Perhaps, I lack patience.
I am rapacious
for more rapturous
word wonders worked
from your weirdly wired,
but beautifully inspired brain.

Of course the pig squeals.
Yes, monsters make appeals,
pleading for humanity
whenever they feel
threaten by the lesser degrees
of the insanity
that they instigated
in our society.

However, my sympathy
is less engaged
for those who lie,
displaying false outrage
while the bombs that are made
our directed by them
to blow up innocent men
women, and children.

I long to be a good person,
but how much does my
saintly status cost?
Does it cross
some sick line
when I find
that I harbor patience
and mercy in my mind
for the vicious kind
who have slaughtered
thousands,
and impoverished
millions more?

Your pain is relevant, like the Syrian refugee who is running from death to find a life, like the black mother in the black lives matters movement, like mine. I am broken, deeply cracked and ripped like paper when I see that you fail to understand their grief is real.

This world can be a dark, crue,l and hateful place. That is why we must be ever vigilent against the tide of racism and hatred that overshadows the land. Where there is cruelty we must bring compasion, where there is darkness we must become the light, and where there is hate we must be love. I hope all of us can live as shining example of the goodness within the hearts of human beings.

Lonely we imagine
that love is an
elusive dragon
dragging us
from the corners of
shaded chambers.
Eyes flashing danger,
as breaths of ember
threaten to render
our tender flesh
to cinders.

How tragic that I have fallen for
my peacock colored angelic
poetically created fantasy,
how her lips are rainbows
and hair falls fancy
full of vibrance,
though she is written in silence,
hazel eyes always focused
in some far-off distance
behind me,
the man who longs to be
the one she is truly seeing.
Galatea to my Pygmalion,
though I know there are billions
of possible lovers out there,
I do not care or dare
avert the heart I share.
She is my obsession,
and I am her devoted
poet possession.


-2022 December

The old tree wears new leaves.
Green things gleaming and moving
dancing like a grass skirt
with the warm whims
of these soft summer winds.

It is blindness by consent
Not knowing where we were going
Not caring where we went
Just tearing up the world
As we play follow the leaders

As a rule
I was never good
at turning away
ignoring another’s pain
even when they tried to
make it a rule.

I just split a crown of broccoli with a St. Bernard named Winnie.

Though I wish it was not
the case
this human race
does not want
an honest human being.

Instead, they want shiny
expensive
status symbols
but all I have to offer
is love and wisdom.

She is a nightmare
like a velociraptor
rapping from the rafters
chasing after
the sound
of a killer clown's
maniacal laughter.

I've been trying to
avoid her,
that self-destroyer
who tends to
pull me down to
her lower level.

But she caught me
by my dangling generosity
and kindhearted disposition.

I thought that these
were good qualities,
but I think I need to
get rid of them,
so, I don't have to
talk to
that **** drama queen.

Language is the way i love humanity with an outsiders affection. Listening to the language of their stories, as they slowly reveal the essence of who they are, tentatively exposing just enough to intrigue but not scare strangers away.

Don't let the lightning steal your thunder
Or the stars dull your light
You may not be destined for greatness
But that is up to you to decide
You can let it slide just get by
Get taken on a crazy trip
Or be the one who takes everyone
On a beautifully strange and wild ride

I think there is something wrong with me
for I cannot love as deliciously
or deeply as I used to.
I cannot be swallowed by the hope of
unconfirmed fictions I once called love.

There is a still an inkling of
fierceness that wants to clench someone
so tightly to my body that we become one
wet with the desire of perpetual ****** motions.

I am broken for the shadow kin still sleeps within,
longing to uncover soft warm pale skin underneath
her ******* lacey dress, and thin white sheets.
I still long to let my fingers swirl,
submerged in a wetness of that beautiful girl
gyrating as our tongues vibrate with
the sweet sexiness of her pink part lips.

I am broken because I would let her
harness me, riding to find whatever she needs,
bending my tongue to taste
sweet strawberry juices from below her waist.

But that will never be.
I am broken because I no longer believe
there is anything less then
masturbatory fantasies
left for me.

Damning verses
from ancient scripture
gave excuses
so he could hit her,
with logic as fluid
as ***** dishwater
that ******* father
beat on his daughter.

It is only a hundred miles
two text messages
and a phone call away
to say I love and miss you.

A hundred miles
working eighty-two hours
in just one week,
when you check in on me
and hearing your voice
makes me so happy.

