A sparse field of clouds
circled a splendid moon.
Thin vapors curved around
the moons glorious rainbow aura.

I tried to capture
this spectacular scene
with my phone.
Unfortunately,
that bit of technology
did not detect
and collect
the quality
I was enamored by.

Then I tried to use
a camera that had
been sitting in my car
for over a year.
The first attempt found
that the batteries were dead.
I replaced them
but the camera
still could not capture
the rapture
of this fabulous
lunar sight.

With only two minutes
until I had to clock on
I gave up on
this moon I had
set my sights upon
and disappointedly
clocked in at
ten fifty-three.

So here I am a freak. Undesirable to some confusing to others annoying to most. I think to much about why things are the way they are instead of accepting them as they are, I question to much, so I don't get to far, and in the chaos of the world where people try to pretend there is order I understand more then most, becuase I walk along the borders of life like a lonely ghost and see more then almost everyone I know.

A little voice
cries out at last
and makes his
first appearance here.

Pink skin
and thin black hair,
little belly button
poking out where
the cord was cut.

Wrinkled flesh
that’s spotted brown
lifts the baby
from the bed
and cradles him
in an affectionate
embrace.

Sparkles splashed
across her eyes
a smile grows
so large and wide
as she holds
this newborn babe.

The dominoes
of years
tip over too fast
as the little boy grows,
and plays those
board games
with his grandma.

Wheel a fortune watchers,
they both enjoy
beating the contestants
to the answers.

Long car trips
and chocolate chips,
she plays and sit
as the substitute
church pianist,
all soft interludes
of memories
he shared with her
had a tasty musical tint.

Later on, the boy is gone
his grandma starts to fade
and that once precious child
doesn’t make it back that way
in time to say goodbye.

The anger does not fit
the cage in which you sit
when with a quick
flick of your thin wrists
you throw ****
and hit more often
then you miss.

You claim to be bereft,
that by some strange theft
your dignity was stolen,

but your religious devotion
pushes you right on your back
as it attempts to enslave,
takes the feminism you once praised
and burns all that progress we’ve made
away;

And your political affiliations
set you in a binary conflict
of liberal against conservative
as the wealthy puppeteers
put their hands up
both party’s ****** derriere
with campaign contributions
and other bribes.

While the pursuit of status
from the materials you lack,
like your Iphone ******,
your sports car crack,
and your commodified
individuality
which comes in
three different colors
a personalized
perfectly designed
clothing line,
makes you an addict
who has to pay
way past closing time
with soul sapping debt.

It is not completely destructive
But a deep dulling
I want to ask for help
I want someone to love me
But I cannot speak
I am muted in my pain
Because my pain does not matter

Nature fashioned
a thorny crown
to cut my scalp
and bleed me dry,
leaving me to decide
if I should cry
or try to write
my suicide note.

There was no lover to
pull me from the sea,
or make anything
mean anything.
So, I was just floating,
tears and snot soaking
this body choking
on bitter salt truths.

There was no fire
to keep me warm.
So my digits,
and heart went frigid,
and that rhythm
that was given
to the living,
I no longer missed it.

The sun disappeared
and when the clouds cleared
even the moon had skipped town.
The tides came and went
pushing me out,
and pulling me back in again,
but I was already too dead
to drown.

The husk they found
was a terrible art display
of a soul fried and flayed
till it up and flew away
to smoke itself and disintegrate.

We are not the personal property
Of some person who proposed
As always I oppose
The subjugation of our identity
In pursuit of marital bliss
This institution does not fix ****
It just repackages old ideas
In modern consumerism
In love I am not yours
And you are not mine
But I am not blind
To the stunning visage
The gift of your existence
I just don’t think real love
Requires ancient legal and religious
Assistance

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.

I love the creative insights
drawn from long hours
of stillness.
I would live there
but for the dread of boredom
and deep dark revelations.

No lie can live forever
Cause liars always die
Leaving the next generation
To waddle slowly to the truth
Letting honest hearts free to fly high

So, an orange ape,
with hair so real
you’d swear it was fake,
said we have to make America great
and the first thing he plans to do
is punish anyone who chooses
to burn a flag.

Doesn’t mind the kind
of KKK dudes who burnt crosses
the David Duke
white sheet brotherhood
who endorsed him,
but if you’re a Muslim
or a Mexican
you better watch out.

I don’t want to be divisive
but this guys been selling *******
and conservatives wonder why
a lot of people are contemplating
evacuating America or suicide.
It is because in our younger days
this nation faced
fascist states that grew the same way.

