A smile hides the month of November
Beautiful eyes of autumnal colors
Words that slip from a honey tasting tongue
Poetical genius
Salted words that split the world between us
The universe a cracked atom, nuclear
In desire I pleaded with broken eyes
To be connected instead of in love together alone
Leaving slightly fulfilled, soul spilled
In awe, devastated
Desiring more than desire

I spend a lot of time trying to understand perspective different than mine whether they are religious or political. Being open an unashamed of being wrong, so I can grow.

Out in time
to see the last bits of sunshine
as I walk to work.

The moon is just this side
of stained teeth yellow
but after the night clouds clear
the white light face reappears.

A dark blue or black car
slowly drives through
like it is stalking me.
So, I move on as quickly
and quietly
as my anxiety
and feet allow me.

Thin dry brown vines
wrap around the black fence,
while the lite green
slowly dehydrating
leaves
line up on a broken tree limb
ready to fall
for the seasonal crumbling.

A ***** brown bearded stranger
lays in the doorway
perhaps he is
too tired to worry about the danger
or he is too drunk to stay awake.
His head rests on a white garbage bag
with indiscernible contents.

In an open-air café
two people talk
the night away
while a stranger sits
nondescript
on a black bench.
The patrons leave a tip
but the stranger grabs it
and swiftly walks away.

Strangers hold hands
and walk.
Stranger stare in the distance
and talk
on their cellphones.
Strangers do not make eye contact
but it is their silent plea
for some humanity
that makes me smile
and greet them politely.

Until, the night leads me
to where I work security,
an overnight shift
perfectly fitting to
my desire to be alone.

We do not need to impose order on choas. There is poetry in uncertianty. To adapt survive and thrive through natural selection is a miraculous thing. Evolution should not be feared but celebrated and appreciated.

You are not blazing a new trail.
You just failed to notice
that you had doubled back
on old trampled grass
that others had treaded
before you ever headed
in that revolutionary direction.

There’s no heart left to break
There’s no home for the bank to take
There’s no food but scraps that I ate
I lost my rights the American way

Corners cut, I avoid main streets
can’t believe in your deity
Life is hard as the cold concrete
Where I rest my head to fall asleep

I had a life I had a love
I had a family but now they’re gone
There's no one left who knew me then
Only dream scenes that see
Right through to the death of me

You put me down you call me ***
But I was just passing life from
Childhood to the end of this bad one

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

It grieves my heart,
that ink ambrosia loss
of forsaken affection,
that weary winter soul
woven in a spider web
that the leaver’s spin.

Chest tied
in flagpole knots
false flapping fabric
that symbolizes
a love that turns out
to no one surprise
to be a self-deluded lie.

So, I should just swallow
that chalky pill,
that bad medicine made
to make me not feel
anything but numbly ill.

I am neither
brave nor coward enough
to dim my muscle of love.
Instead, I face a war
of attrition,
a strange painful mission
of moving towards
a hopeful future
despite my persisting losses.

Dark is the heart of the cosmos that beckon us. Racing waves of solar energy. The ocean ripples with moon's reflections. I wish to drown in the yellow orange hydrogen furnace. I wish to drown in the shiny brine that reflect the same shade as my hazel eyes. I wish to drown in love, in awe of all the wonder this reality has to offer. Let it swallow my poetic soul, leaving only a lite littering of poetry in my wake, and I will die a contented fool.

There is paper
in the fire,
white sheets
bloated with
ink blot thoughts.
Some are dismissed
while others are lost.
Scattered ashes
spread beyond
the blinking
blank canvass
of human consciousness.

Partial photographic evidence
charred and cracked
kills her once
serene complexion.
Red hair
turns to
orange flares
that only leave
more ash there.

A crumpled notebook
of diary sheets
scream its loss
out to me
in silent pleas.
Till it pops,
crackling
like dry leaves burning.

Outside this
field of fiery grief
there is a
cool bluish black night
beckoning me
into its amnesiatic relief.

I am most alive
late at night
when the evening sky
overcomes the light.

