My flesh goosed up
while my eyes
sized up
the mirror man
who was manically
laughing,
imprisoned
by our
momentary madness.

Wasted form
fitted for debasement,
consciousness
ready to face
self-denigration.

Body heat
bubbled up
like wild waves
of red fury
ready to rupture
and spew
hot lava.

Hate bled from my body
as I stared in defiance
longing to commit
depraved acts
of violence
against myself.

Pain pushed me
to escape
this reality,

as I longed for
the sick fog
of slumber
to cease
this sadness.

I’m losing
from not using,
from excusing
my laziness.
I’m fading quietly
with disappearing memories
of the human being
I once was.

The pharmacist is not your friend
He may put you up in a high hotel
With slip streams of ****** pills
Paxil and Wellbutrin
Designed to defeat depression
To facilitate a fog like
Fugues of perfected moods
With drugs made to create
The perfect drone state
So you can pay your bills
So you can **** and sleep well
So you can keep your health
But it is poison
Kidney killing swill
And while you are under the influence
Perfectly sedated so you forget how to feel
One hand is in your pocket
Thinning your wallet draining dollar bills
While the other hand holds your heart
Crushing what is left of your already weakened will

I was not winter ready
but weary and worn,
sights set meant to carry
this heavy burden
that I have born,
the season slowly
finds its demise,
and green things
find their roots
and start to rise.

Spring is on its
mating high,
buzzing with
all that nature loving.
Until the heat becomes
too much
and pulsing passions
push to pains
of heated lust.

Summer strikes
quicker then
a ninja’s throwing star
or some other
adolescent fantasy metaphor,
aggressive expansion
of heated frustrations
scolding the core
of the southern
parts of our nations.
Till the lights recede.

Then I fall
like orange
autumnal leaves
coming back
so close
to those bitter cold
beginnings,
sleeves extend
with their own
warming intent
and sweat stains
no longer plague
my once
wet and darkened pits.

Then the frosty fear
returns here
and
I must write
a new winter poem.

I live under the threat
of each thread
of my being untethering itself
from my flesh as my essence
is disincorporated,
and my memories are evaporated.
Until, this dilapidated
leathered skin caves in
succumbing to the bitter ending
of my futile existence.

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

It is a rough winter,
and I worry;
Not for me,
cause there is no need
to hurry,
but for the tall thin
black homeless man
who sleeps on
the strip mall
sidewalk
next to his bike
and black
plastic
bags of stuff.

These are
biting temperatures,
artic cold
and I know
many have froze
in the past.
I fear this
winter weather
will claim
the strange man’s
exposed skin
and limbs
while he is sleeping.

But in keeping
with my tight schedule,
a full day
of driving,
exercising,
then working
and driving again,
I do not bother him.
I do not talk
to the rail thin
brown skin
man who is sleeping
on the sidewalks tonight.
I just selfishly follow
the patterns of my life,
only pausing in retrospect
to write a small poem
that doesn’t help
the homeless man
who might
freeze to death
tonight.

In my younger days
there was pain
and a rage
that would raze
the world away;

A deep injection
of sorrow infections,
coupled with
disappointment,

and when I erupted
I kept almost all
of my volcanic outbursts
to the form of exercise
or other means of
self-hurt,

because I did not
want to cause
anyone
the same
sickness
of anguish
that I suffered.

Whether it was
waking in tears,
punching solid objects,
or working out
to the point of
exhaustion,
purging my stable
of demons,
what a
painful exorcism.

Now,
I am healthier,
and I only engage in
a less brutal regimen
in comparison
to deal with my issues.

I got a fascination
with the frequency
of my urination
in relation
to the caffeination
of my beverages.

That little boy blue
who wore his bruises
under his aching skin
will not come back here again.

Female, male, Homosexual,
Genderqueer, Pansexual,
Transgender, Bisexual,
there is wonder in
the fluctuations
of identity’s observations.
Hunger swelling
desire blooming
then in a sated state
receding
no longer needing
****** fulfilling.
A curiosity
how such complexities
reveal humanity’s variety.
Not to be feared or hated
but celebrated and elevated
for the chance to see
something different from you and me
cause life is boring
without the beauty of novelty.