Lesbians and gays are afraid
cause the VP Pence
tried to pass a law that allowed
people to discriminate.
It is strange cause people used to proclaim
that the LGTBQ struggle
and the civil rights movement
were not the same.

So some sit in terror,
some rise to march on,
some show their solidarity
with Facebook posts,
and others write in hopes
that words can overcome
this ******* rerun
from nineteen fifty-one.

I am the god of love,
not the ****** conceit.
but the one you defeat
when you bomb to beat
the enemies you create.

I am the god of love,
diametrically opposed
to the god of war
who composed
decrees of hate
to destroy me.

I am the god of love,
the god who heals,
who wants to touch
to make you feel
everything.

I am the god of love,
a creature of ****** passions,
a being of peace and compassion,
but my ambrosia is wearing off,
and my godhood costs.
Soon, I will be unable to afford
or ever earn back
the godhood that humanity lacks.

When my divinity fades to black
that will be the end of that.

It is a field
of cubicles,
rectangle walls
that rise
chin high
on either side,
in a rainforest of
of random plants.

“Tell me quick,”
the demon smiled
with teeth as long
as a crocodile’s,
threatening to
chomp down on my hand,
and turn it into a stump
of mangled flesh.
“Do you think
that you will survive
all the monsters crawling
deep inside
you fragile fractured mind?”
The slimy skin
was glistening,
with over accentuated
varicose veins pumping
poison and acid.
I turned away
from the shadowy form
to ignore the coming storm
of my madness.
But he smiled
deep and darkly
as if he could see
the very heart of me.
I shivered with despair
tinkling in all my fear
because the monster
made it very clear
that I would die
this very evening.
Though I cried
he ignored me,
while he walked away.
In all the terrors that I’ve seen
this is the one that made me scream,
begging for the angels to rescue me,
but the feathered hosts
of heaven never came.
No mattered how hard I prayed
I was on my own.
There before me
lay a silver blade.
So, I grabbed it while I waited.
The beast came back to fill his gut,
so I shoved the blade right up his but
and watch the filth and blood
drain from his bowls.
A smoking mass of ****** blood
made the strangest kind of sound
as it drained in clumps onto the mud.
He howled in rage and agony;
but I just smiled
with a sinister glee,
because I found the monster
was not as beastly as me.
Now the forest may be full
of demons, trolls, or goblins,
but I know that I can stop them,
so I feel no fear.

We break like waves on a rock
Slamming again and again
Then running away
Rejoining the trillions
Of water molecules
Then restarting the race
Separately moving together
Crashing and returning
The rock erodes
As we come and go
Go and come
Shattered stones
Become wet sand
As we break like waves on a rock

It wouldn’t be the blues,
if once in a great while
you dropped by with a smile
and some speck of good news.

Time makes grotesqueries of us all.
Tiny sacs of water,
flesh that holds itself together
withering with each year.
Skin bunching, and freckling,
time takes each smile
exchanging grins for winces.
Tumors bulge,
while the memory
of each loved one lost
recedes into an amorphous fog.
Hair bleaches itself,
slowly greying then whitening
as it thins.
Mobility becomes restricted
by pain, and exhaustion.
Labored breaths resist
Death’s inevitable kiss of black bliss.
Until, even loved ones cringe,
trying to touch,
but shivering too much
with a tinge of
fear and a slight vibration of disgust.
A single loved one down,
we know the score
and as we watch several more fall,
most of us
march on oblivious
to the fact
that these grotesqueries
will soon be us.

It is easy enough
to wish all the world would love us,
to strain for fame,
to claim a name
synonymous with success
living life at its best.
It is great for the rest
but for me I’d prefer to be
true to myself even though
I don't know exactly who he is.

Why do I have to be tense
when the easily offended
are the ones who commit the offense
emit attitude with their pretense
moral to a biblical degree
With no true human decency
Publicly they frighten me
privately they sicken me
declaring hateful victory
over love and humanity
Or is it just me?

All my thoughts are rhetorical,
as I have become Socrates’ Oracle
foretelling the swelling
of sad and sweet uncertainties
that will certainly
come to haunt me.

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.

She's a protester
not a warrior
but something
so much better,
a singer song writer
a warm and brighter
lamp that keeps us
from succumbing
to the mind numbing
dullness with which
greedy men try to use
to **** our muse,
and give us the blues.

