I watched her skin
Go from black and white
Then
Start filling out
With color again
Slowly saw the warmth
That had once withdrawn
Come creeping back in
And the pursed lips
Pointed with sorrows kiss
Turned inside out and up again
Refreshed like my favorite web page
Reanimated
Alive instead of stagnant
And black hair turned to brown
Her grey eyes turned to hazel explosions
And the walls came crumbling down
Without knowing
What the showing of such warmth did
I saw my skin start filling in to
I was not smiling
But there was life anew
Brewing and burning through
The dark illusions I was struggling with
I never got a chance to thank her for it
So this is it
A poem of gratitude

Repentance is a pittance
If paid to the church,
But seeking forgiveness
Of those you have actually wronged
Properly paying them back,
Not keeping prisons packed
With some whites but mostly blacks,
Is were wrongs are made as right
As they can be.

Disembodied voices
Sit in a conference call
To convince tellers
To tell people
That credit cards
Are awesome
That it won’t cost them
Much at all
And they can get rewards
Not mentioning
That the percentage
Of interest
Outweighs any rewards
They claim are so great
And if the cardholder is not careful
Heavy debt waits
To chain them to
Financial insecurity
And a job that is cruel
Countering the countenance
Of mankind’s
Desire to be free

Green fields with white lines
mark the marching band’s time
as two rows of three
bright white lights
glare back balefully.

Teenage players push the lines
measuring their manliness,
but it never really moved me
as much as it moved the herd of kids
I grew up with.

So now after they cut the arts,
they debate whether to
cut the yards
that students run through.

After they cut the children’s
one hours of freedom
to create and daydream,
now they want to cut
the football team.

In a hillbilly town
that is where the
white line is drawn,

cause you can take the arts
cut the quivering heart
of creativity
that helps us learn
how to solve problems
uniquely,

but you can’t cut
the concussion causing
sports team,
that would be redneck
heresy.

Man, it is so disappointing.
I get close to exploring
another human’s mind.
A minute or two
passes through
as I share truths
and expect her to
present hers to,

but generally I get
either vehemence
or indifference.
She either gets ******
or merely dismisses
my curious persistence,

and I find myself
alone in a never-ending pursuit
of knowledge
that I never get to share.

Do not wait for me.
As troubling as it may seem
I babble on
breaking brooks
in my stone laden
dreams.

Do not stop
or slow a step behind.
Please proceed.
I hope you find
the peace of mind
that eludes me.

Do not carry me
when I fall.
For I am far to broken
and each shard
of my being
is a dangerous thing
made of
silver and sterling
nighttime daydreams.

Do not worry,
I was in no hurry.
While you rushed into
the death you thought you knew
I stayed behind
to enjoy this time of mine.

Do not look back.
Fear finds its own facts
and sadly I lack
that spark which knows eternity.
Unfortunately, there is only me
here in the moment
on my mud rock
that pirouettes space.

Do not stop.
Go on and rush to death
because heaven or hell
awaits your final breath.
I don’t mind
keeping my heaven and hell here.
Whilst you wither and disappear
I’ll enjoy the crystal clear
running water,
the clean skies,
the beautiful animals
that you cannot take with you
when you die.

Do not worry one bit.
I got this.
Just go on my dear
I’ll rest right here
because this is such
a sweet and wonderful
but one time only life.

The curves swerve
Like a private seduction
Wavy roads marked
For ****** success
Excessive adrenaline
Mixed with hormones
Desire sweating pheromones
Gasping breath
Grasping flesh
Shaking off emotional dust
By satisfying their lust
Spooning in a cocoon
Wanting someone
Two caterpillars
Moaning to become
One
Butterfly
Their parts intertwine
Fairy wings fly
Going up
To come inside
Aawww   Awwww
Uhhhh!