Frequently,
I watch people
who try
consciously
or
unconsciously
to become
copies
of others.

They pursue
the same goals,
settle in
the same
lifestyle,
and
measure themselves
with the same ruler,
never realizing
they are so much more
than the cog
they behave like.

If there is a heaven
waiting up there for me,
patiently playing
on eternity’s
celestial strings.
I hope there are
less human beings
and more trees.

More majestic oaks
standing firm and deliberate
never speaking till
they find the truth
and are certain of it.

I would rather cherish
a cherry tree
in the after life
then face a horde
of alt right
idiots.

Or,
perhaps
as it really is
I would prefer
not to exist.

Time’s enduring kiss
is not a thing of
romantic bliss.
Instead it bares the agony
of aging ungracefully.

Teeth decay,
rotting in pain
that requires
Vicodin
and dental surgery
just so we
can get some sleep.

Hair grays and thins
or thins and grays.
Till, white threads
fill your head
or a bald shine
lights the way.

One by one
people recede
like a tide returning
to the sea,
bowing out voluntarily
or due to mortality.

The mind loses
its grip
and confuses
many things,
while vision
begins
blurring
and we become
hard,
HARD,
HARD!!!!
Of hearing.

Till, the finale
comes nearing
and death starts clearing
your consciousness
from all that is
living.

Stand silent stand still
Don’t think and don’t feel
Don’t fidget at all
And you will get paid
Security shift ****
At this bank

It must be nice
in your neon colored
smooth four wheeled
driving life,
that law and order
kind of world
you exist in;
But I lived in
an age of uncertainty.
Authority to me
was unpredictably
violent.
I was the *******
bent over to be
busted by
belts, pots, brushes,
brooms, mops,
ping pong paddles,
and any other
implements
that could be scavenged.
So, you can have
your invisible pervert
who sits and observes us
from up above
to judge,
but for me and anyone
who has felt the lashes
or seen loved ones
abused by those in power
we’ll take the truth of now
not your rose-tinted glasses
of an overarching order
in the universe
driven by loving father figure.

Oh dear in dressing to be a princess
you cut your feet on glass slippers,
ate the poisoned apple of conformity,
had *** with a big abusive beast,
wept deep in dark dreams as you slept,
gave up the sea and your voice,
forgot how to sing, swim, and learn,
traded childhood dreams for adult schemes,
so you can aspire to other’s desire
to confine you to your pumpkin carriages
and strange boring marriages.

Little boy blue
Burning in the stew
Cooking piping hot
In a crock *** full of bits
Chunks of me
Parts of you
Boils us till we are done
And eats us through and through

I got the worst human deformity, a kind heart and extremely sharp mind.

The hive mind is coming
Computer networks running
Always uploading and downloading
Error data system malfunction
Mal intention in the form of malware
Viruses are now digital
Reality is virtual
And I am virtually effected
My identity is tied to
People I will never meet in person
All likes and reposts
To validate my existence
No flesh just zeroes and ones
Just zeroes and ones
Just zeroes and ones
Error
Error
Error
Error

Shakespeare my dear friend
I can only devour you
In small servings
Till you become my pen
And make words sing
Like long lost children
Birthing new mirths
And rehashing old pains
Till I regain my balance
Releasing all that is pent up
And then storing it up again

I will never be wealthy
but I can help you see
clearly to our shared humanity
in print and polished prose
that represent those
who are not close to me
but in poverty are me,
a part of this universal family.

I found a journal from a homeless man
and his words worked within
my previous position,
words with the same pain
I was once burdened with
when I was homeless.
I had a journal to
though this one
is a little different.

I came at a different angle
but this person is not a stranger
this is just one aspect
of our singular story
that should unite us in our humanity.

The butcher’s bane,
the ****** mess
I came to see,
a cracked carcass
laying displayed,
fetid, and crumbling
with rot
because the butcher forgot
to take a day off.

Now,
beneath the dust
the stench of
a week’s worth
of decay
sprays
out of
the doorway,
tempting strangers
who pass that way
to wretch
violently,

while familiar faces
face regret
for not checking in
with their old friend
the butcher.

A flag does not deserve allegiance.
It is only a symbol woven in cloth.
It does represent truth or justice
but the expanding providence
Of undue influence;

Mind controlled population
subservience
to the country you were born in
by chance.

