Shadows form and flicker
Bodies moving in the night
Her presence lingers on my mind
Impression of her hand in mine
The smell of her strawberry breath
I awake and even the conscious thought of her is gone
Only in dreams can I see her
Only in slumber do I know her

Small town ignorance is buried deep within the skull
Generational behavior passed on from father to son
To daughter from mom

Weak willed sublimation of their identity
Stealing the unlimited possibilities
With beer, ***, and stupidity parading as the news

Rich people using the confusion to abuse
Factions united under bland statements of false unity
Corporate art dulled down to distract me
The facts you see aren’t reality
But society selling insanity

Vanity instead of depths
Sheep instead of blazing suns
This is where I came from
But I know they are more than that

Under that John Deer cap
Is a potential surpassing their current fashion
Worse than a scarlet letter
Yes passion perceived the secrets we see
Cut close to the essence of our being
Humanity enlightened not frightened
By our blazing dreams

I can see what is and what might be
And though the now and past pain me deeply
That possibility for a better future sustains
What remains of my waning sanity

I dulled my discontent in the delusion
Of superiority moral and intellectual
Imperative to prevent partial self-destruction
Emotional constipation from my
Former fast food occupation
I had to believe that I was a pearl
Swimming among swine on company time
I felt my mind contracting from the enacting
Of my arrogant disposition that poisonous position
Set me in constant opposition to my peers
And all those years in fear of being ignored
By those I deemed inferior to my interior being
I should have seen the truth of things
That I would have been better served listening
Than vehemently dismissing
I would have been a wiser human
Instead of a just wise enough to admit that
I’ve been wrong many times in the past
But hell I am still such a smart ***

Look out the window
We see smoke
Children choking on
The chaos
The media played us
Trained us
To only see enemies
But after the smoke clears
After the sirens you hear
Carry the wounded
Out of here

I only see broken bodies
Shattered glass
And past that
I see lost dreams
All those fires
Go smoking
Choking gas
Smoking clouds
Of dark blue and grey
Billowing and swallowing
All that we can see
Fires blasting pass
It’s all in the past

Pictures and videos
on facebook, tumblr,
youtube and google
We could have been
More attentive
But there are so many other things
To see and do

The smoke fills my lungs and I am so close to escape. One freaking puff away from sleep, one puff away from peace and rest which has eluded me most of the day; so I inhale slowly filling my lungs with the specter of white smoke. A round of coughs escapes my mouth, but I struggle to hold that sweet cloud of mercy in.
I even make a game of it as I watch the clock. How long can I keep the smoke down? How good will the numbness feel as it creep from the tips of my toes to the pit of my pain? I cough again, and the smoke is expelled from my body with a tid bit of spittle: ******, only forty five seconds.
I repeat the process until my joint is gone; then grab a bite of the tastiest three day old grilled chicken I have ever known. While softly sipping a cup of water, I turn on my nature sounds slash instrumental CD, then crash into my bed. The springs creek in resistance as I shift and struggle to fold myself into my quilt like a tightly wrapped burrito, which sounds so tasty.
Lying on my bed, I feel myself breathing; the rise and fall of my chest coinciding with the rise and fall of the ocean tides. I move my head to the left to check the clock, and my body seams to echo, each movement becoming a shadow of the previous one. Closing my eyes, I let my imagination take me to sleep.
After a hard day’s work, this is the closest thing to relief I have. I lose my name. My sense of self evaporates. Then sleep overtakes me. Dreams of highways in space fill my head. There are no cars, only stars scattering across the infinite sky, with endless roads. Off ramps to nowhere litter the highway. Spiraling crystalline stairways being ****** into black holes are lighted from the raging inferno of stars. Glorious shades of purple, yellow, orange, red, and blue gasses dance in the distance.
The scene feels like an M.C. Escher painting. My body begins moves of its own volition. I am forced to walk this road; even so the sights are glorious. The neighbor’s dog barks startling me. Awakening from the dream, I rush to fill my journal with the wonders I had seen, only to find myself too tired to rise. My eyes are swollen shut. My calves are cramping in pain; my throat is dry and I am plagued by a cough that will not leave me alone.
After a minute of painful paralysis, I stumble to the bathroom, stub my toe on my fifteen pound weight and curse out loud, “what the **** is this weight doing in my ******* bathroom?”  Warm ***** explodes from my ***** for more than mere minutes, and my eyes begin to open. I splash water across my face, dry myself, and walk groggily back to bed to collapse into slumber once more.
In dreams, I try to recapture that wonderful road, but it eludes me. Life pales in comparison to the rapture of my dreams. Maybe tomorrow, I will get to see where that highway goes.

