You are beautiful my dear,
and if it is not clear I fear
given less distance
between us
I would let you lie to me.

I would let you
string sweet syllables
of seduction,

till my mind’s reductions
causes me to collapse
like a black hole
devouring everything
that is us
and letting nothing
ever escape.

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.

Flicked by one frantic finger
The sting still lingers
The tiny fleck of a red mark
Left its’ spark bruised his heart
How easily a child is hurt
And yet only seconds after tears had fell
He was back outside merrily playing with himself
But not actually playing with himself ;)

She was a mess
but she unconsciously
proceeded
to pursue what
she believed was needed.

She was possessed
by a paranoid obsession
to find the people
and go get ’em
while she could.

So sick and disturbed,
cause all that she heard
was the sound of her demise
rolling thunder in the skies,
under angel’s demonic guise.

The medicine did not help it
the voice in her head
the pills could not squelch it
so, in stress she purged with *****
like a racing flaming comet
that came crashing in
crazy calamity.
No one now engages her insanity.

She is just a mess.

2015 and as I look back
I cannot find the heart to laugh
Losses build shadow blocks
Oil and rot that clog tired arteries
Cracking my positive disposition

It is a perfect
fall day
for following
whatever whim
directs me
to ride
against or with
the wind.

I daydream
that I am being
chased by
villainous
creeps.

My bike crosses
the worn wooden bridge
with the thud of
loose boards
persistently
following me.
I imagine
they are my enemies.

Brown leaves
clutter
the dirt path
crunching
and crumbling
under
the black tires.

On the sidewalk
I speed up
preparing for
the air
I will walk
as I leap off
the top
of the three steps
to finally escape
my enemies.

I love
this ten speed
purple huffy
that carries me
wherever
I choose to be.

Desire is the thief of
a pleasant present moment.

This is not some poem. This is pure truth. Right now I am crying , because no matter how hard I speak and write love my country keeps arming up for war, and attacking the army for its vile acts of barbarity is apparently like attacking a religion because people worship the military and soldiers.
How many ******* times do I have to cry love while other cry war till people listen. I am so emotionally exhausted but my pain is irrelevant compared to the victims of America's policies which are almost always enacted in the interest of the wealthy.

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.

Summertime
drive to work,
car running,
hot engine gunning,
I keep moving
making sweat
roll down my neck.

All this heat
seems to sharpen
my senses,
intensifying
once dormant
emotions,
that make me cry.

Cinnamon and raison
memories resurface,
tasty pastry affections
from my grandmother
who made such delightful
treats,
and tucked them away
in her Tupperware tray.

A blue and white
small plastic pool
we used to stay cool
punctured by twigs
draining into
cracks of
the sidewalk
that worked its way
from our back door
to small the side streets
in the public housing.

Baby brother
on the back of my bike
as we ride
to the library,
baby brother and me
going to the movies.
Time keeps moving
at an uncomfortable
accelerated pace.
Moments are replaced
then changed
or erased by times
cruel intent.

The loss of pets,
the loss of grandpa,
the loss of grandma,
the loss of my presumed
innocence
is scorching.

Until, the season’s
rambunctiousness
slowly softens
to more bearable temperatures.

We are displaced
by pain’s past,
a place where
black roses bloomed.

Where sorrow was groomed,
but between
the waxing moons
there were small smiles,
light laughter
hugs, love, and
stories.

Though shadows came
soft kindnesses
kept madness at bay
with bright interludes
breaking through
shaking the core of who
we thought we were
and who we want to be.

Presently, I visit shade
to see the sun above the leaves,
to see the light shimmering
in small rain puddles that pool
in the streets by my old school
in the cool springtime afternoons.

The pain is a permanent companion
but through those tinted mirrors
of bruises and verbal assaults,
I see a sunny side of sanity
the goodness inside of me,

and in time
even the shadows become a pleasant
memory.

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

The poet philosopher is more daring by far. For their is no par to hit, no height to attain or place where he/she may fit. All there is, is to see, feel, breath, think, and write it.