I’m trying
to reduce
the undue
influence
and time consuming
presence
of certain
social media

You were a sweet dead red head
A dream I made up to hide myself
A hope I harbored inside myself
The queen fairy of never was
Safer because you never could have been

Held up by crimson silk strings
Hair tied and dried up but still fluttering
Admirers still gawking and shuddering
At this beautifully dead thing

At night I made up stories
Safe fairytales were I could tell you
How much I loved you
A vessel for all of my hopes

But I threw away those dark dreams
All those horrible but loved things
Must go so they can’t grow anymore
Even though the casket caught I still had to close Pandora’s box

I buried you in my memory to become
And empty dream my dead fairy queen
I never knew you nor will I ever
Perhaps this loss is for the better

But sometime when I sleep
Your specter makes me weep
For all that lost potential

Little tiger
Tiny lily
Blooming flower
Colorful
Purple
In a field of red
Yellow
With a brown center
Sleep during the winters
But please remember
To come home
In the spring

It is a shame
that true gems
are not given
the light they need
to sparkle spectacularly,
whilst dull coal figures breed
contempt and greed,
spreading the diseased seeds
of creative mediocrity.

We mere mortals
are not granted
greats spans of time,
cannot cross
the expanse to find
the coal has compacted
cause the fact is
that practice
will outlast us.

New beauty perceived
will be retrieved
long after death’s
dark and dangerous reprieve
has collected our tired forms,

but I prefer to be
awed by the artistry
that you share gracefully,
exposing exploding shards
of your rapidly beating heart
along with the other parts
that presently bleed poetry profusely.

Time broke the heart of Van Gogh
Wrenched the soul of Edgar Allen Poe
As the ages spoke with words and paints
The romantics yielded up all of their pain
And put it on display in canvasses and pages

On tv it looks so copper clean
Ringing in naked dreams
Living out those picket fence schemes
To get the American bling

Morality is black and white
There are no heroic black knights
The good guys are just
And they just wear white hats

But life is painful
Like a cancer vampire
******* your life force
Pale skin quivering

Dark bags under your eyes
No hair there because of the chemo
Despair and denial on ivy drips
And reality tv made us ill equipped
To handle it

Sometime I wish the tears would stop
That the empathy would vanish from me
That I couldn’t see what I see
See what this reality has made of me

History is white sheets
Red arm bands, fat *******
Uninformed Loud mouths
A canvass that drips wet with my outrage

I sip the last drops of my stimulants
Drop the anti-depressants in the toilet
Forget my docility
Embrace more than half of my hostility

I don’t think much will change
Despite how hard I clamor
Despite the sparkles and the glamour
How I use the language to entertain and inform

This is therapy
In the form of Poetry

Check out the lights
Lets transcend the heights
Of my own imagination
Past garbled salt water
Part boiling mermaid daughters
Asinine aliens
Magic beings
Mystics and monks
Praying to
Diaphanous demons
A Virile and vain vampire
Dating a sparkling tree spirit
A wretched wizard
Hanging with Witty Warlocks
And Witches in weird wardrobes
A Wicked werewolf
Courting
Alluring angels
Naughty Gnomes
Teasing tiny
Pretty pixies and
Frightened fairies
An Unlucky unicorn
Being chased by
Dangerously daring dark dragon
Greedy goblins grabbing gleaming gold
Goofy Gargoyles
Glad handing
Gorgeous goddesses
And a cranky Kraken
Staring at a sickeningly sultry siren
Sitting on a salty sea stone
Trying to eat an enlightened elf
A leprechaun laughing
At a ***** hobbit
Who is trying to ****
A hairy and hostile dwarf

All stream lined in time
Put on a perfect pause
Cause they don’t do anything
They are just fake figurines
Cardboard cutouts
Pretty poems and portrait
Painting in my mysterious mind

Good morning phantom of the far flung sphere,
lovely specter surrounded by space dust,
circular celestial body
that is but a sparkle in my imagination,
may the day bring you blessings
that twinkle like the piercing lights
that ride the evening sky.
I hope dark dreams dared not intrude
upon your restful interlude.
Instead in the place you lay
I hope dreams of love and joy are displayed
and replayed until you awake.