The winter falls as fast as hailstones. White wonderlands crossing every horizon, except from my bedroom window. Then she comes, in a fearful mood, mitigated by what, I am uncertain. Maybe I did something, maybe I did nothing. As a child I am almost certain it is my fault.

            A hand crashes forcefully against my face. Then again and again as I am restrained by the collar of my shirt. I can hear it stretching to its limits and tearing. I can hear this because I have stopped listening to her. Which makes her even angrier.

            I disappear. Why bother existing at all? There is a dull sensation of pain, but it is nothing. When she is done I come back. This is how I remember it. Although, I am certain this is wrong. I am just covering up the horrible stuff with some form of acrobatic escapism.

            When the fury ends and she is physically and emotionally spent, I am sent to my room. It is a safe prison, a place where I cannot confess my shame and hers to anyone. She is safe from the prying eyes of DCFs and I am safe from her.

            Ten to thirty feet away from window I watch the world go on without me. There is a painful longing. My neighbors enjoy the day unsullied by my darkness. I wonder how bad I must be. I cry and wish to die. This is a fact unclouded by time or wishful thinking.

            I read the bible. I sneak a real book and read it. The book is wedged between my bed and the wall. I conceal half of it in the covers as I read the other half, adjusting it carefully and as quietly as possible. When I can’t read I sleep. I sleep so much that I get tired, then I sleep some more. I work as far ahead in my assignments as I can. Thank goodness the teacher is predictable.

            I think, I breathe, I live, but it feels like death. When my sentence is over I am free for a week or so. Then she is angry again. Whatever, back into my cell as I watch the world change. Winter is in its full bloom. Sometimes, I **** in a cup because I am only allowed a certain amount of bathroom visits.

I sit. I think. I sleep. I dream.

I am not even safe in my own dreams. In every dream I am pursued. A monster in space, Freddy Krueger, or just her. I run but spikes start sprouting from the ground, and every step sends spasms of sharp pain through my feet. I can fly but only so far and so high. Electric wires act like rubber bands and sling me painfully back to the spike filled earth. There is no freedom.

            I am out for a day. Then back in again. Sad songs repeat themselves on my cassette player. This only perpetuates and deepens my agony. The children laugh and play slinging snowballs dangerously fast at each other’s face. Why am I the freak? Why can’t I be free?

            The violence subsides. Now there are only harsh, well extremely harsh words, hundreds of sentences to writes, and longer confinements. I come and go so fast that it feels like I spend more time in my room then I have ever spent anywhere else.

            Summer comes, and thank goodness she has to work. I have some free time. However, summer passes and the spring brings with it the same dullness. Now, I am back to winter. My life has become a sad echo. The kids can see that I am weak. Of course I am weak. I must be weak, because I can’t handle what must be normal.

            The snow comes, so deep, white, pure, and humbling. I watch it for days.  No one goes outside. My room becomes a strange universe with me at the center spinning but never moving. I never leave this room, except for meals and the occasional ****. There is something building up inside. I open the window. Then I slam it just as quickly. I open it again feeling the full frosty force of Mother Nature. What a glorious breeze. I shiver with pleasure and with the coldness of it all.

            In the past I have tried to **** myself, but I can’t seem to die. God won’t let me go, and neither will she. So, the window comes open again. I am overcome with another impulse. With no shirt or shoes I jump out the window. It is only a two foot drop. My feet bury themselves in the cold snow. I run around as long as I can stand it, till my feet ache with the pain of cold, then pull myself back in.

            The next day I do it again. I run about a block or so and return. It feels amazing. My mind can barely take in the magnificence of it all. I hope that winter will last forever. The pain and pleasure of it all excites me. My feet go from warm to frosted then I focus on the sensation of them warming up again slowly. It is like they go from alive to dead then come back alive again.

            There it is. The grand pleasure of a small release. No fairytales or dragons. I come and go as I please. No one is outside but me. Me reveling in the cold; me dancing like a madman. I do not get sick. The beast never catches me. She is defied without pain. My dreams don’t change. The world doesn’t get that much better.

            Then when the snow fades and children, come back out to play I am trapped again.But, but this minor pleasure remains. For a bit I came and went as I pleased, free to freeze or not.