It is a solid ache
Harder then
The chest tightening
Cardiac devastation

Hands shake
While I wait
For the world
To catch up to
My kind of love

Tears fall
Unless I distract myself
The cemetery
Holds more like minds
Than I ever find
In these times

I am alone in a sea
Of self-satisfied idiots
Who think the idiot is me

Muscles melt
Legs bend
Minds tend
Towards fantasies

Chants and prayers
Inaction in subservience
While they let the madness go on
But I am wrong

A child starves
They pray
A war goes on
They pray
Rug burns
And sore *****
Bent over
Waiting for an answer
That never comes
But I am the *******

The rose melts
Painted crimson
In fairytales
Of wonderland

The sun departs
Vacating its hydrogen heart
Leaving me with
Only its darker parts

Cascades of liquid
The coagulating kind
Float inside
My troubled mind

Thus, I wonder
While my fingers tap
Beat for heart
Equal to the first
As it will be the last
Will I ever live to see
Such madness pass

I feel like a strange man of contradictions As a rational human I want to aproach every thing logically, but as a dreamer I want to live life with such amazing zest and passion. I want to be consumed by the beauty of life and lost in its wonders drowning so deep in the moment that I can not escape it, yet still be able to focus and do what needs to be done to acheive greatness.

It is a creamy white dream
of soft skin
that blends in
a flow
from her toes
to her long
blond locks.

Her stomach curves
only slightly
on either side
with an almost
perfectly
symmetrical
quality.

Her collarbone
moves in an almost
perfectly straight line
from her small
but strong shoulders
that are well defined.

Her face speaks of
youth and love
with silver eyes
of mischievousness.

Naked form
adorned with nature’s
lovely blessing
gracefully undresses
to share the artistry
of the small ******* I see.

I do not have to look sexually.
Even though a small part of me
stirs pervertedly,
the other part observes carefully
with a deep appreciation
of the bravery
it take to share what I see.

It is even stranger when I read
her poetry of an even deeper quality
because the sexist in me
does not expect to see
such physical grace and beauty
intertwined with a divine poetic mind.

All choices are final.
Situations may change,
but the decisions once made
cannot unmake time.
You may change your mind,
but you most certainly will find
that you cannot rewind life.

Ridiculous seditionist,
I wonder what his
cretinous position is
in this cuz,
he isn't a traditionalist
and censorship
is not a hardship
for this fake populist
wanna be ******* fascist.

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.

Be forewarn
that when I write
my autobiography
I will lie;

Sometimes by exclusion,
omitting the unfitting
bits from my narrative.

Other times
by the blindness
and biasness
of being
so far removed
from the life
I wish you
to view.

As I strive
to write
about my life
in truth,
I will fail me
and you to,
but not for
lack of trying
to do right.

White snowflakes fall.
Brown boots break the ground.
Porcelain perceptions
are lost and now
crimson puddles
seed the grounds.

This is what is found
when nationalistic
rhetoric
slowly crosses
from let’s make
this country great
to this is who
is to blame
and who to hate.

Till, that ill suited
nuclear rage
resets the atomic age
and glass jars
of peach preserves,
rhubarb,
and non-perishables
in dusty cellars
are the only things
left of us human beings.

Occasionally, I am besieged by the cruelty of humanity.
Burning blankets of pain and anger inflame and engulf me.

But with a crack of kindness my hope is restored.
I meet a decent person who helps me out
when I am in need.
I meet a friendly person
who calms me down when I am panicking.
I see my better self reflected in strangers.

Then a ****** mows down
a crowd of innocent bystanders
with a van and a bunch of guns
and I am right ******* back
to where I started from.

I don’t know how to be normal and most times I don’t care
I could read for hours and contemplate the ups and downs of whats fair
But sometimes I feel a spark of despair
A deep dark longing or apathy beyond compare
Sometimes I feel like death would be grand
Who gives a **** if the normals wouldn’t understand
I get tired of this life and all of its pain
Of the suffering existence is a trifle insane
To walk through this life which is so **** mundane
What do I have to show for this trip but a broken heart and overactive brain

I watch the videos
Could have been
Dark tv shows
Or horror movies
So graphic
So ******
So real
Makes me feel
An inkling of their pain
Others remain
Untouched
Do not watch
That stuff
But I struggle
I want to know the truth
Want to see what
Nightmares do
When they become real
So I descend down
That dark damning
Corridor
I may not come back
Before
My heart is broken more
But someone has to look

There was a time
when the Beltane fires
blasted, the massive
crowds face
with orange heat,

when women danced,
swirling and singing
in an orgiastic fury.
When a poet’s tongue
could raise a lover’s skirt,
and with passions
unparalleled part
a ******’s legs,

when well written words
would stir adventurous hearts
to grand feats,
and the poets would be seen
and remembered.

Now black hole brains
and shallow stares
sink solemnly
onto their blinking screens.
The poets are not seen.
Their truths are no longer gleaned.
Their words are not heard.
Dull faces are lit
by other people’s
facebook, twitter,
and instagram *******.
The fools have forgotten
the former passions
of this existence.

