bottom pressed against
My thick throbbing flesh
Breast in hand
Though gently cupped
I barely brush the pink areoles
Perking them up to full pleasure position
Mouth upon thy neck
Tongue gently stroking
And moistening your flesh
Your ecstasy epileptic
As you almost swallow my tongue
I lunge inside to feel your wet warm thighs
And fill the wonderful caverns
Of your womanhood

Oh desire is a wretched beast
For you are far to far away from me
So stroke for stroke I fuel the furnace
Your full form in my mind’s eyes
I shoot high
Clinging to the long pillow
As if it was your warm body
And love you lonely from a long distance

There is a longing,
a deep-seated human instinct
that pushes us in to meet
strange people.

Strangely,
technology
has turned me
into a peeper,
legally voyeuristic
with strangers
I have never visited.

I have the delusion
of a connection
because of some
social media intrusion;
Which means
I don’t have to
have a friend
introduce me to them.

I can just chat them up
or watch them
from a cyber distance
with a binary connection
of ones and zeros.

So, this human need
to interact and meet
strangers who are
similar and unique
is satisfied
without any risk
of rejection.

But this is an illusion,
despite my intrusion
I do not know them,

and as this
tacky techiness
evolves
we will
stay secluded in
our sic soft shadows
without actually connecting…
to….to…
User----Offline.

I always circumvent
The strings of fate
The wheels of time
Are mine to spin
To begin turning
Again and again
Twist the ties that bind
Because my life
Will always be mine
Because I will always find
A way to turn a negative
Into to a positive
Life is ten percent
What happens to me
And ninety percent
How I react
How I adapt
That is the only
Matter of fact

When I misplaced my faith
And had to find
Something to ease my
Questioning mind
I studied
Numerology
Astrology
Reflexology
The Chinese Zodiac
Neglected scientific facts
To try and fill the lack
Of wisdom
Looking for some ego boost
In my spiritually void youth
Such a goofy kook
Believed in spooks
Not spies but ghouls
Walked with other fools
Who thought they could cast spells
That they fought monsters from hell
And battled dream demons
It took a couple of years to transition from
One magical thing to the next
Till I finally settled on the logic of
Reasoning
Science
And love
Of humanity
But at thirty four
I got a whole lot more
To learn

It’s a strange sentiment
The desire to shame the intimate
Soft skin to soft skin
Hard muscle to hard muscle
Flower to flower
Rooster to rooster
Animal instincts
Desire to biochemical desire
Tongue to lips
Bear to cub
The wildness is a thing of wonder
Nature is a thing to treasure
Condemn how they feel if you will
But I will celebrate their lust
I will praise their love
And I will embrace them
While you waste you energy hating them

History is a pendulum
swinging perilously
back and forth
over our shared humanity.

Slicing bitterly
at the air above me
with a visceral hatred
for all the good things
I hoped we could be.

Kinder to hater,
forgiving to denier
loving to crier
sharper it slices
cutting the air cleanly
leaving me feeling it keenly.

Wild rhetoric
going viral,
virus of ******* words
spreading like the plague,
a poisonous and bubonic phage.
I struggle to stop it,
this rising tide
of tired tirades,
republican charades
turning different skin shades
into the enemy.

These neighbors are our family,
but the pendulum sees them
separated by the serrated blade,
exhausted by the hate
and violence that blazes.

History returns to sicken
my sorrowfully stricken
heartbeat.

You’ve been lied to
They spied on you
But that’s not half the ****
They used to and still do
To my brown brothers

We are dilluted
Polluted by our sense of separateness
Deluded into thinking
That kinship is a shrinking circle
A stinking cesspool
Generations of veneration of
Lines and boundaries

But bones buried under history
Connect you and me
Her and him
Us and them
No matter what country
Or century we live in

Shop online now
to buy
all of these
interesting
little things,

Like portable
gaming devices
to distract you
from the sad view
of other who
are hurting,

Like t-shirts
that barely fit you
but look cool
and advertise
for your favorite
brand,

Like lite
wireless earbuds
so you can’t
hear us
when we yell
please,

The internet sale
is better because
you don’t even
have to leave your house,
you don’t have to
go to a store
and see anyone
anymore.