War will **** with mighty weapons
Streets will **** with guns and poverty
Nations of children who are starving but we don’t see
Diseases from mosquitoes and flees
Over developed sexually transmitted diseases
But people waste time standing in line
To throw the first stone
casting bones
From ancients organizations
with more power than the united nations
Spend their money on campaigns against what is natural
Spend their time working themselves up in a frenzy of stupidity
When death can come in more than a million ways
Why can’t we learn to live and love better in these lonely days

Some folks seem diminished by their sobriety
They are only free to be what they will be
When they are rocking an alcoholic buzz

Two to ten shots and the tension disappears

The clouded confusion of human consciousness

The self-control that confines them
Behind an illusionary mask made up of society’s expectation
Seems to find itself in the process of evaporation

The patience they practice daily fades

Their motor and verbal skills become equally lacking

So that the primal beast beneath blinks and breaths
Finally free to come out to play in its’ own clumsy way

But with the morning toilet commune
The victorious vomiting return
The mask slides back on
The fun guy is gone
And it’s back to business as usual

Cracked hearts cast no radiant light
Just flicker like fireflies
Crying while their trying to fly
Sighing while we watch them die
Call them band of brothers
Call them Jarheads
Old military romantics
It’s different from the distance of time
Miles of emotions jaded in Technicolor wars
Played out on tv
But never really reach real
Or let us truly see what they felt

We love them
like we know them,
like each camouflaged
back pack wearing person
is a mother, daughter,
father, brother,
sister or simple son.

We love them like
they are war heroes,
returning champions
from the greatest
Super Bowl ever.

We love them
like a steak
overheated,
tenderized,
walking till
their bodies cry.

We love them
like they are sheep
bleating from the beating
of bullets, bombs
and lack of sleep,
pushing on
in the long walk.
Till, fatigue takes
every smile and
daydream they ever had.

We love them
Like gods loved
their sacrifices;
Young men,
virgins to life,
slaughtered and worshipped
then denied
the decency
all sentient beings deserve.

We love them
Like they are
chess pieces;
Place women
and men
on the battlements
for the expansion of
capitalistic gains
that wears the guise
Of democracy.
What hypocrisy!

We love them
like we hate them
because they believed
enough to bleed.
While old men lie,
children lie in graves
six feet deep
to many columns wide
and to many rows long.
Even if they come home
they really don’t.

It’s easy to complain
To point out all the problems
Then do nothing to make them change
So here some thoughts on how to solve them

No more ticking time bombs
No more biological weapons
No more making it a one race or one gender issues
No more black or white
No more greed but ambition is alright
No more hate that stems from Ignorance
No more mass of maniacs and morons
No more people pointing out pointless differences
No more enemies of the state
No more religious indoctrination without viable proof
No more misleading our youth with misunformation
No more alienation of the aliens in our nation

More wisdom and compassion
More sharing and more asking
More questioning authority
Even of that authority is me
Especially if that authority is me
More love and acceptance
More celebrating human variance
More books and way more learning
More art that speaks to the nature of everything
More stargazing and daydreaming
More fruits and vegetables
More conversations at the dinner table
More family including all of our human kin
More letting anger out in healthy ways
And letting people you love in
More patience for what deserves it
And less tolerance for what is unjust
More everyone and everything
And less just thing about just us

No more mindless indoctrination
It all ends and begins with better education

Someday you may claim
that I was a hero
that I took the pain
wore it so well
ate it up into myself
and gave it back
to make a change.

Someday someone
will eulogize
mark my death
with pretty lies
looking back
with gold tinted glasses
not seeing the truth
instead looking at
what passes
for a good man.

But I was not a good man.
I was lazy.
I was selfish.
I wanted freedom
at the expense of
relationships.
I wanted poetry
and it cost me
my sanity.

Someday
cards will say
come lay me to rest
and you will try to
remember me at my best.

But my life was just a jest.
I was a fool’s apprentice
kind enough,
intelligent,
creative,
but a jester at my best.

It’s a funny thing
a single song
can send me
back into
my memory.

Somewhere
out there
a melody
from a movie
I saw as a kid,

I hear that song
and feel
a tinge of sadness
as tears
threaten
to make
an unwanted
cameo appearance.

The first time
I heard this
I was with
my mother
in a small house
for abused women.

Somewhere
out there
in the past
before
things got
really bad,

they were bad
for her,
but I was ok.
I did not have a clue
what we were
going through.

Later,
the pain
that jaded her
would become
my shadow cloak
to wear,
as I looked
for somewhere
out there
where
I would be free,
from her rage.

I never really
found that place,
but when I hear
that song,
I can recall
my mother
before the fall.

Even at
a cynical
thirty-seven
a small part
of my heart
longs for
the loving mother
that was
somewhere out there
before those bad days.