When silence reigns
I come to explain
many things
in the poetry
of solitude.

The daylight
might
blare
whilst I
walk among
many of you
but the true me
is not there.

Daytime brings
this pale shadow being,
a lesser reflection
of me.

But in the darkness
I spring,
a broken seed
blooming
into a beautiful
black orchid.

Some may fear
the loneliness here,
but I am already
a multitude
made of many voices
and I need to be
alone at night
to hear them clearly.

He’s been on the road
coming home
from
Arizona flagstaff
wearing his
jury rigged knapsack
with plastic
and cloth bags
strapped together
by an orange cord.

Sixty something,
tan skinned,
and missing teeth,
I find him
on the off ramp
as I head out
to work.

Sign says Springfield
but he is trying to
get back to
Chicago.
I almost pass him by,
but I remember
a younger guy,
the good man
I used to be.
He asks me to be
kind again.

I tell him
I’ll drop him
halfway there,
but he offers
a traveler’s perspective
and excellent conversation
so, I take him as far as I am going.

We roll in
just in time
for him to miss
the storm coming,
and part with
a handshake
and goodwill,
I forgot how good
that feels.

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.

As usual I lay the groundwork
Fix the broken stitches
Wipe away the sick skin
That burns and twitches
Clearing saltine tears

Being there for all my friends
From the beginning
To bend then send in
All that hard loving

Finding that I am forgotten
Diaphanous specter
And in gratitude
My better angels

Forget me to
It’s nothing new

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.

What will we do
to achieve dreams
that few hearts
aspire to,

when mountain tops
try to impede
those who will not be
stopped,

when rage and ambition
become twisted mirror images
of our stretched in agony visage;

We persist beyond
what weaker hearts
claim is wrong.

We are strong,
affirming unseen possibilities
as those new dreams
unfold to rewrite
out future history.

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

I need the night
The lack of light
Let’s me focus
The quiet
Let’s me focus
Engaging
The inner me
The inner beauty
People have yet to see
I need the night
Because it lets me be
Free

It is lust that leads me
to observe discreetly
this beauty before me.

A tight, toned, and tanned physique
glistens spectacularly
with the savage intensity
of her workout.

Lines of definition
cut across her back
as her shoulders ripple
with distinct striations.

Superb human specimen
but I keep my distance
because I do not want to bother
this artist of flesh I have mentioned.

So, I struggle to be a gentleman,
working as hard as I can
to not lust,
but I am only human
eventually I must
release the energy
inspired by this
divine entity.

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

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.

She is in part
a viper,
a poisonous plague
upon my heart,
venom spitter
dark adder
damming me
from a distance,
crumbling my
resistance.

She is dangerous
but I do not mind,
I find I like that kind
of danger.

I attach myself to achievements of another
Me in the string of consciousness
But I am a shadow of him
As he was an echo of older versions
Reborn in the morn of refreshed brain chemical
A regeneration and transformation
Working with the passions of past moments
Playing with old phrasing, claiming ownership
But for each verse edited, each syllable reworked
The me of now revisits and demolishes
The me of old, as I have done so many times
Today I am myself, yesterday I was someone else
And tomorrow I will be changed again

I have drowned
a thousand times
in my dreams
but I’ve only seen
the sandy beaches
of the sea
once.

Feet freed from shoes
that were heavy with
all the wetness
they could sponge up
I let my toes sink in
rubbing sand between them
barely moving or breathing.
I felt the push and pull
of the primordial tides

One step in,
the water covered my shins.
Another two steps
equaled twelve more inches.
Three more steps
and I was waist high
ready to let go and dive.
Five more, then up to six
and I could feel
the strength of it.

Till, it was in my nose.
Eyes closed
I felt the undertow
pulling me in deep
as if it longed to keep
the body of me.

A few more steps,
I braced myself,
but someone else
pulled me back
from the eternal black.
I was not
happy about that.
I knew my kin
waited within
the dark murky depths
where something wild crept,
but I just left.

