The crow, parrot, raven, and parakeet
Meet across the cracked street
Scuttle along the wrecked concrete
Where human feet once walked
Flutter up steep uneven steps
Not missing those tripping fools who
Cracked the earth with metal tools
That split lumber with chainsaws
That destroyed thin and thick limbs
With loud rusted wood chippers
That incinerated hated legal papers
Shredding evidence with precision
These birds do not miss one person
Just go searching the soft grounds
for deliciously slimy worms

The wolf, coyote, and lonely fox
Hop and trot from here to cross
Separate paths to their favorite snacks
Bloated bodies swelled with stinky fat
Exposed corpses sitting back so that
They could watch their favorite clips
Catch invisible monsters on their phones
People who now become kibbles and bits
For two howlers and one quiet hunter

A mouse, possum, and racoon
Hunt under the split moon
Going through the monsoon
Of decaying human garbage
Devouring all the waste they want
Finally, free from the humans
Who used to hunt and **** them
Now they just have to watch out for
Other local predators

But all these animals are so much better
For the lack of such a destructive species

A ticket won’t take
these tired children
to a safe and warm place,

won’t help me escape
from the darkness
that stains
their strained face.

My fear is misplaced
as a scraggly faced stranger
stumbles out of the night shade
asking for the time
and any spare change.
My apprehension
is mine not his shame.

A shining sign
sears the night,
illuminating the people
who sleep
just inches from my feet
under a thin torn blanket
that barely conserves any heat.

Their struggle
makes me uncomfortable.
It is not love,
but guilt
that makes me give
the hurt homeless kids
a buck or two.

A day away
I barely
think of these
struggling
human beings
as I luxuriate
in my comfortable lifestyle.

You can take my home
repossess my car
steal my cell phone
and break my heart
take my pad of paper
but I would just
put the pen to my skin
or memorize the verses for later.
You can’t stop me
from making sweet poetry.

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

This could be a great place to rent
but I don’t want to live here.

So, I let the train roll heavy
breaking every bond
in my once well rooted
but now withering body.

These words don’t mean ****
when there is no one listening
cause I am just an over entitled
society fighter who think he is enlightened,
but in reality, I am just a coward
running as fast as I can.

It has been an hour in-between spent
just waiting for my metal chariot.
My cup jingles with ice water
because I can’t afford
the hard liquor
that other strangers adore.

Earbuds distract.
Loud music
plays strange extended chords.
The electric vibrations
swirl around
then wave in and out
as the tempo of the drum
beats in the background.
So loud and strange,
it flows faster
then the rain
that hits the rusted track.

I change trains
cause I would rather
hit the rails
then stay tamed
like a well trained
house cat.
Who never leaves his home.

Empathy is What makes us an amazing species. It is how close we can actually come to understanding another's pain. It is a spark that lights the flame of compassion. As artists we engage that emotion in other's hope to utilize to our own ends.

       My greatest ambition has always been to write that which inspires love and compassion. To create some thing that clears the distance between you and me, and makes this a world of us.

      I have failed but continue to try.

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.

The plain porcelain ***
is splatter painted,
a smoking crimson
as the yellowish ****
swims in the bowl.

The old man moans
from the agony of
an antibiotic resistant
abscess.

The nurses undress him
To find a score of bed sores
that were hiding,
open wounds deep enough
to touch bone.

Gentle hands wipe
while he softly whimpers.

The round and dimpled cheeked teen
watches, smiling warmly,
offering calm words,
emoting compassion,
and answering any questions
the dying man might be asking
in the last stages of
his drug induced delirium.

After the cleaning she holds him.
He calls her mother
and she doesn’t correct him.
Jagged breaths slow
as she hums an old
family Lullaby
and he goes
as peacefully as possible
into oblivion.

You thought that you could tempt me
with the power to destroy entire cities,
see the people renting slip into poverty,
see good intention blur then blend to become
the kind of corruptions that is to blame
for all the atrocities humanity has done.
-
But I am not the anti-social monster
who would willingly harbor cruel intentions,
not the type of person who could see
and fail to mention
innocent people being held in detention.
-
If I had to choose to give my life,
my life is something I can afford to lose
to proactively oppose those who grow
chaos and suffering for profits.
---
-2022 December

It is tiresome
a wasted effort
reaching out to
the wrecked refuse
of humans who abuse
people who have
already been
terribly misused,
tortured, or suffering losses
that would break you
straight through,
then in two.

In order to maintain the status quo the government targets dissidents with obscure laws and media slander. Once the counterculture started to decline the rebellious individual were easier to target, because they lost their collective power. The progenitors of our hippie and beatnik history have been silenced by spin doctors, and we have lost the message of peace love and understanding it has been replaced by consumerism. Isn't fascism a tricky little ******.

I’m a sneaky little devil,
a daring dancer who dwells
just this side of the soil
and Dante’s hell.

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.

Unafraid,
she makes
red braids
wrapping
death
around her
soft wrist.