Soon I will be nothing.
My lifeless body will float in the void,
Listless and unresponsive,
Cracked and decayed,
With no remnants of a soul,
A shell that once bore my name.
Soon I will be nothing,
But and echo in your memory,
Implanted in your mind,
Integrated in your being,
Still slowly receding,
To the shadows till you forget,
And only the impression of my presence remains,
Soon I will be nothing,
Neither fleshy corpse or memory.
The only bit that will remain
Will be these words, these structured syllables
Etched in print and other technology;
For a stranger to vaguely recall me,
But not the real person just an impression of me.
Soon I will be nothing.
The body will pass and fade.
The memory gone; the words soon to follow.
When history is lost, when humanity has fallen.
Soon I will be completely forgotten.
So why do I struggle, toil on this plane?
Why do I bother with this limited existence?
Because, I am driven, compelled beyond my control.
The compulsion to create is my soul.

This is my sort of suicide letter.
I am letting you know that
you may not understand
but tonight I am going to die man.

I am tired of being dried
by the blood crusted black water
that rushes like a river
right over the heart of my hopeful soul.

Tonight I’m killing that angry *******
who despises me more than anyone
but in hating me he has loved me
cause hate is so much better than apathy.

At least that barbed wired *******
acknowledges me as worthy
of some sort of recognition.

So, I stare into the dark mirror painting of my life.
I smile as my reflection snarls,
“I am going to **** you, you *******.”

This is my sort of suicide letter.
I used my blood to write it,
took my reflection to task,
broke the glass into a hundred
jagged pieces
hoping I wouldn’t have to look at me,
but each fragment stared back you see
a sick distorted version of the person
I wanted to ****.

So, I took the most convenient shard,
then scratched a map straight to my heart
and as tiny tributaries flow away from
my cold and soon to be numb body
I smile greedily painting my poetry
in small lines of red that I hope will be read
when I am finally dead.

So, this is my sort of suicide letter.
I wrote it all in my head.
You will never really read it,
but I can see it perfectly
every night before I go to bed.

When you talk remember that it is me
And I am listening
Do not guard hearts or hide words
Do not harbor false hope or fake rage
Do not be consumed by the illusions
Lost to the confusions
Be honest, I need your truths
I feed on your inspiration
The human race a light at waste
You glow so bright
But dim that light
To fade against imagined slights
You are a sparkle in a sea that glitters
Shining brighter than the moon
Blazing hotter than the sun at noon
Remember when you speak
I have questions, I am curious
I want to know you
You know I love you
You were born to be cherished
Live and will perish
So of course I love you
I wear your scars and bare your burdens
I’ll heal the your heart if you are hurting
Just speak say something, anything
Eyes averted, love denied, love shamed
Silence hurts more than violence
Losing truths to a social shell game
For we cannot see each other
If we do not speak to one another
Speak to me and I will listen
Listen and we will learn together
Learn and we will grow together
Grow and there is no limit to where we can go

It’s a privilege to speak the truth to those in power
But an honor to speak the truth to those
Who do not know their strength
To awaken and empower them
To see their movement

Blades of wet grass slide softly across the bottom of my feet as I stride across the rain slicken yard. There, barely ten feet in front of me sits an echo. A small boy with goofy looking black rimmed glasses, and thin brown curly hair, sits planted firmly on a makeshift rope swing twists around and around, winding the swing up, than spins in circles as the tension in the rope is released. Smiles, and laughter play out in the shiny day. Innocence wearing its sweet face. The unknowing a better fruit then the bitterness of truth.

I turn away to see a shaded landscape filled with vine trees. Their thin string things whipping back and forth in the wind. Another echo haunts my heart. The young boy, no longer bespectacled runs, jumps, and grasps a handful of vines. He swings in and out of a fantasy world. He is alone in a world crowded with imaginary friends. Pirates swashbuckle as he and the lost boys of Neverland fight and fly. Now the tree rots from the roots tilting at an uneasy angle, and is slowly dying.

A dog barks out into the evening sky as the last bit of the sun’s rays disappear.  The new night is marked by the howls of several other canines. They feel like mournful howls. My mind slips back to younger days and I recall how I would rise at five in the morning to walk both of my dogs. Such sweet shaggy friends, very wary of strangers but oh so loving to me. They are both dead now.

I slip a photo out of my wallet and stare at the crumbled visage of my grandpa. Dark glasses cover his old eyes, but there is a playful smile edging its way across his face. This is, was the face of a happy man. Now, he too, is just another dead thing. I am just another dead thing.
One step becomes another as I make my way to what is left of the old two port garage. Its dulled colors seam to match my mood perfectly. Cracked windows and grey broken siding marking its age like the rings of an old dying oak tree. Small and large rocks painfully embed themselves into my toes and feet. This was easier when I was lighter or at least wearing shoes. I stare at the decimated building imagining the way it was before time ate it all up; standing sturdy with a dog house to the right of it and a car, tools, toys, and other potpourri parked safely inside.