Thus, the poets dies,
unmourned
by the unmoved masses.

You do not appreciate me till I am gone
Then you can do what you want
With my words
With my life
Play my corpse
Like a marionette
Interpret as you see fit
Because I am not a genius
Till I am dead
And I can mean what you said

I listen to the old songs
And they strip me of the distance
Chip at the time between me
And a younger version of me
Tug me back like a time machine
I want to but I never scream
Just let the dull ache of longing
Wash violently over my being
Like a system restore on my computer
Restoring old feelings
It’s nostalgia and agony
Wrapped up in my memory

Perhaps we should take comfort in our insignificance. The universe is indifferent. It neither needs or care for our existence. All the reason we need to care about one another is that our existence is so transient. It is most likely we will not revisit this or any other life, so why not treasure those by our side, and be kind to strangers for that reason alone.

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.

You know I tried
the old suicide ride,
but I never made it past
the last
loop,
and I am not making light
of this sorry life,
I’m just making it through,

But if I want to
joke about my pain
then that is what I will do

I’ll put a swiss cheese bandage
So I can see the goo flow through
share all these mad metaphors
that allow you
to obscure the truth
cause I don’t want to
make you feel bad to

I just want one person
that I love
love me enough
to say

“I am not okay.
But, how are you?”

The words are my gift.
Like water skins
of wine
I drink them in,
drunken
with their delight.
Intoxicated,
I stumble.
Inebriated
until I am woozy
with their wonder.

They lift me up
on wax wings
whipping me wildly
around the world
in a whirlwind.
A tornado
of fury
felt,
a furnace
unleashed
in literature
and speech.

Oh, how I love them.
Though they
dally
with other lovers,
who are more gifted
then me,
I do not cheat.

I sing
in poetry,
and like a drunkard
fall with broken wings
swept away
in the melancholia
of knowing
no one will ever love me
like I love this language
you read.

It is a poet’s job to feel what we never felt,
to be where we never were,
and see what we never saw

They were
crimson
arterial
kisses,
blown in
razor sharp wind;
loving me to death
as I was frozen.

I am instituting make a friend laugh day. Laughter has so many positive effects. It reduce tension and blah dee blah dee blah dee blah. So I challenge everyone to try and make someone you know laugh. Lets make the world a better place one chuckle at a time, or two if you prefer. (warning: excessive laughter may make you feel better and improve your day.)

The poor fool
longs to sell
his septic soul
to the sorrowful
sparrow
who walks
with broken wings
transforming
from a bird to
a womanly form.

There are no rings
of will’s green projection,
no sorcerer’s spells
of protection,
no magic hammer,
or mighty mutants,
no green monsters
or Inhumans.

There are no Amazonian warriors
there are no masked
caped crusaders,
no day walking vampires,
or any other special men in tights.

There are no gods
coming to save us,
no flying aliens
here today cause
all of our dreams
of grand heroics
are just fantasies
with nothing to show
for it.

There is no guarantee
that good will succeed,
no grand decree
from a higher being
that demands man’s
obedience
to a specific moral standard.

There is no soul mate,
no reason to think
we are all that great.
So, there is no reason to wait
cause there is only now.

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’s got that busted lip
But you figured it
Was not worth
Your attention

So, all that tension
Just tightens her throat
Makes here choke
On all of her hope

Cause every day
Is just another
Dark shadow
And bruise
Waiting to happen

And you don’t care
Cause you weren’t there
Kissing razor tip dreams
Cutting skins
Till the beating drum
Never beats again

Sheets wet
She wets her bed
But it’s not ****
Its salty tears
And snot
That stains this
Plain wish
She cries out at night
I wish I was never born

The teachers ignore
The children insult
More injury
Compounded upon
Her misery
And the pain never stops
Till her body drops
A limp marionette
Dancing shadow
That paints pain no more

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 cannot trust a stranger’s touch.
Holding back giving to much,
Reserving enough of my love
To protect myself
From becoming shattered
Blood stained glass

There is a true fear,
a throbbing ache,
that I hear clear
in my inner ear,
a pounding
sounding
trouble.

The drum beats
racism,
sexism,
xenophobia,
homophobia,
and transphobia.

But in the
presence of patterns
I’ve seen so many times
I become numb.
I am not surprised.

The tears only
wet my eyes
when I spy
good guys
painting over the lies
with peace
chanting
to all,

“Be calm,
because you are loved
and no matter what
we walk with you.”

The drum beats still sound
but my numbness fades
with the rise of hope
for more humane days.
Cause like those loving hearts
I too am with all of you.