Welcome to
The red white
And dark blue
*******
That owns you

The tax kings
Bleeding you
For better dreams
You will never make it to

It’s true
The wealthy rule
I’m not sure
If it’s a secret cabal

But they take it all
Rake in the money
We make them
While taking more

We feed the fed and the IRS
The justice system
Is the department of property protection
Run by big fat white men

I guess I’m ranting again
But I am tired
And getting sleepier by the minute
We got to many dogs
In this fight
And I’m not sure
If we can win it

That is why this poem doesn’t have
A happy ending in it

Bubbles blow up
dancing in
cold shadows
as multi colored
oil spirals
circle
inside those
soapy dreams.

Fireflies
lite up
late nights
while flint rocks
make shocking sparks.

I sit on
the rough rooftop
looking up
into the dark
infinite,
that same space
that shared
those strange moments.

These thoughts
are carried long distances
between
those strange instances,
a pleasant past
of playful moments
that never lasts,
but blast pass
all those broken
memories.

Moderation
Is for drinks and painful pleasures
For cancer causing goods
For guarding against the chaos of
Violence and dangerous behaviors
But do not cut the chord
Do not drop discord
For the sake of comfort
For in her eternal and cosmic glories
In her spatial and endless stories
The raptures and wonders
Are made for wrapping us up
And letting us go
Collapsing into the new dimensions
Of our various art forms

It’s a sorry sick visitation
of your life in animation
cause everything you do
is humorous to you.

Colorful sketches
and comedic timing
set up the words
and keep some
for rhyming,
as Instagram,
Twitter, and Facebook
miming
meant to impress
those who
you think are watching.

Social psychology,
human imagination
puts us in a lie
with our horrible
miscommunication.

So, we watch the blue water
burn with all that fire
wait and see
the ocean bleed
because what we desired
was for people to pay attention
to our overgrown ego.

Body shoved hard
against the metal.
Back cracked
against the lock,
all my books,
knocked, dropped,
and lost
by school mates
passing by.

Rage face curling
in a horrible form.
Like a shape shifter,
I watched her
change faster
then any monster
in movies
or on tv.

So, daily
I wished
to be invisible,
not a superhero
just a perfect dodger
so, no one could see me,
and I could
sit peacefully
reading and thinking
about everything
instead of living in
daily anxiety,
jumping
at the slightest touch
overly alert, and panicking
too much.

The gentle lover listens
Desires to hear her stories
To see her expressions
Read her movements
Unlock the mysteries
To softly caress
Her sloping flesh
To hold her
No roughness
Put flowers to her lips
A paintbrush
To touch
Every inch of  her skin
To begin again
Listening
As her breathing changes
And when she sleeps
Naked beside him
The gentle lover
Slowly covers
His lover with the soft sheet
To keep her safe and warm

Oh, how I wish
my tears
would steer clear
of the fear that
lives here.

I am tired
of the hate
that is inspired
by the spiral
of bad faith
actors working
in accord
with each other
to enhance
the discord
that smothers
compassion.

I am exhausted
from passing
my passion
from within
to my pen,
from my mind
to my computer
and pasting
pieces of poetry
on social media
sites
that profit from
greed and destruction
in the form of
views and ads.

It all feels bad,
and I would be glad
to grab
a long nap
and never have to
rise and see
the violent spree
of soldiers killing
civilians,
while the state claims
that these children’s
suffering is justifiable,
that these horrors
are deniable,
that these lies are viable,
going viral, and capable
of making some lives
less valuable.

You think you know anguish?
You do,
and every time you hurt
I am standing next to you.

With every jagged stained glass tear
that cuts across you tortured skin
bleeding equal part what’s out
to what you keep putting in,
I am watching you.

My kin, dear brother and sister
unevenly met
in the dark places
that I have not visited yet
but I am always close by

When the cold concrete
is your winter pillow
and pneumonia coughs
liquefy your lungs
till, you puke fear and despair
I am there.

When the bomb blast
shakes the very core
of your family values
and your shadows
are more real
then those who were killed
cause remembering
is the worse nightmare of all
just know
I am walking two steps behind.