Then, I remember the sawhorses. Those old things with white paint chipped or chipping away. I rode them like unsaddled horses until my **** and ***** ached. Swinging light brown cardboard swords like I was a hero fighting monsters, never realizing the real monsters were human beings.

They took this from my family, those stupid bankers with their stupid mortgages. There is so much history here. Shades and shadows of the past to interact with. Sensations to stir passing passions. A tear coalesces, followed by a stream. I struggle to suppress it.

Squeezing my sore toes together, I pick up mud in between each digit. The cold sludge feels good on my dry skin. Suddenly, I realize that this is it. This will be the last time I ever come back here. A part of me wants to cry some more, but I refuse to yield to that part. These feelings are merely specters of a past long since departed.

The specter of the small boy stares at me from a distance, and I can’t tell if he is looking at or through me. Can he sense my pain or see my disease? My stomach is swelling while I’m stewing in a sea of sewer smelling tumors. I can almost feel the cancer eating me up from the inside. White cells massing like a mad army to march on my various organs. Each ***** slowly consumed until enough fail and I fall. It makes me so ******* angry. While greedy business men plague the world with their wicked intent, extending their lives with wealth and perpetuating human suffering, I have to die.  

I slap myself. The stinging warm pain prevents me from becoming too immersed in my own grief. I refuse to yield to this depression. I go back to the vine tree with a glint of mischievous intent in my eyes. Hands outstretched I charge forth fast and furious. My fingers grasp several thin slips of dried and dying vines. It is only a couple of feet off the ground but for the briefest of moments I fly back in to Neverland. Then the vines snap, I crash into a small ditch, busting my ****. A jolt of pain passes from my posterior to my neck, jarring my spine. When the pain passes I laugh, my face filled with a childlike smile. I guess I’m not dead yet.

I sit down in tweak town
To jot down a new noun,
A nice verb, a poetic sound,
But all that comes out
Is blah blahs, and doubt.
There’s not enough coffee,
To help satisfy me,
As long as I compare myself,
To everybody else.

So here in caffeine city,
The poetry is witty.
Every verse excites me.
Ever line invites me,
To be better.
Speed is my muse,
As long as I let her.

A nicotine lozenge,
Four milligram a piece,
Helps me stay awake,
Until, I am allowed to sleep;
Helps me to stay alert,
Helps me write this verse,
But in the end
The zzzz will hit me worse.
I guess, I should have just gone to bed
Instead.

I sit down in tweak town
To jot down a new noun,
A nice verb, a poetic sound,
But all that comes out
Is blah blahs, and doubt.
There’s not enough coffee,
To help satisfy me,
As long as I compare myself,
To everybody else.

So here in caffeine city,
The poetry is witty.
Every verse excites me.
Every line invites me,
To be better.
Speed is my muse,
As long as I let her.

A nicotine lozenge,
Four milligram a piece,
Helps me stay awake,
Until, I am allowed to sleep;
Helps me to stay alert,
Helps me write this verse,
But in the end
The zzzz will hit me worse.
I guess, I should have just gone to bed
Instead.

The flowers bloom and birds chirp
I hear the lovers sing “It is spring”
Even little kids get in on
This age old loving thing
Holding hands and sneaking kisses

Cool evening moon filled sky
Watches that days breeze by
While the elderly are getting
Some of this action
Telling stories and smiling

It’s contagious
Like allergy season
Even my friends are getting in
On this whole love thing
While I am a shadow
Sitting and writing
About the spring fever
That I will never catch

Rays from so far away
Shoot streams and beams
Particles or waves
Around the universe and back again
Dying but still living
Reflecting
Detecting
Deflecting
Inspecting the universe
I look at a star
And by the time my light shines
To its’ space and
It blinks back at me
I will be deceased
Becoming part of
Another star
Perhaps that is the ultimate form of
Star-crossed lovers

They will try to take the words
To tame the language
To anesthetize
Censoring
Limiting
As we lose one word at a time
We will forget
The next generations won’t miss
What was dismissed
And the flowers won’t bloom
The sun won’t blaze
The orange haze will fade
Dullness will set in
In the forgetting
Identity will be lost
Compassion will be lost
We will be lost
In the censorship

I'm shining like Stephen King,
while you’re a firestarter,
a fast furnace exploding,
growing, and blowing
up in a biggest bang
that I have ever seen.

Tell me something about it,
cause I’ve got a brief case of misery
sprinkled with just a bit of psychotic,
as violent as Carrie’s and Cujo’s rabid rage.