Though it may be pretty
flapping in the wind
it is not a worthy friend
to any woman or man.
It is merely a symbol
waving for the those
who cannot understand
life is more complicated
than their flag lets on.

I made a list
To organize
The things I needed to do
And the things I want to
Finding much to put to task
Like phone calls
And all the questions I had to ask
I put them down one at a time
And lost the list
While making up this silly rhyme

There is no release
from this vile disease
that affects a society
that claims it owns me.

I watch in disgust
as fools drool over the dust
of our most recent bombing.

The mother of all bombs,
the biggest ballistic *******,
killer cadre of collective bombardments.

Even though I have not looked at
the pictures yet,
you see them and then
still embellish with inflated sentiments,
claim the explosions and armaments
are so beautiful.

Our youth line up
to sign up
and support
this reckless endangerment
of humanity,
while I write to plea
begging that they see
this violence is degrading
the quality of our
American collective.

The tv is blaring
with the
big bad wolf scaring
three little pigs,
who manage to
get the jump
on him,
making me grin
when they win.

I see
other cartoon figures
get hit with
a TNT blast
if that was me
I wouldn’t come back.

All the ducks in a row
like Donald and Scrooge,
even got a black duck
who is a daffy dude.

All the laughter
is great,
this passionate pleasure
made frame by frame
eases my pain,
and remind me
how funny
****** up
**** can be.

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.

The Earth is art. A production of natural forces projected to projects beyond our basic comprehension.

Do not fall in love
with an artist like me,

because upon inspection
you will find obsession
poetically enthralling,
and passion all consuming.
I will treasure
all acts of pleasuring you
to  an ******* quality
in excessive quantity.

Do not fall in love
with an artist like me,

because I am passionate
and extremely engaging
sparing all other engagements
to be in your stunning presence.

Do not fall in love
with an artist like me,

because my nature
is solitary,
and though I tarry
with you
I will be forced to
find moments
for myself.
Though, I longed to be
devoured by your desire
and engulfed by my adoration
of you
I will need time to reflect on
everything.
  
Do not fall in love
with an artist like me,

no matter how hard I pursue you
because I cannot promise you forever
no matter how much I want to.
I can only give you
this brief spectacular sparkling moment
in eternity.

Some people think that helping others is unselfish. I say that it is a selfishly smart act. By investing time and effort to making this world a better place you not only improve the condition of life for those around you, but for yourself as well. When you act with genuine kindness and sincere goodwill people respond in kind. Plus you get that gushy warm feeling of pride and satisfaction.

These are strange messages,
in a sweet and deep
conversation;

Thoughts I speak
from fingertips
to myself,
and maybe
someone else,
as I dance
in and out of
other peoples
perspective,

aware that I
cannot connect
a hundred percent
to them
but I can get closer
then most others
ever get.

This comes from
a lifetime
of listening
and reading.

I find wonder in the warmth
of human connections.
They lessen
the coldness
of this
dark reality.

Which is why
it helps me
to see
strangers
happy in love
no matter what
their orientation
may be.

People say honesty is the best policy. Yet, some in situations being completely honest can destroy the social glue that binds us. What a conundrum how much honesty is to much? Is it relative to the person and sitaution? and if it is relative how does one calculate the level of honesty?

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

Anxiety is a flower that blooms
painful frustration
fear from insecurity
insecurity from uncertainty
or vice a versa
hurting me by blocking sleep.
Acid build-up keeps me
from resting comfortably
and takes me farther away from
my sanity.

Im not angry only disheartened. I offered you a universe of wonder and you chose a dull road of uninformed and camouflaged conformity.

With the power of shared meaning words can divide, destroy, disseminate falsehoods and conceal ill intent. However when used to their truest potential they can elevate with education and shared understanding, by clearing out the closet of confusion. They empower us to see where we have been, where we are going, and where we can go if we choose to alter our course. Those who control the language control the course of history. Those who censor language weaken the collective.

Peace is the still waters
of space and time
that no longer
ripple in my mind,
sweet stillness.

But your boulder
bounces from
the bottom up,
splashing and splattering
all that brain
that matters to me.
Till, I am unable to think clearly.