When your face was red
wearing welts of her rage
bruises and broken ribs
stifling your breaths
while you wished for death,
I was on your shoulder
looking through your eyes
loving you,
wanting to comfort,
and understand you
and the ones who hurt you to.

So, maybe
my light can banish the violence
and joy can spring anew
letting all of you
join me.

They say let’s make it great again.
They say they are American
but I don’t think it’s true
cause I’ve seen our stories
and our histories
and they don’t match like
they’re supposed to.

Seen better men then me
working shifts so long
that their eyes look like
they’ve been cut red with lightning.
At the end of the work day
they strain to stay awake.
Back stiff and popping
but there is no stopping.
They make it home
to see their kids
and do a little playing.
They do a little praying,
hoping that their work today
makes their children’s future better.

I’ve seen immigrants struggling,
learning a language
that is not their own
so, they can work
to buy their own home
and start a little business.
It’s not a dream I would pursue
but I respect the struggle.
Seen that Chinese family
move out and up
working hard and raising children
and in that circle, there is love
cause it’s family that matters.

I’ve seen liars spouting off about
family values
but they do not know
what real families value.
I’ve seen single moms
struggling to escape
the shame of
that so-called welfare state.
I’ve seen a mother of three
working, going to school,
and still making it home in time
to spend time with her kids,
to play and laugh,
to accept and celebrate their strangeness.
I’ve seen a mother staying up late
to hold her troubled daughter
to ease the pain that caused her
beautiful child to do
harm to herself.
I would not trade this truth
for any soft cloth, patriotic symbol.

I’ve seen strangers helping strangers
seen groups of people
putting sand in bags
and bags on top of bags
not to stop the floods from coming
to where they are from
but to give others a chance to live.
I’ve seen
pictures of people who rush into danger
not with guns a blazing
but with bottles of water and blankets,
with food, and shovels,
with hands to move the rubble
digging up the bodies of some
while unburying lost
sisters, fathers, mothers, and brothers.

I do not believe in your America
but if you claim that you do
then you would not do
what you regularly do,
lying about trying to make it great
while your just creating hate.
so, **** making America great again.

I have seen the America you are trying to make
and it is grating.
It is made for flag waving,
bible belt thumping,
poverty, child-abuse, neglect
electric shock conversion therapy
eugenics, lynching, segregation
slavery on plantations,
sexism, racism,
xenophobia, transphobia,
flat Earth creation,
climate change denial,
evolutionary denialist,
police brutality, corruption,
pollution, prisons for profits,
a war on drugs, and
a war on terrorism,
while war profiteering.

Intentional confusion,
dire delusions,
your America is
this paper white illusion.

But we are part of the race
that invented the wheel,
the steam engine,
the radio, the telephone
the tv, the computer,
the cellphone,
the printing press,
the spaceship,
that went to the moon,
put machines on Mars,
that learned to express,
great things in writing,
and painting,

You say let’s make America great again.
I say let’s start the enlightenment again,
start over as a world of friends and kin
hand and hand with grand ideas.
Till we can all feel connected,
and do the unexpected.
Let’s make humanity great again,

I cannot feel free
From being tightly trapped
Tethered to my safety
Safely sequestered
From the dangers
That I once enjoyed

Like looking backwards in a car
Seeing the past flash by
Seeing nature fleeing
Instead of rushing towards me
Watching the night sky
As I lie in the back window
Each twinkle a small pleasure

Like a midnight bike ride
With very little light
In the night sky
Seeing bright white lights drive by
Temporarily blinding me
Pupils constrict
Then dilate again
And I see like the cats do
With minimal moonlight

Like loving someone
And finally asking them
If they want to be more then friends
Heart racing breath waiting
For what might be pleasurable
Or devastating

The man who gave most of his life
working so many early mornings and late nights
gets fired for being too **** nice
should get more than a piece of paper
saying we will not see you later
and don’t even bother coming around here again
should get at least an I am sorry friend
instead of a slip demanding his resignation

The hungry child with a dry scabbed and bulging busted lip
should get at least a silent sorry
from the one who did it
but the bully will not repent or even admit it

A broken building busted in by American bombing
should get at least some sort of silent sorry
Some sort of repented remorse
instead of politicians going hoarse
demanding more and more war

Life is short.
Love is sweet,
so, it doesn't
ever bother me
to see
two men
wearing
mustaches
with
thick eyelashes
making
suggestive
statements
or subtle
movements
about their
shared
*******
affection.