Not every riddle has an answer
Some doors don’t have a key
Some people are too far gone
For even the kind hearted to reach

Vacant eyes
Skinny arms
Bruises
Bulges
Broken bodies
But there is beauty left
Somewhere in that tragic mess

Maybe I can find their code
Type it out so they will know
I cry out of love
And that is why I have to go

We are a wall of lost children.
Tiny fingers fixing
the broken pieces
Of humanities innocence
mending her compassion,
sewing the stiches of
goodwill back into
her being.
Until goodness can be seen.
Till the stars look down
flaring with pride
to see our brighter side.
Children of the cosmos
fulfilling our purpose.

I quit
Cause you are not worth
The sea of salted tears
That spill
Assaulting me
You are not worth
The red elixir
That feeds
Your distorted
Vampire needs

I retire
Before my will expires
Because I am tired
Of seeing spires
Of factories
Smoking pollutants
Choking all humans

I am through
With claiming
That the truth
Will set us free
When all I see
Is a bubonic plague
Festering and growing
Tumorous cities
Of infinite stupidity

I am finished
There is not enough spinach
To Popeye my way out
So I exit stage
Flesh and rage
Pull back those skin pages
That life was written on
Letting strangers carryon
As the carrions come
To devour me

Cause I am ******* done

The eerie sunflowers bloomed black and yellow
With dark aspirations to expand their influence
Stealthily they crept across the grassy field
Coming like tiny green stemmed soldiers
No rifles in hand only chloroplast warriors
To find their fond enemy ripping them from their roots
Till the field was filled with their corpses
Scattered petals pleading for mercy that never came
Losing some loved ones to a wicked bouquet
Bequeathed to a beloved who tossed them away
Between the killing field and the black back alley way
Is where those tragic sunflowers lay in decay
Displayed in their grotesque and dying forms

The algorithm we live in
has become the dumb
nightmare we’ve been given,

a constant flow of concessions,
sad contrivances to survive this
cog in the machine existence.

The fight seems pointless
with only minor bouts of resistance.
If history teaches us anything
it is only labor movements,
those unions that win men
woman and children
any real economic equality.

There won’t be any eulogy
for this lie we call democracy,
while men of prestige and property
have been constantly fighting
against those who bring the lightning
of enlightening insights about this fight.

Shrinking borders while expanding profits,
supporting fascists regimes,
whilst demolishing and reorganizing
governments that try socializing
their own country’s resources.

Our local war mongers
want to rehabilitate
the image that people hate
twist and change the slang,
rework and spin everything
over and over again
as the kings of what is truly Orwellian.

They are so close to destroying
the environment and
every human edifice,
every ounce of progress
in the name of
capitalistic measurements of success.

My muse is a decadent goddess
Smart strong and modest
Light brown smooth skin
And twice as delicious, my friend
A smile so charming
That it’s almost alarming
On a scale from one to ten
She is two times an eleven
And better than that
Has the spirit to match

My muse is the early morning
When it is barely storming
Earth soft and slippery
Cold but only slightly
Sun slowly rising
Sound of birds chirping
Deer just outside my door
Been there since four
Trees swaying
I can hear my muse a playing

My muse is a soft jazz song
With no word for me to sing along
Just a gentle sax moaning with pleasure
Piano in the background taking its measure
So deep and sweet that it could rock me to sleep
I smile because my muses loves me
My muse is tranquility
In everything
I hear taste or see
Such an awesome level ecstasy

Though my muse may astound and confuse me
Run from or pursue me
She is always there
She is everywhere
From a child’s eye lit with wonder
To the sight of lightening sounding thunder
Even my once or future lover
From the lips that I may never kiss
To the loved ones I will always miss
My muse is the perfect mistress
So this is a love letter to who
To all my million muses especially you

