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

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

I want what devastates me

Sugar so syrupy sweet it sickens
Red liquid slows and thickens

Black lips painted poisonous purple
With thin lines of strychnine
My fair long haired Mary
Marvelous Magdalene
And terrible Typhoid
Saint and Succubus of lusting frenzy
Draining the core of me

Morticia the Mortuary Queen
With fatal fingers that feel
My moist internal organs
Throttling my throbbing heart

Dear black orchid
Princess of the pentacles
Funerary eyes of fire
Waking Walking Death

Yes she is so bad for me
Still, I want her so deeply

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

Again they strike
like sharks smelling blood
shredding the skin of night
with bullets and Van lights
burning the insides
of the innocents
who are unable
to find a safe place to hide;

But I still get to live my life
parse out a few sincere tears
for those who will never
get to go home again
for those who
I will never meet here.

These tears fade fast
and disappear
as I watch my shows
and eat my late night lunch.
I know they suffered.
I should feel more,
but time continues.
This pain is but a minor
selection on life’s menu
supplied by the internet venue;

And I am so Self-absorbed
that over half of this poem
is about me.

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

America has been feasting
on that Billie Holiday strange fruit
for so long,
drinking that thick red wine
straight off the long thin vine
of mankind’s suffering,
profiting from people losing their sanity,
gaining from the loss of our humanity.

Black as that sweet star sparkling night,
mothers, and fathers denied the right
to stand up and fight,

bullets to the back
as they try to enter their own houses,

bullets to the side
right in front of their children and spouses,

bullets through the heart of a child
in the middle of his imagination,

bullets through her bedroom,
no space to escape
not even some safe head room:

All that agony and desolation
to be constantly facing
violence and degradation
from the so-called authority figures
who only see another dead ******.

Blue lives, white supremacist guys,
proud boys and Neo Nazis
have grown obese.
These foul ******* beasts
have eaten the heart and soul of us
right off our bones and thrown
the rest to the scavengers back home.

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

The dark window pane
reflects shadows of pain
reflects the stains
that shaped my being.
Even, if I am uncertain
who he is.

Is it the violence of the past
the blows that came so fast
that shaped of our present mind?

Does time find difference
flowing awkwardly through our memory
shaping our perceptions of what is,
was, and will be?

Am I who I am because of what I’ve seen?
For each second ever changing
personality rearranging.
I stand wondering
am I a good person?

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.

I am Bacchus intoxicated letch of the Greek Gods reborn.
In my drunken stupor I have fallen many times;
Succumbed to the charms of Goddesses reincarnate.
From the strict slick ice queen Shiva aka an engaged Christina
Destroyer of my soul, and its inspiration at the same time
Made me feel like your lover, should’ve seen the pain coming
Never should have let you in. In one fell swoop you cut my spirit.
With a cold stares you stabbed my stubborn stone heart,
And made me bleed agony like wine from a bejeweled chalice.
Christina, of all who cut me few had touched me physically.
You were hard to overcome, my cheap and ***** maiden.
Pale flesh tarnished with your many affairs before and after me.
Within a year’s time you had severed the emotional chord,
But there were others like the goddess Discord shifting seamstress
Of light and dark, daring dangers to inflame my heart.
User, trickster I will never really miss her, and her name will not be spoken.
My affections for her were merely a passing token. What a relief
That I never loved that immoral immortal ****** thief.
Amanda oh Amanda. My idiot Athena. My warrior queen.
My military goddess. We never consummated our love
Because you never loved me. With a whisper and a line
You kept me holding on; let you go one day and the next you would phone
Came back different then when you left, like a new you grew
From Zeus’ skull more powerful, darker than before.  For you I ceased to exist.
Rend my heart to pieces and instead I wished that I was dead.
That all those feeling could be shoved aside and never again remembered.
That your apathy had been fury and in your rage I was dismembered.
Jessica my dear Demeter harvester of my strange and deranged soul.
You were the first to slake my ****** thirst, hour lost to carnal lust.
I am sorry, that I was wired wrong and your love was not enough.
You deserved more than I ever gave you and of all my loves,
You are the only one who ever loved me back, so I am sorry.
Farther back than that is my greatest love swift and strong Artemis.
Actually I hope you never read or even see this.
Holly so holy a dream. With ***** red hair and freckled flesh,
With a kind heart that I will never forget. The first friend there to inspire my love.
The first soul I adored. You never wounded me, never scarred my heart
Never used, or abused, abandoned, or confused me with mind games or forgetfulness.
I will never touch you soft skin, or make you smile, but most of all I will never forget this
Yours was the first, the strongest, the deepest, the longest river in my heart, and the highest kindness.
For that you have many eternities worth of my love. The greatest goddess of all maybe
Your were actually Aphrodite.