The cloud’s sweat mists
Foggy moon breaking the night
Stars are like evening sprinkles
And in the sweltering heat
The factory repeats
Its strange and haunting beats

The dusty machines spit hot air
Metal grinds metal, the forklifts beeps
The sound barely startles me
Out of my space daydreams
My oddly color ear buds
Making me dull of hearing

A guy speaks at me seeking humanity
Lonely, widower he needs some connection
Fourteen year and tumors will see
His dog finally has to go to sleep

He says he needs another puppy
Offers up skewed observations
About our American nation
I am disturbed but I can see
His heart is in the right place
As he places his thoughts before me

Loves his music but I can’t help but worry
That when I leave he will cease to be
Becoming merely a memory
Echoing ghostly
Cause he is so lonely

There is mud on hands
Deep dark brown
And green stain
The pants as well
Dusty faded jeans
Smoke when smacked
Bruised belly and scraped arm
****** lip from where he slipped
And a little bit of spit
Slightly teary eyes
Slowly start to dry
And laughter
And giggles
And snortles
And running
And bumping
And falling
It is all child’s play
A very messy job indeed

They never play the same song twice
Through the night
The music boxes
Spins round and around
The little ballerina in the pink dress
Repeats herself
Like stolen time
In a pirouette
Two to twenty-nine
And beyond
One song
One song gone
One recollection
The next one lost
One smell
And one scent I forgot
But it never stops
Infinity
In looping clocks
Spectacles with bifocal spots
Melodious
Beautiful
Enchanting
Painful
The memory of music

We cannot time travel.

We cannot unravel
time’s cruel arrow.

We cannot fly
like a sparrow
returning
from whence we came
revisiting old places
that only lay
in our memory.

We cannot replay
the day in any real way,

and by we
I really mean me
because I cannot
go back to see
deceased family
or just steal one precious moment
from my childhood.

I cannot
look at my baby brother
when he was little,
then hug and squeeze him.

All I can do
is remind him
presently
that he
is a treasure to me.

Good men are slaves
to a system
that has them
trying to stay strong,
trying to pay rent,
to feed moms,
and their children.

They do the wrong thing
because they need money
for food, cloths, shelter
for car insurance,
for maintenance, and
for medical emergencies.

So, the goodness,
We would like to see
gets buries out of
necessity.

Kind hands
become calloused tools
and the hardworking man
dies at the plant,
were other good men
are struggling the same
with some minor variations.

Angry Co-worker 1

Don’t sing smile or speak
Firm eyes hold no
Mercy for the meek
The friendly can go to hell
And keep their kindness
To their self

Still stagnant and overbearing
Frowning, never caring
Don’t like any sharing

Can take that attitude
And shove it
All that angry *******
Won’t stop me
From being genuinely
Me


Angry Co-worker 2**

She’s got Jesus on her tongue
But the devil in her lips
Heaven in her dreams
But hellfire when she spits
Straight from the pits
Talking lots of ****
That just doesn’t fit
With how I am equipped
So she can keep
Acting like an angry sheep
And I will keep being me

I am still strange,
haven’t managed
to change
enough
to fit in.

I still enjoy
the comic books
I collected
when I was
a young boy.

I still like
the sci-fi
fantasy
movies,
and tv shows.

I am still
as curious
as the little kid
who hid
and watched
robins
walk
with their
heads
bobbin.

I am still reading
searching,
and pleading,
longing
with aching sincerity
for a world
that will appreciate me,
but I think
that I am too strange
for this reality.

What foul deed
do these fools decree
to submit to this
madness that you see?

Blades of grass,
knives of steel,
bullets that feel
no more or less real.

Pain is reaped
like wheat with
the reaper’s scythe .
As loved one fall
on into
an endless night
while leaders
claim the right
to order us
to fight.