Her pliable
flesh
screams
fresh
mercies.

Inside
the porcelain
prism
pain
is no longer
her prison.
Life
is no longer
her poison.

Once crushed
life’s fluid
is now
a stagnant wine
that drips down
her limber vine.

For all that abused
drank her dry
felt her up and used
all the tears in her life
she is now
an empty wineskin
with no more life
to hold in.

Death was hers
and she told him
where and when
they would be
meeting.
It was
the only game
she was capable
of winning.

No note,
no warning call,
no shot off the port
From a cannonball;
She just dove
headfirst into
the dark black that
will eventually
claim you to.

Listen to America? by graff1980 #np on #SoundCloud
https://soundcloud.com/graff1980/america

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.

I put pennies into
empty fountains
To wish for you

Stealing a kiss
Or two
From your deep
Blue hued
Expanse

I put quarters into
A broken bubble gum machine
To see it spit smoke
While I sit and choke
On the empty verses I wrote

A poet
In mourning
A poet
In longing

Right turns turn left
Wrong turns turn right

I write
One soft touch
That will never happen
Spew out my hopes
And take them back in
Knowing that you do not exist

The pennies fall down
That dry drain
As I exit this
Sad street lamp lit life
All alone

Scabs crusting;
Feet wrinkle
with an unrelenting
wetness
in cold socks.

The soldier walks
reaching the point
of contact,
a swift interlude
of gorilla combat.

After the gun fight
he collects
small bullet casings.

Then when silence
finally comes at night
he takes them out,
rolling them
through and around
his fingers.

Various
colored casings
of memories chasing
each potential
point of pain;
He imagines
the cycle of sorrow
that each projectile
might have injected
into this world.

Then the soldier
buries the bullet casings
and
finally, leaves the battlefield.

Who knows what thoust sees when thou lookest upon the sea.
No fragrant flowers wafting sweet perfume
No open fields full of **** born mushrooms
No sunny days where lovers pray to play their ****** part
Display their desirous heart naked and blushing
Not from shame but from such pleasurable exertions
No fairytale creatures like unicorns, elves, or hobbits
No dragons with emerald scales to catch and claw
Devouring my flesh
No fantastic sea serpent
Ready to rend the ships to pieces

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.

I want to get lucky.
I’m not trying to be
a slick trickster
who makes you
fall in the love with me.
I just want
to fall into
your wet ****
and ******
and ****.
Till you ***.
Then I ***.
Then maybe later
we can chat
share a bit of this and that.
Until the urge strikes again.
Until you bite my skin
and invite me back in.
I’ll call that sin lucky.
Cause you feel
delicious on the tip of my tongue
and I want you to *** and ***.

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

Such a fruitless endeavor,
as this dullness devours
my endless hours.

I sit seeking stale stimulus.
Being used to immediate
gratification,
of the menial mental
*******
type,
I am stumped
by my listless response to
having everything to do
but not wanting to do
anything.

No movies but one
yet to come
stir my passions.

No tv shows
that I stream
or download
get me excited.

No outside adventure
unencumbered
by the once weary winter weather
inspires me
to get up and go.

No books
even garner
random looks.

I am merely
burnt out,
but just for now.

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 smoky spasms
of specters passing
fill my teary blurred
vision;

Forced phantasms
of former friends
and family
which I remember
quite fondly,

The young girl
across the street
who was missing
a few teeth,

The old lady
and old man
who brought me up,
helping when they could,

The elderly grocer
of Kregor’s store
where I purchased
penny tootsie rolls,
and three cent
laughy taffy

The long dead dogs,
the trees,
the memories
of a younger me
living dangerously
hanging upside down
thick branches,

these spirits haunt me
partially paining
but mostly reminding me
of the good times.

She told me what he did.
How he slid
his fingers
inside of
her,
how he pushed
and grinded her,
despite the pleas,
how he stopped her
when she tried to flee.

After the confession
I felt the fog of fury
consume me.

I set loose
my rage
and scarred his face
with scores
of scratches
and deeper cuts.

I slid my blade
inside his gut
and saw bits
and chunks
of vital organs
dribble
from
the gaping wound.

What fun to see
this dark adult
gasp and bleed
flapping like
a fish
grasping
for the ocean’s embrace.

With serial killer efficiency
I cleaned the crimson stained cutlery
and left him there to stare blankly
at the concrete.
Then I burnt my cloths
and wrote this note
for you to find
when I die.

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.

Satanic goddess oh queen Isis
Aphrodite, my fingers fill her crevices
Twirl and twisting
Leaving us both gasping
I bend to her will
Beg to fulfill
Her deepest desires
So when she sighs
“Hurt me.”
I break myself
Splitting my soul asunder
Becoming thunder
As I crack

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

The Devil’s in the details
which is how we lose
as the preachers picks our pockets
from the upstairs pews.

Politicians keep bragging
about the lines they drew
to obstruct democracy
and steal our money
like their rich friends
wanted them to do.

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.

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.

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.