He will suckle
and spit
drinking blood
from your ****.

He will spread your legs
and leave
an unprotected present
deposited
past your ****
once he climaxes.

He will claim your womanhood
and demand that you submit
to his weakness,
calling his faults
dominance and confidence.

He will prey upon
ancient insecurities,
that subconscious programming
because you do not know
your own binary coding.

He will trick you into
drinking your resistance away,
plant his pin *****
in your fertile crescent,
and if you try to erase
that lifelong mistake
he will claim
that you are a sinner.

Subdued you will
sublimate your will
and fulfill
fifties sitcoms
housewife fantasies
for a family,
sacrificing all your dream
for the man who schemes
to enslave you.

My pen cries wax tears
dripping on the floor
from the bedroom
to the bathroom door.

While you lay sipping
sweet intoxicants
I walk, partly slipping
trying to reach your side
trying to believe the lie
that love exists somewhere.

But someone else sings for you,
while my heart bleeds the truth.

The white crow flies
laughing in the night,
“Never was and never will be
you will never ever catch me.”

It may hurt to tell ourselves the truth
To seek out our imperfections
And mark them not for reproof
But for the chance to self-improve
It may sting to hear the facts
May cause our spirits to crack
But we can build our foundations back
And be better for the truth
Cause we are never better for its' lack

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.

The struggle is futility
Patient people play the part
Of impartiality

The wiser are restraint
Castigated for their intelligence
Castrated by their class

A classless struggle we abide
Poor children barely manage
To survive and seldom thrive
Not given access to the tools
Of excellence

But we wield the sword of obsolescence
Antiquated ideas put on the same level as
Modern machines and moral philosophies

Broad language discarded for
The disinfected nature of stupidity

Our language is censored
And free thought is crippled

Thus to succeed we must
Write to their level of understanding
So they can understand it

Which means we do not expect grandness
From the masses
That we underrate what they are capable of

The papacy’s power is palatable but detrimental
The Popes presence sends his parishioners
In to servitude as they submit to the
Sublimation of their identity

Unable to identify the truth from the lie
Unable to separate the flock from the I
I become the villain
For stating these things

So I drop names like Darwin and Thomas Paine
I wear the scarlet letter of poet and philosopher
Of Supplicant to science, Of literate romantic

I the son of Percy Bysshe Shelley
The son of Twain and Poe
The Son of Shakespeare and Baudelaire  
The son of logic and poetry
The lost ******* of peace, love, and understanding

I leave the eve of man’s ill behavior
To see the seething corps of corpses
Rise in ignorance strive for pestilence
With hopeful hate in their eye
To perpetuate the self-fulfilling prophecies
Of all types of apocalypses

But in the end it will be I that am despised
Thus if I must be hated then at least
Favor me with this tiny justice

Like Galileo, Giordano Bruno, and Copernicus
I will wear chains well earned
There is so much knowledge to be had
So learn, live, love and then learn some more

It is just a word,
This nameless tide
That we decide
Should give us pride
This piece of land
We portioned off
With weird
Property lines
To define
What is yours
And what is mine
Who we are
And who they are
It could have been
Called anything
The name does not
Make it distinct
Nor craft a creed
Of perfection
For the world to see
Because it is just a small piece
Of a bigger thing
With a different name

We were born to die alone in the dark
A dissected corpse, a desiccated heart
Loose limbs tightened with rigor mortis
Broken bones and emptied bawls  
Becoming a morticians doll
To be posed and paraded before
Our loved ones