A hundred miles
three stories up in my hotel room,
quietly keeping to myself,
sleeping way past noon
to work at midnight,
I’ll be alright
as long as you all know
no matter where I go
I love ya.

These digits,
fingers flexing
are made for grasping,
and manipulating
man made
devices.

These five things
have moved
to master
random rhythms
that I tried to tap.

Flaccid while I sleep
although I do not know
for certain,
perhaps they twitch
when I hit
REM.

They have pulled and pinched
plucked, and poked,

but my favorite thing
I have ever done
with my fingers,
is ****** and caress
feminine flesh,
and plunge deep into
a woman’s
moist desire
while stimulating
her *******
with circular motions,
bringing my partner
to the height of an
******.

The phone store
is closed,
but I can still see
the sharp blue glow
of those
bright screens
blinking out at me
from the window
to the streets
where I am walking slowly.

Violent ambitions open their ****** maw
Sharpens their mangled claws
Readied to strike
Not for what is right
But for something
That turns friend to enemy
Call their enemies a state
Hurt strangers and lovers
Out of love for gain
And the hunger
Which moistens their mouth
Is never sated
Thus with every bite
Another wound is born
Not fatal but crippling
That leaves us tripping
And tipping ever backwards
Towards the dark ages

She is an addicting drug
and the DTs
would be devastating to me.

She is a dark cavern.
No other human beings
are following me
into her grand beauty
with glowing green moss,
and slippery stones.
Harboring potentially puncturing
projectiles like stalagmites,
and stalactites
which with one misstep
or violent quake
might leave me with
the worst case of heartbreak.

She is a dangerous labyrinth
with so many twists and turns
that I am very concerned,
certain I will not return
from my addiction.

She is a cool pure blue pool
of glimmering water
that is deeper in the center
so, when I enter
I run the risk
of falling prey to
her dangerous
undertow.

Knowing all this
I still choose to be
whatever she says she needs
for just the inkling
of a chance
that she might choose me.

I cannot force feeling from a stone
Nor make another heart beat
As beats the one I own
So I am left alone
To mourn the broken heart
That beats beneath my breast

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

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

He made madness
Mimicking solar explosions
Destruction
Death

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

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

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

I look beyond the black vastness
Of the infinite
that spreads out before me.
My eyes are closed
and I know
that the solid world
of reality
waits past my eyelids.
However, celestial explosions
of white, black, and green
flow through the darkness
that envelopes me.
I am sightless
but sometimes
as I breathe
I find my way
halfway between
the waking world
and the visions in my dreams.
Slippery stones
and water that gleams,
saran wrapped
potato beings
are strange portraits
of this unconscious scene.
It is the breath that carries me
as I float slightly
above my body.
It is the silence and solitude
that was forced upon me
by an angry and violent
human being.
Perhaps, it was the first steps
Of a ten year old boy
On his way to find
the inner peace
that still eludes me.
Or, maybe, it is
just a faulty memory
that deceives me.

Specifically,
this spectacular
visage you see
speaks melodiously
with an expansive vernacular.

I cut my loss.
I ran away.
Told the world
I cannot stay,
but the truth is
I’m not that strong.
Give me a minute
and I’ll be gone.

An undercurrent,
A buzzing pain,
I hid it so well,
till, I could not recall
that inside myself
was a reservoir of grief.
Which is why I drown
when I go down deep.

I close my eyes
and each loved one is there
each family member or friend
that has died
and those who just
disappeared.
I retrace my step
to see them all again
but I cannot get back
to what we were then.

You see me in my words
please remember me well.
See me in the past,
because now I’m not here.
I am so sorry
that I had to go.
I hope you know
I love you all.

Fare thee well.
Goodbye my friends
For you life may be good,
but for me it’s the end.

By god’s grace
We save face
Displace
Rationality
Restore banality
Drive out
Our potential
To become stagnant
A waste of
The human collective
Which could be
Working towards
A brighter future
From this dark
History

Perhaps is smacks of desperation
The slacks that act as decoration
But due to economic inflation
There will be no holiday vacation
No exotic island destination
Only financial frustration
And menial mental *******

You have a citric tongue
Acidic but tasty

You are a vacation
In mental *******

Sulphurous words
That burn me
Full of furious reactions
Such an oceanic passion
A deep blue sea
Of eyes that look into me

Your body is a nation
Barely opened borders
I flow into you
Heart heavy and tired
Poetic soul branded illegal
Desire makes me criminal
Wanting those wanton lips
Chapped from our heated kiss

Make me your facebook friend
To share your soul
In the form of digital content
Then bury me in cement
Solidifying your foundation

Building us up from lust
And a cosmic elation
With a milky way
*******

Till both of us
Return fully reformed
From the ravishing rains
Of that ****** storm

Depression is so brutal.
It is not a French poodle.
There is nothing cute about it.