I hope that when you feel love for yourselves and others that it becomes a driving force, that inspires acts of daily kindness, and courteousness. I want love to be contagious, so that when you smile at someone, or help them out they can't help but smile back and pass it on.
-2010

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 *******

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.

We walk right down to the minute,
right up to the second.
We fall down in an instant
when the heartbeat is missing.
Black smoke become shapes
of whatever painful memory takes
our final beat and breath away.

Engage, in deep conversation not just hollow pleasantries. I want to see what is deep inside of you, let your universe unfold. I am certain through intense dialogue we will peel back the dark mask you hide behind. You are more then your previous relationship. You are more then the binary politics of society and all their simple slogans, and obfuscating talking points, you are more then the religion and ancient texts you turn to to find meaning and morality. You are a set of unique experiences, in a unique vessel, in a unique time, and a unique space. You are transcendent flesh formed from the cosmos with consciousness. Please do not squander that gift.

The ride is
a sickly set of statues
circling,
an ornate beauty
of predictable movements.

A carousal of fools,
stallions set stern in silence,
a caravan
of unwilling men
and women
that never stride
outside
the pre-ordained.

I watch them
still as mannequins,
eye set in the same positions,
seeing and thinking
the same thing.
They do not listen to
or hear the words I sing
when I try to bring
them their freedom.

The circle stops,
plastic bodies drop.
Paint chipped
they all dip
and rise no more
as I go on to explore
everything, alone.

I'm not Patroitic. Patriotism breeds a sense of arrogance and causes people to succomb to hate propaganda. Its a tool the government uses to stir people up and condem those who think for themselves. 9/11 was tragic, but it gave us an oppurtunity to unite for a noble cause. Instead people turned their fear, and anger on their fellow man. Instead of furthering the cause of harmony. Polliticians have promoted racism.

You birth is an invitation
Few received from quintillion plus
Possible people
A gift to exist
A choice given
The variables
A ticket to the freak show
Or to the joy ride
Of expanding life
And human consciousness
It was not stamped for approval
Nor is it dependent on the permission
From those in power
Who required you
To live by their patterns
Why would you
When you can build a better loom

Yesterday was a winter road
with frosty figures lining up
to dam a young soul to limbo,
not quite hell but purgatory.

Now they all change
their gory stories
so they can feel better
and in their tales
they make themselves
sainted knights.

But we outsiders
know the harsh facts.
We do not make ourselves
the heroes of our tales
but journeyman
of varied skills
seeking the truths
and speaking it to
despite how painful
it might feel.

The devil revels
in his wicked rebels,
those bouncing beats
and hyper treble,
blasting bass sounds
and destructive percussion.

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.

Too tired to write
but I still
bring these words.

Too sad to think
but I still sing
until I am heard.

Tears soak through
my human costume.
Turning skin to redder shades,
making my shirt collar
a little wetter,
leaving me
a voice of congestion.
I am open to suggestions
on how to not forget her
but not let the memories
of loss be something
I regret later.

Caffeine to breaks the cycle,
nighttime quiet makes me
more susceptible,
more easily corruptible  
as I succumb
by not letting myself
be numbed
to all the pain and beauty
this life has to offer.

Let my sorrow drown me for now
I can always bring back
the sad clown
to make myself laugh
and smile again.

I am depressed.
because unless
humanity passes
this last test
we will be
putting our
species
to rest
post haste.

Cold metal presses against the thin mattress.
There is no pea but he can still feel the springs
It is hard, sharp, jarring, and deeply cutting
He is no princesses and this is no fairytale.

The beast is indifferent, made of concrete.
Barbwire fences mark the difference from
Freedom’s street and the state penitentiary
and he cannot leave this abusive relationship.

They let him go and life was like a candy-coated cabin.
He got himself a job, but kept a lot of bad habits
hopping fences, then breaking into cars,
dating a troubled teenager, and an angry older women.

Head down body laid to rest he did his best
to fall into the deepest sleep in the porcelain tub,
drunkenly stupid, but somebody pulled him out.
He tried to burn himself the same **** night.

An angry apple red thread with a poisonous pointed head
awaits his next big break in mistake
but the price he paid, the things that changed
all came because he smoked some little thing.

It doesn’t take much, in fact any little thing
could take a halfway decent human being
and turn him into to a ward of the State
can take a loving human being and make him hate.

Not all stories end happily ever after.
Not all prisons are left even after
the prisoner is freed, his body may be released.
but the man still flinches,
hardened and tenderized by what he has seen
and what he had to do to make it through
that dark fairytale hell.

It’s a race against the clock.
Hoping the computer
doesn’t stop,
or that I don’t get
mentally blocked
before the explorer
stutters
and my cpu
breaks down
before I can do
what I meant to.

I got a multi colored lite brite like memory
that comes and goes slipping pass my past
tripping me up until I switch memory lanes
from fast and slow
letting go then going back
picking a field of lemon and strawberry details.
Till, I can partially recall who I used to be.

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.