The war is coming rising rivers of dark red blood will be spilt, stop
Innocent lives spent in the pursuit of greed, glory, and hate, stop
Machine gun turret, grenades, poison gas, planes, submarines, stop
Bullet, blades, blood, enemy-entrenched, death in the mud, stop
Children becoming men before their time dying on your dime, stop
Next war, with oh so many new ways to terminate life, stop
New technology, modern mass media telling us how to feel, stop
Building bombs to **** one another leaving behind crying mothers, stop
Bigger bomb tap that atom go out and get those yellow *******, stop
Pandora’s box opened up with bitter metal bearing baring hate, stop
Two cities decimated, burning the earth, Heaven cries black tar tears, stop
The cycle continues from war to war the tragedy never seems to end, stop
Human horror, I am begging for the love of all humanity please, stop

The wind whistles hard
in my own backyard
with a haunting tune.

No birds fly by in
the afternoon wind
cause the sky’s ashen
and the past won’t come
back in a flash again.

Who is to blame
when the reaper
comes to claim
the body from the flame.
That’s a deadman’s game.

Corpses sit in their
own piles of ****,
with no one left to
remember all of it.
The rot and the rage
killing king plague
that took over this place.

Who is to blame
when the reaper
comes to claim
the body from the flame.
That’s a deadman’s game.

Poison in the ground,
silence is the sound
that’s most harrowing,
rivers run their course
but time finds hope
always narrowing.

Who is to blame
when the reaper
comes to claim
the body from the flame.
That’s a deadman’s game.

I will be the last
child to tell you of
our strange tragic past,
the final recorded
voice that afforded
no hope or recourse,
cause life is the wife
from which we all got
a final divorce.

Who is to blame
when the reaper
comes to claim
the body from the flame.
That’s a deadman’s game.

You raise the flag of rage.
You rise to spit your hate.
I feel the venom of your pain.
Why do you spend it that way?

Please don’t make me bury my brother.
Soft dirt moved to fully cover the
dried brown ground they put us all under.
Please don’t make me bury my brother.

You’ve got loads of bullets.
You’ve got armor piercing type.
You’ve got the will to spend them
and reap their red counterfeit.

Please don’t make me bury my brother.
Soft dirt moved to fully cover the
dried brown ground they put us all under.
Please don’t make me bury my brother.

You say that you’re an American patriot.
You say you’re a cowboy soldier.
You say you want to save this country
with the blood of those who oppose you.

Please don’t make me bury my brother.
Soft dirt moved to fully cover the
dried brown ground they put us all under.
Please don’t make me bury my brother.

One day you will have to face it
all the hate and faith you misplaced it.
Bullets spray shred red rays right through it
when you finally make me do it.

Please don’t make me bury my brother
Soft dirt moved to fully cover the
dried brown ground they put us all under.
Why do I have to bury you my brother?

I hear there is fear in your mind
The deep-seated preprogrammed kind
The kind that has soften slightly over time
From the cursing and calling negros mongrels
To the stereotypical fox news type portrayal
But it is a betrayal of our human nature
The denial of the better evolved brain
It is the maiming of our society
When we regress to the repressive ways
That we sought to overcome in our younger days
Some say things will never change
But the blood to brain-dead barrier can break
The rational can take hold with old and new love
With new scientific studies of all of us
We forgot that the legions are us
The whale beneath the boat
The behemoth that works and votes
The labor force that runs this country
The union of humans striving for a better world
That is us, in every tint, gender, ****** identity
Under each layer of skin there is a piece of me
And behind every strange shadow or reflection of myself
Is someone else different but in all the ways that matter
The same

It is a lonely life to live
And I would seldom recommend
To the weak of heart
But for the hopeful
I commend this struggle
Stirring younger men
To live learn and grow

Perhaps leaving family behind
In the pursuit of the mind
Paying dues with isolation and time
Finding your muse rightly used

But facing a nation racing away from
The acquisition of knowledge and wisdom
A society determined to remain blind
In Plato’s Cave slaves still obey shadows
Sniping at those such as yourself
Who struggle to expand and include
All things within and without

Till the wanderer comes home
Alone better not bitter from the journey
Open and ready to share
Hoping the world is ready to care
About such wonderful things

I know I won’t be here forever,
and I am just wasting away,
watching politician playing their games,
play acting outrage while preventing change.