Our fallen kin
lies therein
victim to their whims,
profiting the wealthy
more than the starving
children and women.
While nationalistic rhetoric
leaves stranger thundering
bellowing broken justifications
our new leader elect
just goes on a vacation.

She is who she says she is
Perhaps in another time
Her muscles rippled with a mannish gleam
And her labors where of the masculine
Herculean

But now she is feminine
Concealing her strength
Beneath soft garments
Concealing her past
Under a new name

Genevieve
Who was once Gene
Now is free to be
Who she wants to be

The rooster
Becomes a phantom limb
Split and turned in
Sleeping
How freeing
For her outsides
To match how
She feels within

Thick lips strong chin
Broad shoulder
Deep voice
I am fascinated

It never bothered me
In fact I saw it beautifully
Variety in humanity
Why should you be
Bothered

Corporate engineering with slight color variations
and logo imprintations do not impress me.
Assembly lines do not find or make time
to free the proletariat’s enslaved mind.
They just distract us with delusions of
capitalistically designed versions of individuality.
The fact is unbridled greed can only collapse this
mad consumer society,
because selfishness subtracts the humanity
that got us to this age in the first place.

Thud drip thud drip thud drip
The plaster chips bulges and rips
Tears chunks and moistened bits
From the edges to the other tips
Crumbling as if this is it
Those creaky bits no longer fit
Bent the metal frames till they are ****
Thud drip thud drip thud drip
I cannot sleep through
this
Even with a pillow crushing my ears
I can still hear what I fear
The house is coming apart
Just like me it will all disappear

I am certain she does not love me
the way that I love her
so full,
so poetically passionately,
so self-destructively,
so lovely,
In all her darkness.

A black sun that burns brighter
than any celestial body;
I would let myself burn
to touch it,
to see it I would let
myself go blind.

I hope she does not mind
that I love her so deeply.
I give it freely,
not expecting anything
explicit in return.

Hoping that she
will always be merely
one poem or message
away from me.

Daylight shades
paint the frames
and Instagram pages
with beautiful smiles
and short blond locks
that look out at
the world with
a certain
curiousness.
Snapshot moments
of social projections
pushed out onto
the internet
so strangers
can view
those small lies,
because
these pictures
do not know
or show
a quarter of
the truth.

Behind the
staged displays
of fun and cosplay
there are
dark shadows
with deep corners
where broken hearts
bleed clutching
their bruised wrists
and split lips.
Where blood drips
on the cracked tip
of the kitchen
counter top.

There are
repeated rapes,
cruelty and denial,
honesty rejected,
and despairing.
There is
a sense of
resignation
to not let this
invasion
define her life.

There is abandonment
from those who should have
safe guarded
her pulsar heart,
there is
injustice,
and while
the darkness
has not swallowed
her soul whole
yet,
she still finds time
to give light  
to a friend
who was trying to lend
a compassionate ear
to her.

These photos
do not dare
to chart the depths
seldom shared,
or explore more
then mere outward
pleasantries.

There is so much
left to see, hear,
and hold dear,
deep conversation,
neuroscience
and psychology
discussion
that are enlightening,

so much more
then mere flesh,
or hastened breathed
burnt by
desirous men
and their
unwanted intrusions.

There is dark art
and a heart yearning
for the burning
of an honest
and caring love,
one that runs
from safe fields
searching desperately
for the person they need
to protect
because to do otherwise
would destroy their life.

These photographs
are little lies
that we put out in the world,
smiles that hide
possible fast
or very slow
suicides,
especially if
there is
no one
ever around
to ask
“Are you ok?”
and if not
then to ask
“why?”