I don’t like periods
In my poetry
They are fine
In prose
And paragraphs
But I don’t find
They work
At the end of my lines
The stanza stops
Or enjambment
Works better
For the poetics

If skin color, place of birth, politics, or religions is what separates you from a stranger. Then remember your stranger was once a baby, has lost or will lose someone, and they will cry as you do. They will walk awake in mourning as will you, as you do, because they are human to. Syrian, Republican, Dominican, Cuban, American, Conservative, Liberal, Democrat, Atheist, Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, and all variations between and around these distinctions are part of our human family.

And if perchance you do allow. I will curve those lip while I furrow my brow. I will split your serious demeanor with a clownish tact, making a joke you have laugh at, and if a chuckle  refuses to arise, all sink so low as to do the pull my finger bit because that one get all the girls and guys to laugh then leave the room choking.

You may drink
To obscure your pain
Play videos games
Chat on Facebook
Immerse yourself
In other social media
Watch movies, TV
And YouTube videos
Chasing novelty

Going after
That consumer high
From the merchandise
You buy

But in time
The silence will find you
And the anguish you were blind to
Will consume you to

Till, the pharmaceutical companies own you
Because you have to
Take so many anti-depressants
Just to get through
One more day

Flicked by one frantic finger
The sting still lingers
The tiny fleck of a red mark
Left its’ spark bruised his heart
How easily a child is hurt
And yet only seconds after tears had fell
He was back outside merrily playing with himself
But not actually playing with himself ;)

The night is sweet
and generous to me,
offering a soft breeze
to please,
and prevent overheating.

But there is something
eating at me.
Grief bating,
it has been waiting
for an unconsciously
expected tragedy.

So, tears threaten
to consume me,
water devouring
soft skin,
and flesh reddening
for something
that has yet to happen,
something I have imagined.

Though, I know
the night is beautiful,
I still cry.

Stressed and tense
the young man
twitches and jumps
at any instance
at school.

But at home
he works in
a light tee
soaked with sweat,
as he
pushes the mower
listening to
his favorite songs
on a Sony Walkman
cd player.

Sprays of stray grass
blow back fast
sticking and staining
his straining calves
and ankles.

Even the torn blue jeans
start smearing shades of green
while he continues moving
and sweating profusely.

Small squirrelly animals
scamper away
afraid
of the loud machine
pushed by this
oblivious human being.

His hair is soaked in sweat,
the sweet relief
of strenuous labor
won’t pay off later,
but for a good hour
or more
he is completely absorbed
in the music and work.

The world ceases to be
any problem for him
and he has no tension.

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

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

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

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

Every day
even in the rain
the old man walks by
my workplace window
limping lightly
could be very lonely
but that is not a certainty.

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

Black circles darken my eye.
There are notes to play,
but my vocal cords are cut,
and I am drowning in
a steaming pile of
my own guts.

For the art of poetry
the city streets
stir slowly
waking with me.
A multitude of cars,
follow in front
and behind me.
They look like
that illusion
when two mirrors
reflect eternity
back and forth
between themselves.
They look like
a thousand
distorted reflections
of me
driving at a parallel pace
in different cars
with different faces
going to different places
for the same reason.

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

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 strip me of my dignities.
Time steals treasured memories.
Stress ages with wrinkles and ulcers.

No new faith just tarnished alters,
majestic dreams cannot sustain.
I falter in the throes of this pain,
stand trembling, stumbling in vain.
I cannot remain the same.

Fallen family and friends disappear
moving up on and out of here.

In the end I lose it all;
dying with no angel wings
to bring me to them.