Peace is a pleasant memory,
a space where I find
a specific a place or time,
and revisit them
when I close my eyes.

However,
your heavy presence
shifts the soil
which these memories
sit in,
and their sediment
is swept away
by the currents you create
when you intrude
upon my day.

Peace is detachment
from toxic connections,
but my heart can’t
release them
when they keep returning.

Grey waters wear
Sun strained ripples
With one hippo head
Less than halfway
Out to a greet the new day
Till the purple sunset
Suffering from a slight
Foggy haze
Loses the day and sets
Far far away

The wind bends the tall brown stalks
of some unknown plant that I
am unable to identify.

I sat sorrow strickened
Flabby body sweat slickened
Glistening in the summer’s heated heart
Languishing in the morning’s orange haze
Wasting her final days
Unphased by the reality before me
As her glazed eyes no longer dilated
As her emaciated frame failed
Spirit sullenly waiting
While loved ones stood debating
How much longer she should be
Forced to live with age’s disease
I was wasting her last precious seconds
Just to avoid lying to or arguing with her

When the stress
runs roughly
over these
current moments,
we look back
to the black pasts
and remember
shiny slivers.

We turn
those dark
and dangerous days
into greener shades
of pastural pleasure.

We celebrate
our own
old ignorance
and call it
nostalgia.

We ride
a carousal
of colorful
what ifs,
and maybes.

Wasting fleeting
opportunities
to make today
better then
yesterday.

One has only to open their eye and look above than close there eyes and look within to see what a strange and wonderful universe we live in.

Desire is the will of flesh
Wanting to pleasure oneself
And when it harms no one
Whose business is it
But your own

Her beauty is unattainable
As I stretch myself taring at
The thin ****** strings that hold me back
The visor painted completely black
The horrible buildup of ear wax
And the ****** brown wash rag mouth gag
That makes me deaf, blind, and mute
While killing my sense of humor and hope
in one fell swoop to boot

What makes a good soldier
I’ve never been to the battlefield
And if I can I still never will
But I am curious how you define
What honor is

When questioning in the time
Of war is treason
And the battle seasoned
Veterans will blast you in the head

The best qualities I quest for
Will get you shot in the heat of war
And instead of doing what’s right
By being a good human being
You have to degrade yourself
And become a killing machine

Tonight, I gaze
through eyes
glazed
with a
dark red haze.
It is this poetry
of pain
that I play with.
Part genius,
part ******,
but I still
work with
all of it.
It is tears,
tragedies
forgotten
and remembered
tinged with
the insights of
love and
the losses to come.

Tonight,
I am tired
but I will not sleep
because dreams
keep waking me
with what if
and never was tears,
even bringing in
cameos appearances
of family and friends
who have long since
departed this realm.

Tonight,
my eyes ache
for the sweet respite
of a well earned
rest,
but it is those
unconscious journeys
that frighten me.
So, I use
work as an excuse
while I abuse
caffeine,
just to avoid
the truth.

Life shifts
from daylight shades
of cloudy grey
and turquoise
to dark blue.

I train my eyes
heaven ward
to watch
for a sparkle
of you.

Looking for the twinkle
of my grandfather’s
ancient eyes,
looking for
the perfect star cluster
to help me realize
that his memory
still lies
behind my eyes.

I look for a trigger
that I figure
will spark
the memory
of his bearded voice,

but this night
is not good enough
to remind me of
the lost one I love.

So, I slip and surrender to
the sadness of
missing the missing pieces.
Cause my memory
of deceased family
has been fragmented
and distorted by time.

I am not made to lead
Nor be the barer of responsibility
But neither am I a sheep
Who follows sheepishly
The closest thing that fits me
In our current stretch of humanity
Is being a sage

To be seen
By amorous eyes
Feel the friction from
Those positions
Of paralleled affections
With her long and
Glamorous thighs
Soft curling tongue
Athletic with desire’s
Fevered urgency

To lap love’s
Pooling juices

To linger
With fingers
Rolling softly
Across her skin
Hear her sighing

To feel her flesh vibrating
Her breath climaxing
In unison
Then sated
After ***’s fury has abated

To speak and listen
While cuddling
What a wonderful
Weekend that would be