There is a no place for my face
that shifts and distorts from the pain
that I am forced to witness over and over again.

I’m not the cleverest
but stating facts makes me feel like
I’m trying to scale Mt. Everest
while screaming against the bitterest winds,
like I am going to have to watch all of my friends
slip off the top and drop nonstop
until our whole civilization ends.

I’m just dressing my heartbreak up in
stark sparkling words meant to
amuse and enlighten all of you,
until the same fate catches up to me to,
and my legacy disintegrates
with the rest of the human race.

It is private,
inviolate.
Yet, I intrude,
dress up and abuse,
take their suffering
as my perfect muse,
take dark interludes,
and use them as cues,
as tiny clues
that lead the way
to make poems great.

Sorrowful inflections
become wordy reflections
worked to perfection
for my ego’s elevation,
for the ecstasy of creation,
and this drug I imbibe
gets me super freaking high.

Tears and stress,
bodies undressed,
hearts exposed
and in taking those
I become criminal.

Liminal moments,
seconds stolen
for the sake
of verses swollen
with emotional clarity.

I claim sincerity;
That I write these lines
to help closed mind
break the barriers
between truth
and what emotions mean.

But as these words meander on,
I wonder is it right or wrong
to write the painful songs
that do not belong to me.

Bckkkkkk

Lightening splits the sky
Cracking the horizon like
Shards of shattering glass
Inverting and reflecting
The alternate dimensions
Severing the ties of reality

Bckkkk

White strings of energy
Sparkling and crackling
Time no longer shackling
Space no longer tethering
Nothing belonging to me

Bckkkk

I can almost feel the thundering
As the vibrating sensations
Touches my inner ear canal
It is frightening how easily
The lightening could consume me

Bckkkk

But the wonder of its thunder
The blunder of its destruction
Cutting sound and ground spitting dirt
Causing the earth to hurt
As it explodes one way or the other
And all I can really say is

Bckkk Bckkk Bckkk wooooshhhhhh

This would be cooler if it was really raining

Art knows no racial borders
Nor any ethnic boundaries
It doesn’t give two *****
About gender lines
Or ****** borders
Art bleeds and blends
From the deepest darkest ravines in the south
To the highest and whitest tundras of the north
It ***** with love in all of his most tender corners
And with all of her naughty spots
It flows from one gender to the next
Intermingling leaves us tingling
With the mystery and majesty of life

These are not the scars of a saint,
red rivulets run down my skin
like crimson tinted paint.

Scratches made in a state
of sorrow and frustration
anguish so deep
that the thought of facing
one more moment
becomes a daytime nightmare.

We steel ourselves
struggling against a beast
that will not fall,
but rages fiercer
then the fiercest forest fire
scorching all
and leaving
only one desire.

We seek the cold
or at least
a certain numbness
because there is
no softness
to our existence.

Broken
and bleeding
in the porcelain
bathtub
as red water
runs over
the edge
and we
succumb to
the eternal sleep.

Weird words of working men
Collar wearing ******
Peacemakers clanging swords
Breastplates of hate
I watch us all get churched
On the ways of cruelty

I can’t stop crying
Cause love used to be
So beautiful to me
Two men holding hands
To friends kissing publicly
No shaming

Now there is violence
We break the silence
With days of silence
But it never seems
To stop the screams
And suicides
Children hang out
Flailing lifelessly
The memory haunts me
Even though it is not mine

Pale boy loves a brown boy
Sweet proclamations
Of their affections
Poetic exultations
Holding each other
As their salvation
To be loved is a wonderful thing
To be touched is a mercy

But fire burns to close
To the core of fury
Angry faces hide behind
Masks
We ask
For love
But brutality
Is their response
And now the saltine sorrow
Overflows
The ocean grows
As one more love
Is demolished
And the world becomes
A lot darker

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

One half of a crying moon sat in the June sky
An uncertain state of silence that I hate
A swarm of red lights from some farm device
Blink fiercely with a hive like intensity
Miles of metal fences leaning lazily
Held together by sandbag security
Could have been knocked over by a summer breeze
Unplanted fields yearning to be tilled and seeded
Punctuated by bare bones buildings and
Stark steel structures pulsing with electricity
Armies of insect swarm the tall lamp lights
Highways become rocky roads
Rocky roads ride out into dirt paths
Then circle back to the gravel covered tracks
Becoming the grey running highways
Nature and industry the strongest cycle
The strangest and straightest signifiers
Of nature’s outliers we call humanity

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.