He say it is his right
To take what he wants
Respect by a bullet
Money by the bank full
And property from the poor
Drunk on false history
Abusing society
God complex in shadows
This swaggering drunk
Takes what he wants
With a little pill in the drink
He puts the world to sleep
***** in hand to demand
What he thinks
He is owed as a man
Robbing and murdering
****** and lying
The courts let him off
The cops call him boss
While I fluster in rage
Watching that *****
Get his way

It is the end. I feel the fingers ****** my skin. Tight and itching, I tear the stitching, undoing years of anguish. Stuffing, full and fluffy, falls out red. Strangers stare, over there, unaware that the tare will expose me. I am ghostly, a ravished cloud, swirling in the troposphere. I am lonely wishing someone else was here. Lightening is my skin, searing, blinding, fierce, and then nothing. It hurts, a certain kind of liquid insanity, all red and furious. I would cry if I could remember how, but the paxil makes me an amnesiac. Not losing memories but forgetting how it felt to feel. My stuffing lay scattered a mad mess as if it never really mattered. I am a tiny teddy bear.  
Someone screams, and I laugh. Smirking as if I am in on some joke they know nothing about. Stupid people rushing about. My arms become heavy, I am trapped. Still, I laugh because soon I will have beaten the trap. A sick black liquid is forced down my throat. I throw up charcoal, is my blood now charcoal?
Tiny, tiny strings, sing jingling, leave me laughing. I won the race. I doubled down one razor blade and bottle of pills.

The American dream
Is a Bentley
With some shiny thing
Selfish arrogant human beings
Wanting more and more

While some places could use a doctor
Plumbing of any kind
Would be mighty fine
And something to eat
Well that’s like a treat

The American style
Has us throwing good clothes away
No need to save
Or share
No need to care
For someone else
Only numero uno matters

In other places races just wish
That the police would cut their ****
Stop pointing guns at them
And shooting their children
Or that local warlords
Would leave their children be
Democracy is just a pipe dream

The American way
Strives to separate us
In competitive groups
Desensitize us
And dehumanize the other

In other places people share
Out of love
What little they have
They are glad
To give to another
So who is civilized?

Genius is meant to grow
Instead dead ideas
Are spread like plagues
Wandering rats raid
The minds of the working class
Plundering their pocket books
Stealing time while filling their minds
With bile
Pockets of putrid **** swell
Filled with hate and fear
Tainting the clear ideas
Steering the flow away from
The expression of
Grand thoughts of science and art
And towards competition
Bitterness and regret
For a world of material goals
We have not achieved yet

For every cell of skin
That fills without
To love within
Powder blush
Purple brush
That paints their face
I find the only place
I wish to race to
Is beside you

With every ***** babe
Model or pageant queen

I find only you rule my dreams
My nightly and daytime desires
My masturbatory fantasies
Tight lips
Tasting your powerful tongue
Wispy word goddess
Dark hazel eyes
My thoughts do not lie
They hold no surprise
Only the years of affliction
Facing such an addiction
For which I would
Sell the world to feed

You are my need

He sculpted reality
Shifted melted metal
To shape a better world
The hand of man

She sculpted flesh
Growing cells
Pygmalion of the womb
Suckling and nurturing
A newborn

He made madness
Mimicking solar explosions
Destruction
Death

She gave birth
To generations
Yet veneration
Was given to the masculine
Man made god a male

The progeny turned upon
The progenitor
Male propagated pain
Female yielded the fruit of life
In all forms of adaptation

Though I reject gender division
In societies expectations
I would prefer a female god
Giving birth
To the damning male model
Condemning all those who live on
This beautifully evolved Earth

The preacher wants to send me to hell
The politician, the guards, the lobbyist and the
Industrial prison complex wants to send me to jail
See me suffering in a cell by myself
Or with another victim of this sick system