Rough wheels run circles
Around a static background
Passing the same horizon
Over and over again
Like some old cartoon
Driving in place
As he races to his next stop
To live unload his next drop
Early bird waiting hours plus
Hoping they can fit him in
So he can hit the road again
Before his electronic log
Locks him down for the day
He brings his paperwork
And waits
He pulls his tandem back
Then waits
Drops his trailer in the door
And waits
Rest stop gas station shower
On the road
Smoke stacks cough up
Black clouds
Yellow lines
Become yellow blurs
Another load down
Another pick up
The road rides him roughly
Home beckons him on
Fifteen hundred miles
To his own bed
Coffee break and **** stop
To clear his head
And the sunset runs seventy miles
An hour
While he pushes seventy-five
Two million miles down
Two million more to end his life

How much was enough
As her daily breaths
Were strains
Each movement
Cautiously taken
In order to avoid pain
With every day
Restricting more and more
Her body retreating
Shrinking into
A thin skin creature
Few ever knew
Spirit crumbling
In waiting
Leaving almost baldness
Goblinesque features
Till the end

I don’t want this dust laden room to become my tomb. However, I cannot abide the outside, a world where lovely flowers still bloom. A sense of sweet smells do not pass through the wooden membrane. Instead, it is the stench of fear and death that wed themselves to my nose.
Children no longer leave their rooms. The streets are far too quiet so, it would be safe for me to venture outside. No one would really bother me, but I am scared, unprepared for anything less than the despair of my self-imposed isolation.
The ***** blue trash can is a quarter full with **** filled plastic bottles, *** covered Kleenexes, and perishables. The metal grate vibrates and clicks as heat tries to press in like an abstract specter. The noise would keep me awake if I ever tried to sleep.
Thirty-four hours is too long. My eyes burn heavy. Sleep would welcome me, but I refuse to yield to that release. Unconsciousness frightens me. I know what dreams might visit me, fictions, and dark fantasies that vaguely recall the painful realities. Perhaps a cup of coffee might save me from those nightmares. I know that I will eventually succumb to the demon of slumber. My dry eyes find water that I did not know existed.” No sleep, no sleep, god please no sleep.”
Memory movies come unbidden. steel breaks glass, metal crunches, someone screams. I shudder as my fingers follow a map of pain from my lower lip down and to the right. “No, no, no, no, not today!” I cry out. Then, recalling the powdered stimulants that I stored in my old book bag I dash up and towards the door, stopping just short of opening it and stepping out to the living room.
“*******, stupid *******, you ******* ******. ****!” I yell as I retreat from the dangerous door.
More tears make a guest appearance on my face. ***** fingers ****** my chipped tooth, pushing it in and pulling it a little way out resisting the urge to cringe in disgust and pain. Till **** and blood pop from the pink gum bubble just under the disfigured tooth. I bite my tongue, till more blood comes and swallow the putrid mixture.
Small shadows slip sideways and back into place as an ambulance rides by my window. My body tremors with a familiar terror. “No, no, not again. Oh god please not again.” A strangled voices weeps. The multi-colored lights of police cars play a strange shadow show on my wall. “Not again, not again.” I whimper.
A thud, thud, thud, thud, sounds to my right, followed by a muffled voice. “Come on man you got to come out sometime.” My fingers fall to a thin scar just beneath my left pec. I trace the scar completely then push against it as hard as I can. Until, my breaths become shallow. “Go away *******, just *******!” I scream back uncertain who I am yelling at.
“Fine” the muffled voice replies in defeat.
“Good, good.” I mumble
Tears threaten to swallow what is left of me. Instead of letting them win I decide
that this has to end. I find a small book of matches, strike the first one and let it burn out.
A small face fills my mind, little cowboy brother. I strike the second one and let it burn  down to my finger. The face returns, and it burns worse than the fire. Mad laughter crackles as heat and smoke fill my lungs.
A shard of glass scratches my left cheek, and I can see my little brothers body crumbled in the passenger seat. I cannot feel the fire burning me. Someone yells in my ear stop struggling.
He tries to pull me out of my room. I punch him in the jaw yelling “*******!”