No regulators here in the dead zone,
just a long walk trying to get home
with more stuff that's been bothering me,

wondering if it’s time for me to take a stand,
to get my brothers and sisters to understand
there won't be any rest in the pet cemetery,
and there's no place to sleep in Salem's lot
unless you’re dying here beside me,
while I’m losing my blaze,
ending my graveyard shift workday.

I'm an outsider, tired bag of bones,
but I keep doing my roadwork,
watching that dark tower rise as I drive.
Maybe someday death will catch me if it can,
but for now, I’m a pretty fast running man.

See the highway that they painted like the grassland
on that road I roll full of desperation for elevation,
one more green mile left, but I’m getting thinner.
Mr. Mercedes will be too late to make it to dinner.

I am alone my mental cell,
the institute where Doctor Sleep
will not come. Perhaps, you'll stand by me
enjoying all the four seasons that we see
with my dark half drawing three
talismans like the Colorado Kid,
my dear Duma and strange Christine.

Though, it’s insomnia that keeps me from sleep,
with the hopeful heart of Atlantis,
I pray they finally grant me peace,
and little quiet space to read
some more works from Stephen King.

It is the price of machismo
We’re supposed to let our grief go
Don’t let the tears show
Or let others know
Of the scars just beneath
Your skin

I say ****’em
And all of their expectations
Masculinity does not
Define my behavior
Sorrow still stings
Surpassing all things
Makes us human beings
Not stiff constipated
Empty shells that serve
Modern kings

I lay weeping
Still keeping
That which is still beating
Strong
Feeling for me
And Others I see
Even some I will never see
Even the lost wrongs of history
Cause I believe
To lose that
Would make me less me

I watched her and though it seemed
I was so despaired to remain unseen
She stood there on the starboard deck
Her brow furrowed in retrospect

I thought to break the silence with a poem
Approach this lady with words a flowing
But neither my heart nor mind could conceive
Of words that she could honestly receive

There I stood in silence afraid
Of taking a chance or making a mistake
She turned almost as if she was a ghost
Gliding across the deck past my post

But as she passed with her dark eyes
I found I was suddenly surprised
By the girl with dark blond hair
Like a specter she vanished in to thin air

The boat trembled violently
And sent me overboard flying
Deep into the salty brine
To drown in the depth of my mind

Tossed across the water rough
Beaten and broken like fragile stuff
My bones cracked beneath the force from
The thrashing water and fierce storm

Yet as I fell deeper and deeper into the storm
Though my body grew weak my heart felt warm
A hand caressed my battered and bruised skin
Sweet sympathies from a lover and a friend

I saw her deep dark eyes
A mystery I wondered how could she fly
She whispered into my ears
My dear beloved forget your fears

Thus I sank deep into the sea
Yet while I fell she comforted me

Late afternoon,
daylight
is broken by
clouds coming
through.

Top split,
branches bent,
dead grey
tree stays
in one place.

Dark blue
sky hues
vent
wind and water while
lightning and thunder
vibrates the ground
with a growl like rumble.

Droplets fall
fierce as dragons
who lost their wings mid-flight
pounding the ceiling;
No fire breath in sight.

The concrete,
light grey to white
becomes
wet brown.

I sit down,
door open,
to hear the storm,
watching puddles form
like my grandpa
used to do.

A rogue river
of water
runs by and around my window
making my guard shack
feel like Huck Finn’s
flat bottom,
houseboat
floating on
the mighty Mississippi.

Now nature’s
muse is loose.
My eyes burn heavy.
I long to lose
the burden of
consciousness
and sleep through this
not out of boredom
but from the sweet
bliss of this
early evening
storming.

The storm is not eternal
It fades as fast as you do
Dripping wet
With stinking sweat
Sweet nature’s liquor
Thudding percussion
Sudden impressions
Parallels my heart
Rapid successions
Of white lightning
Not at all frightening
But hypnotic
As we count the distance
Between the lightning
And the thundering
One two a mile through
The storm will stop
And so will you

Back arched
No heels
Hells tongue
With no wheels
On her knees
As we both please
Begging me
To beg her
I quiver
As the last bits
Of my excitement
Are delivered
Strawberry flavored
Satisfaction
Drips from her
Strawberry colored
lips

I strip
To rip
Myself from
Myself
Major labels
Silly slogans
Dry wash only
Made to define me
Walking billboard
Corporate *****
I take off the hat
For the team I support
Put down all the digital devices
Cause they replaced my old vices
Remove the faded Levis
The Nikes, and super hero shirt
Disposed of the whole disguise
Got rid of the old lies
To find what really lyes
Behind my hazel eyes
Naked to find
Who am I beyond my
Consumer style consumption