The church claims I am the property of god
The states says this inmate is the property
Of the federal corrections dark system
Prisons which now work to turn a profit
Turns prisoners into assets and still costs us
Taxes, corporate criminal practices
Give more freedom to the businesses and businessmen
While they condemn me and my impoverished friends
Tell me where does this injustice end

Not with a blade
Nor with blood on my hands
But with wisdom
And compassion
May I be tyranny’s end

With poetry and prose
With the ink and the rose
With an inkling to know
Just and unjust
Right from wrong
May I be tyranny’s end

With love
Not a bullet
No bombs to blow through it
No glass shattered or metal disfigured
This is what I figured
May a revolution of words
Be tyranny’s end

We are human
Walking traumas
Left untreated
Open wounds
Being leeched
To treat
The wrong fever
It is incongruous
Being inoculated
Against the wrong disease
Vaccinated with apathy
So we don’t feel
The sores that bleed

But you have to laugh

We are mortal
Not merely men
Nor women
More like
All the things
Around and in-between
Searching
Sub-consciously
For peace
Trying to sustain ourselves
While losing
Everyone else
Crying

But you have to laugh

We are little boxes of flesh
Lego people made to fit together
Chipped
Scratched
Lost and found
Each stress tearing at our flesh
Rending our skin
Like a thresher
Building internal and external pressure
Till we need release
****** and or emotional

But you have to laugh

Ready to cry
Sometimes
We are ready to die
Till the brain twitches
Till the broken switches
Leave you in stiches
And you see something strange
Irony or absurdity
Life twisted in its purity
On the verge of exploding
Not really knowing
But something hits
Something fits
Presses the right button
Slapstick
Stupidity
Intellectual curiosity
Sanity flipped on its heels

But you have to laugh

A chortle a choking gasp
The tension breaks
The air whooshes past
You have no control
You have to laugh
The world doesn’t change
Much
The feelings are still there
But with each laugh
It gets easier to bare
It’s a chemical reaction
With endorphins and stuff
But I don’t think you care
It’s just what you needed
To fight off the despair

So I say it again you have to laugh

Time is
moments measured
by manmade devices.
Or is it?

Such a fine affair indeed.
Anyone can see,
that hidden in the grays and white
there is a shining light.
You are a form to be treasured
and I am pretty sure
that if the camera could give you words.
It would whisper

"I love you more than I can picture."

Hope is the last refuge
of the broken and bruised
the painfully confused
who feel ill-used
yet hold on to
a chance to renew
the positive that is
long overdue.

Hope is a smile
that breaks tears
causing some to fall
and others to disappear.
It is a fool’s game
of poor predictions,
bets placed from
bad positions
but still sustain
the lost
and unforgiven,
those painfully driven,
living in the dreams
of what good things
tomorrow might bring.

Hope is a trinket
saved despite the need to eat
so, that when this homeless man meets
his long lost loved
he can give that gift
to the man he misses.
It is a warm spot on
a sidewalk vent,
a hand offering two dollars,
a stranger offering conversations
to break the cold blindness
of this windy winter loneliness.

Hope is daylight
to a prisoner who
moves to make things better
in an unfair system,
an institution
that tries to turn them
into numbers,
less than human
equal to dollar signs.
It is consuming all that bull
running down that rodeo clown
goring him to the core
and making it out
of that gated door
before idiots slam you
back in again.

Hope is a good ear
and a mouth shut
someone who hears
what other people
need so badly to say.

Hope is the lessons
that I have learned and lost
found and forgot
given and taken.
Whether I was right or mistaken
fool or genius
hope is the stream that
swims between us
in shared language,
in shared body movements,
in shared history.
It is the energy
that directs us towards
better days for
all people.

Hope is good
not necessarily
making its lack evil
but it is what people
need to get by,
a reason to stay alive.

Hope is transitive,
equal to what we do
to make dreams reality.

Ultimately, hope is the promise of
compassion yet to come.