I used to have a horrible case of giving a ****
Sometimes you have to learn to quit that ****
Cause life will try to ***** a nail into the tip of your ****
Bust a fist in your *** that doesn’t fit
The kind of pain that you are ill-equipped to handle
This doesn’t mean I don’t love the world
I’ve just decided that I don’t have to be part of it
I’m just along for the ride on a separate lane
Off the track on a separate train
So I can finally stuff the pain of failed expectations
Where it belongs

They see the circle take the square
Going around round here
Without fear
Cutting corners
Till love cycles back
To there is no white or black
Just humans
Hands by the fire
Hands held all together
Till better angels are inspired
One foot into the coals to forge better metals
And our bond finally becomes
Unbreakable in love

Time’s strangeness surpasses
sad fields of corrugated metal,
spastic lights that project
commercial intent,
technological wonders
barely willed into existence
by the minds of inventors
who we will never visit.

Tragic daydreams of daring proportions
as the desire to acquire materiel wealth
cause us to shift and over extend ourselves.

The Earth bares such deep scars,
as men and women work and draw
from the almost infinite well of greed,
that angry stomach with teeth
that seems to exceed human reach.

I am stalled.
Fatigue
enfeebles me,
and I believe
I will lose
the ability
to perceive
and achieve
the full potential
of my inspiration.
  
There is a slight pain
from eyestrain.
Thus, I complain
in such a mundane way
about how my eyeballs
sound like sponges
when I rub them.

The winter is not normal.
A spectral fog fills the horizon
making all dreams of
what lies beyond
seem exotic.
Meanwhile
skeletal trees,
whose leaves
have been reaped
with time’s sharp sickle,
sleep silently
unyielding
to any breezes
just a part of
the season’s
sick cycle
of birth and decay,

My eyes still strain
in a light pain,
but at least the fatigue
did not prevent me
from writing again.

Anger is not a
sustainable source of fuel.
It is far too combustible,
and dangerously volatile.
It will either burnout
or blowup in your face.

Rose petal plucked perfectly
From the perch it was put on
Pink side placed in the daylight
Turns to crimson during night
Soft pigmented petal pulled
From its’ proper place
And plunged into darkness
As it dances lost in the
Vast expanse of space

Broad generalizations frequently decrease the fluidity of human understanding and growth.

The bloviate voices bellow
unbound by morality
or the clarity of logic
that rational people seek.

I search the multitude
of men and women
for the ecstasy
of a poet’s euphony.

But the unmoved masses
do not parlay that way.
They simmer in their hate,
rage when they
don’t get their way,
causing strangers
undue amounts of pain.

In an autumnal day
I am impelled
by the sharpness
of these unmovable hearts.

However, my mettle is molten
marked by my persistence
as I seek the betterment
of all mankind.

Nothing was ever easy
For her reluctant heart
Eyes ever scanning the horizon
Heart ever guarded
Reticent desire
Always looking for an exit strategy
Always seeing the same old patterns
Passion and betrayal
Lust and loss of interest
Why bother even trying
Lovers discarded
As fast as they were acquired
Waning desire intermingled
With boredom and guilt

Warring walls let men condemn
Other nations we might call friend
Thin boundaries made of leaves and death
Imagined markers that separate state and self
The illusion stands stronger than any borderline
Humanity so easily defined as the other
Cause the enemy outside the gates
Is supposed to be worse than the beast inside that waits
Withering intellects that debate merits and levels of hate
While class warfare does exist
The upper puppeteering the middle class
While the bottom is dismissed

It is a quiet and uncertain passion
that rips my painted paper thin skin.
False bravado to show even though
we all know I have no real machismo.

But, under the night sky I am second
only to the full moon’s illumination.
I am cool as my midnight walks,
as sweet as my imagined talks
that flit across my flat notepad.

A thousand lines of what I would say,
a million bits and syllables of what ifs
dying quietly to become whatever
in the pitch black infinite indifference
of those stranger’s black hole souls.