My last dance will be an inspiration
Hands to hands tightly intertwined
Music deeper than any revelation
And all done in my own time

My last meal will be very delicious
Sampling a bit of all of my favorite things
And being my last, need not be nutritious
Humming with flavor cause you know it makes me sing
My last slumber will be the deepest I’ve known
Dreams will no longer come at all
My essence thus departed receding from how I’ve grown
So there will be no me left to recall

My last conversation will never be my last
Though my bodies may fade
Becoming only an echoe in the past
My words will remain to be remade

Revisited over and over again
It may not be immortality
But it is as close as I can come my friend
Words etched in the collective unconscious
Until humanity ends

I am a deeply flawed collaborator
Looking back at the past
In old photographs
I catch a glimpse of
Someone I once loved
And my stomach churns
With an acidic burn
That crawls up my gut

She is a smiling memory
In cliché haunting me
Not dead but not who
She used to be
Fourteen years ago

I wrote her poetry
To express what she meant to me
But she had to leave
To join the military

In one of those silly vows
We promised to be together
If we were still single
When we were thirty or forty
She has probably forgotten that

The white navy hat
The uniform of black
If I could go back
I would not

But to be honest
The loves we lose
Will probably always
Haunt us
But it sure makes
For good poems

Long neck
Not some beer bottle
But a soft waddle
As his beak
Pecks and plucks
Roots, and grassy stuff
To munch

Black eyes
With a white chin
And a face
That goes
From black
To white
And back again

Feathers folded in
Light brown
Gray and fading
Flutter nervously
When he sees me
Approaching

Beautiful, distracting
Extracting me from my
Deep reflections
And ancient sorrows

I watch web feet
Walk into that small sea
And see a water stream
Follow him
As he swims
Away

A grin with thin rimmed glasses,
smiles with delight
as she speaks to her sprites,
whispering
with hands wide,
telling them to listen to
her tale of things that go
bump in the night.

“When I was very young
there was a crooked old tree
that sat savagely waving
down the road from me,
a mess of gnarled branches
that looked like they could
grab you up and take a bite.

One day I went out to play,
saw a small squirrel,
and chased it all the way.
Until, it climbed up that
wooden monstrosity.

Distracted,
I did not notice
how the grass reacted,
shrinking under my foot falls.
I failed to see
how far I had actually gone,
because to my little mind
the distance from my yard
to that tree was shorter,
but in reality, it seemed to be
approaching me rapidly
as what was behind
faded out of sight.

Daylight became night
quicker than expected,
and I suspected
that I should go home,
but when I turned around
I found that I was lost,
and all alone.

I heard a twig snap,
then felt a limb smack
me on my lower back.
My body seemed to contract
as I lost my breath,
and a fog of coldness
washed over my flesh.

The wind lifted
a small pile of leaves
revealing tiny
black shiny beings,
a nest of chittering beetles
that started skittering
ever closer.

I cried out. No sir,
and tried to hoof it out of there,
but I had lost my sense direction
and didn’t know where
my small house was.

A little bug
that looked like
a hairy brown spider
leaped up on my dress.
I quickly flicked it off,
then flinched when
I heard something
purring.

I turned in time to see
a small pair of glowing eyes
focused directly on me.

The feline
passed by
rubbing gently
against my thigh,
and then strutted away.

I followed that kitty,
and I thought we
were heading back to my city.

We passed a stone fence,
and a small wooden hut,
a little gas station
that didn’t have much,
plus a tiny graveyard
and a busted gray car.

I walked so far
that my feet got blisters,
saw a stranger,
and cried out, hey mister,
but he didn’t even turn around.

I kept going not knowing
if I would ever get back.
Nervously, I started to laugh.
I had probably snapped,
cause I was scared and starving.