The night sky
settles in
as I sit dreading
the deep thoughts
that lurk beneath
the memories
that are pursuing me.

Fierce figures,
hungry, starving
like some monster
making mortal men
run away screaming.

My heartbeat bounces
like a bunch of black balloons
in a barely lit ballroom.

Heavy as a hammer.
I do not stammer,
just run much faster
trying to be a better planner,
and a well mannered
warrior.

I strip the flesh
from the beasts I know
trying to build
a better ego
cause I know
I am worthy,
even though
doubt still
hounds me.

Early morning
gets me moving
rushing to get to
the gym
then work through
my afternoon
shift.

But a rattle in
rusted metal
is making me
stressed as can be.

Every noise
causes me
to catch my breath
and listen closely
while trying to avoid panicking.

My red rover road rage
dodge neon clinking
Is getting me thinking
about how much
will be enough to fix it.

Billions of years before humanity
Before Neanderthal fell on the scene
Before the big lush trees and falling greens
Before the protoplasm spasmodic things
The intermittent glowing growing proteins
Before there was darkness and empty space of potential
Before there was dense matter waiting to explode
Expanding mass waiting to flow
Ever outwards were stars would grow
What came before the big bang
Is what I would like to know?

I don’t encourage the courage it takes to blow up a building
Or respect those who expect blind obedience
The factories that distill human suffering for profit
The gasses and poisons that are toxic
The philosophies and doctrines that make humans compliant
To higher authorities without reason and logic
People becoming socially caustic
When compassion is traded for competition
And the fit don’t survive cause the trick is
This sickness is a symptom of human corruption
Greed infecting and spreading hatred and resentment
Neighbors aren't neighbors but gladiators in the pursuit of success
Better cars, better houses, better jobs, better spouses
Denied contentment’s peaceful breath
Tricked into thinking we get more than this width and breadth
So it’s okay to play at barbarity to dress up the bombs with flags and prosperity
And our masters have the right to decide who we should and should not fight
After all even though we were deluded we colluded with our own oppressors
While they trade secrets with our supposed enemies
Sell weapons to allies turn allies to adversaries
And even though we think we chose this
We the people did not accept this sort of justices
We did not vote on this democracy, we the ill-informed masses
Illiterate in the true art of classes and rich distinctions
Of those who seek their own advancement not our improvement
Corporate sociopath with little empathy for the welfare of others
Smother our sister and brothers under the cover of complacency
And what really bothers me is that I am just as much to blame
I coat our pain in pretty words thinking pettily that I am helping
But in the end I am only helping myself feel better for doing **** near nothing

I am as fit as a fractured fiddle,
with my wooden cords galore
that don’t make a sound anymore,
and a neck like wet cardboard
that is ready to fold and fall
on the bathroom floor.

Scattered things like lost souls
Scream their futility.
Trinkets and trash charged with endless possibilities.
Illusions of how life could be better so,
I collect scraps of waste masked as human invention
New technologies, toys, and other luxuries
Drive that dark spear of desire deeper into my being.
Want is a sickness, a fever that cycles on and off.
I have I want, I want I need, I need I get.
I get I have, I have I want, I want I need
A scary situation and in its pursuit
I place myself in painful positions
Paying with large chunks of my life.
I get more and as it become easier.
My urges get stronger and stranger,
Joy becomes that much harder to find.
Get it get it get it get it get it
Buy buy buy buy buy buy
Till the pile stacks up so high
That I live and die inside
The world of crap I bought.
Once I start it is hard to stop
And I become the sole possessor
Of this sick collectors disposition.

Today was a lazy day
Shameful play
Not working at all
Just shoveling ****
Down my throat
One unhealthy calorie
At a time
One thirty minute
Show at a time
One video game
To ease my mind
No books
Just sleeping
Not much thinking
Just peaceful dreaming
Ashamed
Because I was unproductive
But sometimes
People just need to veg out

She is a small brush fire,
a lifetime set ablaze
reddening skin
melting and swirling
in outrageous agony
as she contorts herself
to accommodate everyone.