Everyone knows
we are a bunch of
blustering bluffing
posturing buffoons
who cower callously
ignoring our own
broken humanity

No justice no peace
The riot geared up police
Line up to stop these
Hopeful and heartbroken people
From protesting
To the inconvenience
Of the wealthy

There are smiles in the past
That bleed through to the present

Hugs and tickles
Running and laughing
A wooden swing
Puppy dog love

Journeys
Began and ended
Pathways merging
And parting
More than once

They play in my memory
Treasures
Better than a golden ring

Perhaps they are the parts
That make me
A decent human being
Because I hope that I am
A good man

I am alone
in observation,
a splendid
ascension
of sensations;

Textures,
tense fingers
find
tactile pleasures
smooth and cool
to rough and hot
from heated concrete
beneath my feet
to moist stems
and slippery grass
that barely allows
any traction at all.

A titan’s perception
my poetic obsession
with twirling words
in a myriad of ways;

Of tasting salty meats,
or soft sugary sweet treats,
of the quick dissolving
cotton candy
that clumps
then disintegrates
on the tip of my tongue,

or the blossoming pain
of a cracked tooth
and exposed nerve.

The blacktop
cracks,
and I observe
earth.
Till, my eyes
ascend to heaven’s height
and I perceive the slight
blinking lights
championed by
a bright beautiful moon.

I met another
Could be
Maybe
What if
Beautiful
Interesting
Kind of young
Woman
With kids

Too bad I am
To well done
Burger burnt straight through
Can’t trust my feeling
Even when I am
Sharing them with you

To many let downs
Rejections
And heartbreaks
To many good poems
About painful mistakes

But she looks so good
That I almost wish I could
Eat her up
While she devours me to

I got a boatload
Of excuses
Like I like my life
Like I like being on the road
Like my dad needs me at home
Like I enjoy my sleep and freedom

But the biggest one
Is that I am just too tired
I don’t want to get my
Hopes up in a twirling parasol
Just to have the umbrella break
And let me get rained on
Again.

I have
strong arms
to hold you
but a gentle spirit
that does
not want to own
or control you.

If I had white wings
of soft feathers
on my back
I would wrap
you up in them
to protect you
from any attack,
and if I was heavenly
I would still
submit to thee
an angel’s decree
of love and devotion
given joyfully.

I will not drown
in those deep blue eyes
but swim those seas
for as long as my
lifespan allows me.

No surprise
you know that
this is not a lie
I am ever your devotee.

So, whatever or whenever
you need or want me
call and I will come running
yours until
you are done with me.

I did not really listen
cause everything written
that I read
was devoured too fast.
It was only when I slowed down
that I saw the words
for more then what they were.
They became images in my head
of the spiraling universe they represented.

Blank walls
paint the
transparent halls
of my memory.

The tragedy
is that I can’t see
pass the
The steps
that spiral
into grief.

The unpainted
empty timber
barn toy box
collects dust,
leaving me
to choke
on what was once
playful fancies.

The closet is closed,
but beyond
the dark brown
wooden patterns
I hear echoes;

People I knew
talking,
sitting in old
frayed
lawn chairs,
looking up
at the night sky,
and me playing.
Star light,
flint rocks,
and fireflies
sparkle
escaping
through the crack.

But the door
is locked
and I can’t
get back
to that or
to those I miss.

So, I cry.
Fear
plants its fierce feet
hard into my face
as I worry
that I will be to late
to say goodbye
to the next
loved one that dies.

Depression is a hydra
Of loneliness
Head lobbed off
Replaced by a friends suicide
Memories of child abuse
Children Soldiers in Africa
I lob off the head of child abuse
A relative dies
A cop kills a kid
Military state
On and on it goes
For everyone cut off
Another one grows
Another one grows
Another one grows
Leaving me heartbroken
Sobbing alone
Facing a beast
I will never defeat

I drive.
Each night passes by
cold shadows
tell no lies,
by flicker strangely
like specters
dying before me.

The road is mine
and I am its,
possessed by quiet reflections.
Daylight finds
hills that ride
and roll
up and down
all around me.

Stimulants,
set to see me
safely home,
little nicotine sticks,
not actual cigarette
of vapes
but gas station
electronic
devices,
stacked with
lots of caffeine.

Music and podcasts,
audio books
play by to fast,
they never seem to last,
because the drive never ends.