It is the journey
The richness of
New experiences
That expand my consciousness
Feeding the creative frenzy
Creating new neural pathways
Improving my mind
And enriching my humanity

I may be a nice guy
but if you crack
my glass demeanor
I get much meaner.

The painter’s skill
Makes soft the flesh
Full blooming skin
Bleeding
Full colored man
Child
Eyes baring soul
Soul staring there
Memory and sight
Transcribed
Permanently placed
On the canvases’ face

What a beautiful man
a character in muted colors
speaking Shakespeare’s words.
I covet the players coven
a place where such wonders
where made manifest,
where actors did their best
to express in proper parlance
past prose and poetry.

What a fine figure
full of creative vigor
that speaks loudly
marking lines with fierceness
and a slight playful puckish
variety.

What a time to relish
spoken forms
the theater
worn for such
vocal storms
and I am in love
not a ****** decree
but an infatuation
founded upon
the wonderous creativity
of this sweet performer
before me.

A man is measured by his work
Stressed and struggling
Gasping for a breath of relaxation
A daily compounding of suffering
Dignity sacrificed
Life
Judged poorly if he is poor
A person should be measured better
Perhaps not judged at all
Could be judged by his kindness

We can’t be expected
to be happy all the time
and at this point
I am doing fine
mostly.

Except this week
has been kind of
out of the ordinary
for me.

I am more tired
then I am used to,
been studying
the abuse
people go through.

I’m not surprised
about how
our government lies,
more concerned
how people
let themselves
be deceived.

I’m not surprised
that people are angry,
just concerned
about what has earned
their animosity.

So, I stare at still stocks,
look at photos
of children
being treated
worse than strays,
children being locked away
in silver gray
fenced cage.

Normally, I keep
that darkness
stewing in my
unconscious,
but this week
my gut is churning me,
tears threaten to
live stream.

This week
isn’t the worst one,
and I am sure
the sparkling
version
of me
will
make its
grand reentry
but right now
human suffering
is rightfully
making me
suffer internally.

**** the society
that tries to
inseminate me
with hateful
violent tendency.

**** those laws
that cause
liberty to be
denied to those
who don’t
make as much money
are look the same as me.

**** those reality stars.
Stuck up,
liposucked
money mongering
artificial
Hollywood housewives
that sell lies.

**** those fake
pop stars
who claim
their art is
making them
brilliant artists
when it is just
poison
their bringing.

**** me for singing,
poetry writing,
Not injustice fighting
cause I enjoy my
lazy lifestyle
and social justice
seems like a losing war.
A hundred battles
I lost before
I even started;
Fucccccckkkk.

I have retracted
my high esteem,
and redacted
the way that you acted
from my memory files.
Now you are just
a bad dream.

There is no way
to unmake hate.
You will not
manipulate
me again.

I’d rather be
in a stampede
of caribou
than have to
go through
the **** you do
one more time.

I’m not coming back
for a round two
to watch a rerun
of what I know
you will do.

This is my hour
of deliverance.
I’ll forgo
giving you all of
my grievances;

Cause I am leaving
this very instance.

Let me be clear
I don’t want to be here.
in this month or year.

******* Valentine’s day.

The last lantern flickered
reflected in the black water
while raindrops made ripples
and little waves were formed
in the wake of the wooden boat’s
unsteady movements.

No cars or clocks to hear
just the soothing percussion
of light rain falling
on a saltwater world
of an eerily clouded night.

The empty vessel
loses itself in
the same ocean
that claimed
the men who had been
rowing out for some
grand late-night fishing.

Good morning phantom of the far flung sphere,
lovely specter surrounded by space dust,
circular celestial body
that is but a sparkle in my imagination,
may the day bring you blessings
that twinkle like the piercing lights
that ride the evening sky.
I hope dark dreams dared not intrude
upon your restful interlude.
Instead in the place you lay
I hope dreams of love and joy are displayed
and replayed until you awake.