Unsettled and unpredictable
constantly turning
the tables on herself,
one minute she is
dancing in a tapestry
of manic happiness,
then in the next
she is obsessed
existing in a heightened state  
of anxiety and sadness.

The bright lights illuminate
brilliant displays
of personal pain
that explode on the stage
as she reads her
tragic truths
in poetic verse.

So, she plays with
more matches
spreading the flame
by sharing her pain
till everyone else
burns the same.

I never cared for the old days much
Reminiscence is for the lazy romantics
Spitting phrases like
Life was so much better then
But history remembers
Hungry eyes
Starvation
Consumption
Poverty that would shake a romantic’s soul
Dysentery
War
Poxes
More war
Madness
More War
Greed
More War
More War
More War
Maybe times haven’t changed that much

I dig Joe Rogan
Suheir Hammad
And Alix Olson
Truth seeking
Artists

I dig Howard Zinn
And Noam Chomsky
Dead intellectuals
Truth seekers

I dig Marty
McConnell
And Jason Carny
Poet lovers
Of Humanity

I dig Shakespeare
Mark Twain
Edgar Allen Poe
Emily Dickenson
John Keats
Percy Shelley
Ginsburg and the other Beats
Writers and poets
I will never meet

I dig The Daily Show
The Colbert Report
The John Oliver Show
The Young Turks
News and fake news
Comedy Shows
That expose
Deep truth

I don’t dig me
Always
But I like you
And all the potential
You hold
You are not a black hole
But a blazing star
Waiting to blow
Waiting to be born
The only good form
Of a hydrogen bomb

That reminds me
I dig Einstein
Tesla, Da Vinci
Gandhi Thoreau
Bruce Lee
Great Minds
That are dead

My list goes on
Forever in my head
So instead of
A dissertation of love
I would like to know

Who do you dig bro?

After years of bleeding
Seeing society retreating
On oil slick sands
On bible belts
And boy bands
The world is ovulating
Waiting for the impregnation
Of a dreamer’s nation
Intertwine
With an age of the mind

The birthing pangs
Blanking on the dark ages
Yet we cycle back
Again
Rising up from
The ocean’s foam
Then sinking
Deeply into
Their dark depths

Another age of greatness is due
Returning
From the spurning of
Science and poetry

FDR to McCarthy trials
Beatniks to Vietnam
The Roman Empire
To the dark ages
The last sages
Got trampled on the road to war
The great poets
Frequently ignored
But it’s time
For another revolution
Evolution
The end of pollution
And the dissolution
Of our greed ran
System man

No labels
And you are afraid
Uncertain how
You should react today

A person can’t simply be
Because you are uncomfortable
If you can’t call them
He, or she
Black, Asian, or white
American or foreign

Must have some social cues
To give certain social clues
So you can perform
Some standard dance
Instead just treating people
Like human beings.

I need the night
The lack of light
Let’s me focus
The quiet
Let’s me focus
Engaging
The inner me
The inner beauty
People have yet to see
I need the night
Because it lets me be
Free

Every single sentiment
you sent to them
was sediment,
evident deposits of
your oceanic scale of
intellectual love
that ran off from
the river it existed in
passing from
the predetermined pathways
of those intelligent waterways
and settling in a new sea
of salty perspectives.

Hey little brother
Our love for one another
Wasn’t born of blood
But built up
From the birth of
Your very first breath
Seen in polaroids
Of your precarious venture
Into this life
It was formed in time
Spent playing
And babysitting
In letting you win
At video games
Until the day
I could not beat you
It was in weightlifting
And *** smoking
Till you grew up
Without me knowing
Changed and changed some more
Angry and hurt
To religious and forgiving
So this a remembrance
Dear little brother
Who is a little bigger
Than me
Verses to remind you
That when you say I love you
I will always love you to