Hotels,
hot showers,
more caffeine
then overtime hours.

Until,
they settle me down
to one worksite
and that rogue
road work life
fades fast behind me.

Part of me misses
the unpredictable madness.
Part of me is grateful
for the stability.
Its healthy
cause I get better sleep.
Now I drive the same route
every **** day,
but I miss the strangeness
of the different roads
I used to take.

I don’t want to fall asleep
Cause death is not that far
From the other side of wakefulness

I’m glad that someone finally got through to you,
that you are listening to someone who
says the same exact thing that I always do,
and now you’ve got this can-do attitude,
so everything is going to be better.

However, I am a little annoyed
that you managed to avoid
hearing anything that I had to say,
when I was trying convinced you
of those truths that you now believe in.

They agree with me
retroactively,
say they
were always
against the hate,

but I remember when
those women
and men
came rolling in
with their rage,

when they said
the immigrants
were to blame,
when the few
who stood against them
were defamed.

It has happened
again and again,
blacklists,
secret prisons,
social poisons,
marches,
white rage,
fascism.
The masses join in
while we keep struggling.

Then when
peace swings
back in,
when the pendulum
is less threatening
I hear them say
that they never behaved
that way. *******!

I’ll bet their grandchildren will proclaim
“I could never be led astray the same way.”
Then make the same about face.

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's inherent
that we inherit
what's apparent
from our parents.

I was stretched and torn by gravity
Grabbed and incinerated in celestial furnaces
Spewed out into space to face
New particle possibilities
Vapors in the black
Travelling at my own speed
Till I became earth and earth beget life
And life devoured itself
While giving birth to itself
Moving in such strange ways
Till what matters became matter
Traveling space dust
In love with the cosmos
That grandfathered me into
Existence

I’m the mental man
made of immortal stuff,
the kind of fluff
that lets me
retroactively
justify the things I see.

Today a digital beast
is beating me,
frustrating,
as I reset and load
in hopes that I will
find the control
and right configuration
to defeat this fire breathing
video game creation.

Scales, claws,
fire, and fury,
armored up in a hurry
and I worry
that it will get me again.

Even if, I do not win,
I can reload and start anew.

Wouldn’t it be sweet
if life worked that way.
If I could quick save
and reload after a mistake.

If I could take big risk,
and have the bugs in my life
get fixed.

If I could go online to find
life’s cheat codes
to beat all of those
real life monsters,
not the fantasy type
but the kind that
devalues human life,

steals from the poor
and gives to the rich.

Man, I wish fixing life was
as simple as this
digital dragon that I will definitely beat
eventually.

A soft sympathetic voice
cries

Please,
don’t forget
what I was,

a child of love.

Please don’t
let go
of my heart.

Please,
be kind
and kindle
the hearth fire
of compassion.

Please don’t run
when I need you
to stay.

Please,
oh please
don’t
forget me.

The gentle voice
slips away
as the barer
stares coldly
into a blank face.

It is a dark mirror
that marks his change.

What a strange constellation she makes,
sweet stellar body
that I view from
a safe distance
cause she would
burn me like the sun,
scorching me
with her radiant beauty,
as I study her astronomy
the anatomy
of cosmic glory.

From the mainframe
That brought you war games
Head-shots for **** points
Team death match battles
Close to realistic war scenes
On your plasma tv screen
Here your enemies scream
As their heads explode
See your IQ drop
While dexterity improves
As your gaming console
Get used to control
A digital killing machine
Pumped up world war dreams
Cause death is a game
And killing is great
And now our children are well trained
To fly our missile and machine gun
Loaded drones
and shoot down the enemies
Of our sick bloated
Corporate corrupted
Fake free state

I am twisted.
As self-inflicted
fissures
crack
from all the pressure
that fizzles within,

not from soda or gin
but from my growing discontent
as I contend
with this trend
Of infantilizing
women and men,

this categorizing
everything improperly
for the sake of comfort,
consistency, and certainty
labeling things
that need no label
instead of just letting beautiful things
be complicated and interesting.