I crack the plates tectonic,
stack the shifting landmasses
one more put upon
parallel spinning kitchen ware.
Till all of time and space breaks.
Cosmic energy crackling
with me in the middle
absorbing all that I can see
alone in the silent vacuum of observation,
inspired by the void my peers sired.

The sun begins
to descend
and I reach
to touch
that distant glow,
a dwindling fury
that falls,
to allow
the cold moon light’s
lovely ascension.

I wait,
longing to rush
that rapturous fire,
to devour
such radiance,
to feast upon
the atoms
that explode.

I am ravenous,
and jealous,
angry at
the otherside
that soon
will come to life
while I am
drenched
in night.

Begging,
I beseech thee
sun please don’t
leave me,

but the gaseous orb
ignores me
as I implore,
cajoling
with strange
disintegration fantasies.

The sun leaves me.
So, I start courting the moon,
because I do not wish
to live so lonely.

She left work early
to catch a train
high heels
spiking puddles of rain.

She will not be back again;

Turned the corner
almost tripped
barely missed
getting hit
by a yellow cab.

All aboard and off
at her final stop
two lefts
and straight three blocks,

Up the stairs
with no one there
in the bathroom
waits fate unfair.

Blood shot eyes
and thinning hair,
She hid it well,
or maybe no one cared.

She counts the pills,
and puts them back
Pulls out the razor,
and puts it back
resisting the urge
to finally do that.

In the mirror,
she stares defiant
standing self reliant
ready to live.

A dish of soap,
still bubbly soaked,
slips off the counter
tripping her silent
leaving a cold corpse
where they found her.

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.

Today is the third
a day to work
cuz I prefer
to not be disturbed
by the holiday hustle.

I don't like that bustle,
so if I can work
through the weekend
to get to the work week
and avoid people
who bore me
then it fits perfectly
with my developing story.

You cannot guard your heart
against the grief of loss
for very long.

Cause the pain will creep
while you’re asleep
and find you
waking in tears.

Even years
after the conscious pain
has lain dormant
a sound, a scent,
a sight will send
you back in again
to the place
you hadn’t been
in a long time.

The mind finds
ways to make you remember
whether you want to or not.
The only way to the lose the pain
is to die.

My heart does not know
nationalities.
It only sees
children suffering,
refugees
running.
They are people that could be
different versions of me.

My anger sees deceit
but softens to the struggle
of a familial ******.
He tries to climb in my window
while I sleep.
I rage
but when he struggles to be better,
my anger subsides.
Sympathy overrides
good sense.
I do not trust him
because
he has stolen from me before,
but it is cold outside,
so I let him camp out
on a cot in my house,
on my living room floor.

My sadness sees
human beings like me
being taken in by a republican
corporate shill.
At the same time
my democrats
can’t see how fat cats
hold the leash
of their party people.
So gladiators fight it out
while businessmen make out
better than the land barons
of yester year.

My hope sees
subtle shifts,
slight variations
of people with
noble intent
periscopes down,
heads up,
they march for a better world.

My cynicism sees
my own stupidity
and laziness.
It sees a world ablaze
that will not change.
So I write it out
and go to bed
letting better men
then me
struggle to set us free.

My dreams see?

In this new world
We should take up the cause
Of play
Make up a pause
To stay the way of innocence
Not ignorance
But in aw
And be merry
And be playful
Returning to the wonderful
Like the children do
Every day renewed
With adventures

My imagination puts me in the weirdest places.
******* in a gas station
I picture the wet graffitied wall thinning
as it turns into diaphanous skin.

The thin dermis
is warm to the touch.
As my **** is drained of this
bright yellow ****
I lean forward
pushing against
the wall.
The thin skin tiles give in.

I almost trip and fall into that wall.
Now it pulses
responding to the pressure of
my accidental touch.
Then it glows
and my hand gets stuck.
I sputter what the ****,
and try to pull out but
the wall is pulling me in.
Now it is burning my skin
as if I am being digested.
My flesh is sizzling,
while I am screaming
and that is where
this disturbing daydream ends.

She is such a sweet pale hell
That makes me touch myself
Pleasure dangerously close to torture
Eyes lit with the softest furies
Lips that melt the ice of my soul
Whips that chain my pain to hers
I cry out “all my verses are for you.”
But she whispers “I am not yours.”