Now, I am outside. Panic fills every ounce of my being. I struggle to climb back in my burning room.
A stranger yells “stop him.”
I scream. “No, I have to go back in, let me go. I can’t be out here.”
Despite my struggles I am forced to watch my sanctuary smoke and burn, until water squelches the last bits of angry orange.
With the wooden walls now broken, I break to.
“Please come back, I am sorry. Please come back.”
Only the soft sizzle of some nearby ember answers my pleas.
I realize that my photos have being incinerated. There will be no more pictures to help me see my little buddy. The night ends, as an ambulance carries me away. I am strapped in, certain that no happy place awaits me.
A strange thought  come unbidden, and I ask the EMT sitting next to me “do you think they will let me have a padded room. I can’t be outside.”

Is it sad that life lacks the poetic flare
But that is only if you are blind
For I find the flare is everywhere
In the chipped white painted cement ***
Were dead plants lay to rot
In the lightly faded red brick buildings
That businesses reside in
But over head in night times
One can see the light shines
And finds a friendly face
Here perhaps those cracked sidewalks
Were children use to jump and say
That is the way we crack our mothers back
The root that saw such sidewalks rise
Slowly pushing out of the earth until
The sidewalks wears a rising crack
And that is only the nonliving things
That catch my fancy
Wait till you see how nature inspires me

There is blood in that black barrel
Children tattooed with life’s ink
But you think it’s easy to define
What is right or wrong
Red lines of history
Pools of sticky memory
Daytime nightmares
Bombed out
Shell shocked
Trauma etched into their DNA
And there is nothing I can say
To make that okay
No reasoning or words
To write the wrongs away
No speech that can save the day
While children put their toys away
To go and find their friends
Digging in the dirt
Instead of playing childhood game
They’re digging children’s grave

Everybody is nobody
To somebody
A homebody
Aged female
Children gone
Wrinkled skin
Brown eyes
Rotten teeth
Holds tightly
To old memories
As they slip like mercury
Between her fingers
To be forgotten

Tired old veteran
****** back
Body sore
From the last fall
Hurts to breath
But at least
He is still alive
Holding down
The old folks town

The sidewalk ***
Hungry and lonely
Looking for nothing
Affection forgotten
Joys lost to the
Ravages of time

Little boy bruised
Abused
Miss-used
By angry adults
Tormented by other teens
Hazel eyes hold no light
Only finds hope in
Razor blade delights

The middle aged sage poet
Stumbling through life
Half awake
But more alert then others
Wrinkles of pain
Under his eyes
Those bags are full
And sag so deep
That they burn

Not movie stars
Or pop divas
Nobodies
Forgotten remembered
And lost again
Fragile beauty
Breaking with time
People who I claim
As mine
My brotherhood
We are all beautiful nobodies

I think too much,
talk too much,
dream too much,
and write too much
in a desire to
illicit implicit
emotional responses
engineered in
the pursuit of
defining and expanding
the influence of
love.

Though I navigated their world with a poet’s compass,
needle pointed northward towards the stars,
sails set open to capture heaven’s winds.
Clear fabric flapping;
I found strangers laughing
at what I had that they were lacking.

But with the quill of curiosity
and the telescope of hope
to chart the rough waters ahead of me,
I became the sea scribe of humanity
wanderer in love with those
who will never love or know me.

Squid ink to parchment,
I write to the complacent
sending cresting waves of
hope, wisdom, and love.
The seas become the ocean.
My arguments become less cogent.
Till, my heart capsizes
leaving no survivors
in this saltwater wasteland.

Do you ever wonder why
there is a severely short supply
of truly nice guys?

I can’t believe
that you are surprised,
how you cry
about the jerks that
cheat and lie.

There was a gentleman,
a considerate human being,
who was genuinely caring,

but he learned his lesson well,
stopped daydreaming
and caring,
stopped despairing,
stopped showing up
to hear about your bad luck
with the dumb ****
dump truck
of abuse,
that you kept defending
and running back to.

The young one
who had so many
loved ones
run from
him
straight into the arms
of dangerous men
has taken all his
romantic notions and trust
and departed
with an angry and broken heart.

That is where the nice guys
have all gone.

Don’t give me
your troubles
cause I got
my own.

Don’t give me
your reasons
when mine
have all gone.

Don’t feed me
no lines
about the divine.
I don’t need a god
and you won’t
change my mind.