It was dark and cold,
and I couldn’t find
anyone to help me.
People didn’t even
acknowledge my presence
unless I bumped into them.
I tried to speak,
but no one would listen.

I never got home,
just settled here
in this little cottage
for the last
seventy plus years.

No one has stopped by,
in such a long time
so thanks for listening
to this story of mine.

Now, come closer my little dears,
because I am soooo hungry.
I don’t want to be rude,
but you look like food.

Why are you running?

You see when you heard me calling,
you shouldn’t have listened,
like me,
you to are now missing,
but I know where
your new home will be.
There’s a place in my stomach
because it is so empty.”

The little old lady smiled,
chasing the last small child,
with a sharp tap on his neck
she laid him to rest
in a well-dressed bed
of greens and liquid red.

The night is speared
with splinters from
the brutish bore
that scarred
Atlanta's heart.
It is an over told tale
that fails to adequately
express itself.
There where she fell
feeling all
is where she lost
the only one
whom she thought
she could truly love.
Though all pursued
that swift footed muse,
sought to use,
and abuse her mighty heart,
it was my golden apple,
my forbidden fruit
of Eden's garden
filled with juicy wisdom
and sweet succulent knowledge
that won her.
Intelligence that sought to
empower her to
know that though
I long to love her
physically and passionately
my truest desire
is to see her elevated
not on a pedestal of adulation
for an ideation,
some fake iteration
but to see her truest self-exposed
and the heart of her art
allowed to bloom brighter
then that heavenly orange fire
we all call Helios.

Life is like your feet. You can go around wearing shoes all day to protect yourself from rocks, glass or other things that might  hurt you, or you can go barefooted and feel the soft moist earth beneath your feet, enjoy the cold hard concrete.  Think of this as a metaphor for your heart. If you are constantly gaurding against the pain of life you miss out on alot of of the good stuff.

Today I understand incoherent rage
Learned the loss of my best disposition
With the youtube clip
Of a felt tipped double dipped *******
Spitting ******* about how the government
Is coming to **** him

Pleading please help me by killing them
Empty brained slack jawed hee haw
Huffing the exhaust fumes from some
Sixteen mile a gallon extended cab
Four-wheel drive ford truck

Chubby face running of with
Nineteen twenties style militia hate
Red neck panting and paranoid
Rallying others to his cause
With sloppy sentiments and stupid slurs

No information or reason
From this white entitled flat earth creationist
Spewing patriotism and treason
In the same stank skoal scented breath

Afraid of the Muslims, Communists,
Socialist, and Intellectual atheist

Won’t wait to debate with facts
Cause facts are what he lacks
Just rash reactions with explosive violence
Beating up protesters to the point of silence

Reality ******* in favor of
Slow pre-used slogans with no clarity

I am getting so tired of this
Same old ****

The baby faced moon
Chubby cheeks smiling bright
Pale white reflective skin
Is mine

That small vapor trail
Of clouds with their
Own tails to tell
and a dragon’s tongue
Is mine

The grey white and black
Frantic feral cat
Running back
To the railway track
With ruby eyes
Glowing in the headlights
Is mine

Every natural sensation
The feel of wet ground
The rainbow with its’ own
After image
Is mine

Everything I perceive
Is mine
To place paper
With pointed pen
To type it out
And edit again
And again, and again
Till in the end
It is poetry perfected
All mine

I want to hate you
To crawl inside
My own stomach and die
While you fly
With your greedy suicide
Dissecting and erecting
Monuments to your opulence
Your eyes gleam with
Unattained wealth
You cannot help yourself
The media tells you what to want
Which block is the best block
Were you want to shop
How to stop the clock
And fear, fear, fear
And cheap beer, beer
Oh my deer
The headlight home in
On your definition of sin
But the only sin I see
Is that you believe
This is how life is supposed to be

The crust barely give us enough
Brown and rocky stuff
To recall histories long removed
From where we stand

But with steady hands
Better men come working
Sifting and shifting
Through layers upon layers
Carefully dusting dear artifacts
To uncover forgotten facts

Till the dullness of ignorance cracks
Letting deep historical truths
Trickle through to me and you

What a grand thing for a human to do

It’s an arms race in America
Cops only stop to armor up
Bringing out their bigger guns
Not admitting but doubling down
On the violence in this town
That they created

Short showers
of warm
summer storms,

red flowers
painted on
gray sidewalk,

pastels that melt
and run away
in thin crimson
streams,

ivory keys,
soft melodies
growing
and flowing
slowly,

see me safely
to dreams
that elevate me.