You can justify
With lust in your eye
Give them lesbians
Their rights
Cause their a pleasurable sight
I guess it’s a start

You say it’s ok to be gay
Just don’t hit on me
Cause I’m straight
I believe you have the right
To fight
For said rights
But can you keep the pda
In a private place
I guess it’s a start

But when it’s not clearly defined
In your limited mind
When you can’t classify
Between a girl and a guy
You forget to be fair
Don’t bother to be nice

Then I remember
We got a long way to go
Justice is brutal
And to **** slow
Breaks my heart
Cause corruption and prejudice
Are easier than fairness

Gay lovers
Hold hands with each other
In public
Don’t give a ****
******* will keep
Keeping us stuck
Be proud to kiss
Don’t give two *****
I love you
But we have such a long way to go

Lesbians
I am sorry
For the lustful leers
The years of fears
Struggling through to
Be you
Remember
I love you to
But we have a long way to go

Transgender, Transvestite, *******
Honey you are beautiful
Androgynous, bisexual
Human hybrids
And all those wonderful things
Outside and In-between
Can’t say it enough
You need to know you are loved
But we have a long way to

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 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

Supposedly,
I was wrought
with jealousy.

Justifying,
allegedly,
believing
that it was
owed to me,

cause I was better,
kinder, smarter
working harder
to prove my love.

In reflection
I refuse to admit it,
I’d prefer
just to forget it,

but supposedly
I am to smart
to fool myself.

Why do particles cease to exist
then in an instant re-manifest
as if they never went anywhere?

Tell me how a particle can exist
in one place and the next
at the same time?
Such strange thoughts blow my mind.

Why do particles behave
in different ways
when they are watched
and when they are not?

I can’t say.
Who can explain
such strange quantum ways?
Don’t we live in such
strange scientific days?

If Sylvia Plath
Had come to me
For a ****** reprieve
Or a living loving embrace
I would have raced
To face that lovely face
I would have chased those
Dark and tempestuous eyes
To find passion release
To share one moment of peace
To hear her heart speak
With beat after beat
Even if she broke mine
If she attacked my limbs
Assailed my spirit with her fury
Even if we had to make love in a hurry
None to ever be the wiser
And maybe in the morning spend
Words and verses
Like counterfeit forms of affection
Well, that would be better
Then the release of any *******

I pull a Sherlock Holmes
One look at you and I snap that steel trap
Right back
To cold facts
Points of business
There is nothing in you of interest
So, if gone
Shove the bible where it belongs
Maybe if you smoked a **** like Cheech and Chong
You’d be more interesting
After a cough choke you would take your ignorance
And get
and ten more tokes
You could learn to take a joke

You ******* soul sucker
*******
Take it all
All the pain
The bruises and the shame
The yelling games
The degradation
The frustration
The humiliation
Take it all
No give it the **** back
Because it is mine

Frustration
takes me out of the moment.
Pain
takes me out of the moment.
Heartbreak
takes me out of the moment.
Loneliness
takes me out of the moment.
Boredom
takes me out of the moment.
Technology
takes me out of the moment.
Everything that
takes me out of the moment
wastes the potential
of each moment
to be enlightening and inspiring.

To be in the age where dreams began
Smoke and mirrors, silver plates
Rotating presses
Books to be made
Page begat stage
Films to watch music to hear
Radio Waves
I am afraid
We have lost those days
Sacrificed our sense of wonder my dear
The awe of hope
The love we dared
If I could I would revisit there
Bringing back that childlike smile
I’ll take you there in a poem
Seeing our inner children
So once again we can know them

We got a history of killing dreams in the streets
One man stands up to be struck down
One leader who can’t be bought off
Gets his head shot off
If they can’t subvert you
They pervert the image of you
If they can’t use violence to silence you
They put a bullet through the heart to
And I get tired of trying to put poetry
And music to the truth
Just so you will listen
Tired of using the humor trick
To pierce that thick skull

What you weren’t told
You are the mold so break yourself
To make yourself stronger
And pass it on so it lasts a lot longer
So the dreamers can stop
Taking shots for all of us

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 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 crimson flame
Of firecrackers
Snipping and snapping
Biting at your skin
Tempting terror’s sweat
To pour sweetly  
With an adrenaline rush

Running recklessly
Till the asthma
Catches up
Till you can’t
Catch your breath
Killer Cramps
Cramping your style

Slight cuts
That glide across the skin
Thin lines of bleeding
It was better than seeing
That failed form in the mirror
That chemo skeleton
Dying hurt worse