Immortality is dissolution of the self
Mind dissolving in the acid of time
Losing loved one
Losing memories
Losing passions
Changing patterns
Whiles others remain stagnant
Boredom
Mental fatigue
Cosmic defeat
Is what immortality
Will do to me

Every good witch needs a black cat
A mischievous little creature that
Makes the stereotype more fun
The kind that mouse hunts
And meows at ghosts, goblins, and ghouls
Loyal to the point of convenience
Untamed wearing sleek gleaming fur
But loving all the same
In fact it would be a shame
If everyone didn’t get at least one
Beautiful black cat in their life

Good morning my dear how do you do
Even though we have not talked in a month or two
Please remember I’m still stalking you
Remember when you took at the trash last week
You know you were half dressed with no shoes on your feet
Flaccid flab flying in the wind while you raced back in
Leaving lots of goodies for me to find in your garbage bin
Like an early Christmas present or a late birthday gift
Made me so happy I could slit your girlfriend’s wrist
Dump the body in the ravine I don’t think she’d be missed
Anyway I dove into that lovely little treasure trove
To find something cool and found the freaking mother load
I got your toenail clippings, a couple locks of hair
A ****** band aid, there was plenty of DNA there
A soda can which once touch your lips
I quiver all over just thinking about it
And the best thing of all I found in that trash heap
A restraining order to prove you were thinking of me
So I wrote you this letter I will place it at your Window
You may never see me but I’ll be with you wherever you go
Signed
Your Stalker
P.S.  Leave your bedroom light on at night
Or else we are going to have a problem, alright

This is a disclaimer
Despite the fact
That I wish they would attack
To bite your fat ***
In zeal cause you might
Taste like veil
Zombies are not real

This is a disclaimer
Contrary to your belief
And desire to find relief
Angels do not exist
The spirit does not persist
And you waste much energy
In the pursuit of this
Fear of death

This is a disclaimer
Cause it’s lamer
By todays standard
To stand hard
Against the ignorance
And superstition
Than it is to sit around fishing
For fantasies
To comfort ourselves

This is a disclaimer
It would be far vainer
For me to say
That I know it all
I may
I have been wrong
All along
But I highly doubt it

Say goodnight
to that psychopathic
narcistic guy.

You all used to say
you were about to make
America great.

So, say goodbye
to that uncouth
wanna cause
a violent coup
dipstick dude
who many of you
were following
through to
treason.

Must be a
hard pill to swallow
cause you haven’t taken
the medicine
of getting rid of him
and accepting
the election.

Such a bad *******
for the fool who
won’t move on
fast enough.
Instead, he is
getting everyone
riled up
and stealing money.

It’s not even funny,
how he hurt so many.
It’s a cold chilly January
as he tries to dismember
that capitol with his fans.
Then throws them
under the bus.

This is how he uses
and abuses his stooges,
just ask Mike Pence.

So, forth hence
say farewell
to the ne’er-do-well.
He might not be
going to hell,
but if we are lucky,
he will be going to jail.

They got us doped up
Put the military scopes up
And shot our foreign brothers down

They got a war on crime
And Drugs
A war for riches
But poverty
Is just another casualty
The price to pay
To maintain our society

They got golden parachutes
Good pension plans
For the corporate man
But want to eliminate
What it takes
To help a single woman
Get a fair chance

They got disinformation
For the regular population
So they don’t see
The criminal activity
Of our leaders
And dissenters
Enter
The hall of infamy
The activist
Is an enemy

We become so thick
With our sick self-absorption
So quick to judge
Not empathize
Based on all those lies
At some point you got to believe
Cut the crap and face this social disease
Please tell me cause I can’t see
Where the hell
Is your humanity