Living to die or dying to live
What a terminal
Pain ******

The tear drops don’t stop
Keep leaving wet spots
And I say thank you

For years my fears
Lay hidden in the shadow
Pill bottles I swallowed
I so I wouldn’t have to feel
Something deep and real
Bleeding until I was numb
So now that I can feel again
I am grateful

Even if my eyes blurred
From something I heard
Something that made me disturbed
As the poet preaches to me
Not about divinity
But about our humanity
It reaches deep in me
Stirring remnants of dead flesh
Turning my cold body into a living thing
This living being
Sings
With love
Not ******
Or Demeaning
But with meaning
Returning word for word
Like a blast of healing rain
Washing away the last stain
Till apathy no longer reigns
And I am human again
So I say with joy and with tears
Thank you for giving me
A few more years
Of my own humanity

Tonight there is no light
My soul is gun metal black
Itchy and rusty
Bullet bite rage
Furious haze
Of righteous indignation

Tension touches the trigger
If you figure
One word will make me burst
One syllable from those
Who hurt me worse
All that degradation

Facing myself in the mirror
I stare in fear
Knowing that though they
Incur my rage
It is myself I truly hate
For never being good enough
To keep those I love
Near

I watch them all disappear
Some die, some walk away
And somewhere never really there
No matter what they say
I am betrayed
But not by them
By the ****** mess that beats within
Dragging me out of my shell
To push me back in again

So, I take all this anger and pain
Channel it to the positive
Exercise and writing
How exciting and frightening
Knowing I will always love again
Despite how I vow to abstain
I am always courting
That hopeful pain

The thing is
The system don’t give
Two *****
If you did it

Quotas and budgets
Require them
To prosecute
Innocent men

Looking for numbers
Not trying to solve
The problems
They got all the power
And you wonder why
I am slightly unnerved by them

Justice is just an illusion
Suits and robes
Don’t make right
All that money
That goes to them
Now you know why
I question how they decide
What to do with my life

I want you on the a side and the b side
The freaky night delights
Vinyl records skipping
To our beats
Our feet set up in the airplane position
Was it something I was missing?
No seatbelts even after we take off
Naked fury thumping
Baby makers bumping
Right over that midday slump
Oh I needed this ****** boost
To get over the mid-week ****

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?

The world is a heavy burden
a place that builds you up
with broken bits of brick,
rage, and pain.

The wind carries the names
of those who are to silent
to ever really blame me
for all that we lost.

I rush to write this
memory of truth I found
before it slips my grip
and drips down into
the crypt that carried the few
who left me behind to brood.

I am angry and sad
to see my granddad
discarded at a nursing home.
A diabetic left to die alone
not because he was not loved
but because we all had lives to live.
I forgive all of them
but deny myself that mercy.
On the last day he was alive
he said goodbye
in his own way.
When I said “I loved him”
he weakly replied “thank you.”
Though it was not his intent to,
he made me I feel like I had failed him.
My familial affections
must have seemed like rain
on the desert wind,
brief and rare.
I left him there
and he died.
Frequently,
I wake day or night
with tears in my eye

I am angry and sad
that I saw my grandma wither,
looking like
some small sickly goblin
at the end of her life
because her loved ones
would not let her
let herself die.
They forced her to eat
when she could not leave
that bed where she slept.
While death crept
I kept to myself
to lazy and afraid
to deal with the tension
of arguing with her
about my lack of
her religion.
So, she died
and my anger
simmered inside
as the tears flowed
outside.

I am angry and sad
that I treated my brother so bad.
I was struggling at nineteen
and did not want to see
the mother who hurt me.
So, I avoided him
left him trapped
alone with an abusive
patriarch
to break his heart
and his pain broke mine.
Though he has forgiven me
I cannot let go so easily
and my rage keeps boiling.

I am angry and sad,
made to feel bad,
left seething mad
because I saw
living loved ones
exit my life
beyond the stage lights.
It was their right
but it feels like
their leaving
was saying
that I was not good enough
to keep the ones I loved
in my life.
Black haired girl
left for the Army.
Black haired girl
left our online friendship.
Blond girl
left for her original lover.
One friend gone
then time takes another.
Brown haired girl
moved on to someone better.
How could I not,
I had to let her.
Here my heart breaks again
thought I made a beautiful friend
but it is her turn to leave.

In being left again
I turn my pain and rage within
to disintegrate the one I hate.
I despise those mirror eyes
whom are not good enough
to keep the ones I love.
I long for the day
gray hairs, false teeth,
and wrinkles take me
to a place where no one
can ever leave me again.