With every good movie, sweet song,
Great book, remarkable poem,
Or awesome short story
I find a new part of me
A shared understanding
Half parts fiction and reality
Swirling in the mix
Full of tricks to fix
Breaking the ice with picks
Or challenging my perception
Like a psychedelic trip
Without the psychotropic
Chemicals
Till, I smile or the tears drop
Till, I can’t stop
From feeling something deeply
No matter how much it hurts me
Stories unnumb me

Tic, the clock kicks
just a bit
counting seconds
but nothing moves.
The pen is still.
Time feels unreal.
The digital display
blinks at a slowed pace
and I match it
a slow breath
a slow heartbeat,
a scattered mess,
and an empty desk.

Tic, my sanity escapes me
driving me to boredom
ticking through
another minute or two
and all I want to do
is go home.

Tic, aaaarrrrrggggh

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.

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 took myself to the dark places
Cold clusters of pulsing arteries
Veins running red and ready to bleed
Blade sharpened thin and ready to slice skin
Every time tremors of this pain filled reality plagued me
I took to these deathly fantasies
That I imagined and tried to die
But the razors were dull and rusty
And I never had the strength to
Cut through the physical pain
The pills did not ****
Only damaged my teeth and kidneys
The only peace that came was when I slept
Clenched tightly under cover and in between dreams
When only nothingness reigned
Little blackouts like small deaths comforted me

Used to be
Click and see
What comes next
Polaroid
Then came digital
Now we can see
What develops
Instantly

They fed me my feathers
One beak full at a time
With red flecks on their neck
I picked and I pecked
After I fact checked
I gobbled them up
And now I can’t fly

The way the wind works its whirly will,
the way the waves rush and wash upon
the sandy shore,
the way the stars burn bright with
atomic fire, such hydrogen fury,
the way the rain falls on any day
even the days which I make plans,
these things are beyond my control

The way I react to a verbal attack,
the way I chose to eat healthy snacks,
the way I build up what I lack
turning my weaknesses into strengths,
the way I treat everybody
as I strive to pursue
a better me
not a me who
is better than you,
is in my control.

America the gutted stretch
Run by those rutting leches
A rotting wreck of corporate decay

Those shattered remains
Of splattered and strange
Human beings and broken houses

Scarred landscape
Murderously mutilated with skyscrapers
Those dammed land rapers

A hundred wooden shacks that
Housed such a wonderfully strange history
Traded in the economic bin
For one big blocked box
Where only wealthy men
And trophy women
Can ride to the very top

With the flick of my nose
I lost the soft scent of a rose.
Now I know no rose will ever grow
and I weep to myself,
“Why am all alone?”

Then they plucked out my eyes
so now I can’t cry.
My soul is so parched
that even my heart is dry.
Thus, dryly I sigh,
“Why am I alone?”

There were sounds that made me smile
but the loudness of this life
caused my eardrums to burst.
Now I sit in a state of silence
left with only fingers to touch air
and feel the vibrations I can’t hear.
It’s like a Greek tragedy
with bits of irony I will never see.
So I think in my head
that I might as well be dead
because now I am truly alone.

How deep can I go
How honest can I be
Watching out
For those who hurt me
Letting them in
And out
Like a revolving door
Hurting while they explore
Things they wanted more
I let them go
Hoping they know
That I love them
And wish them all the happiness
That I will never have

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

Tis a fury that spurs me
to heights beyond
this herd of sheep.

It is my arrogance in knowing
that gift I have been showing
should be recognized
by my peers
to whom I am barely
peripheral scenery.

The well of anger
swells in danger,
giving me dark pleasures,
pushing me to be better,
while lesser
beings sleepwalk
through their daylight scenes.

It seems
that no one really wants
a unique human being
at least not in my vicinity.
They prefer the obscenity
of a banal mind.

So, the theological,
and astrological,
tarot reading,
flat earth breeding,
pollutant seeding,
masses turn me seething.
Till, red froth
fills my good nature.

I push on,
continuing in curiosity
to see how far
poetical philosophy
will carry me.
Hopefully it will be
to my grave
and years beyond
in literary acclaim.

But, I think most likely
like the lite night breeze
both me and my work
will die alone in the dark,
cold, and unnamed.

Pretty eyes,
pretty smile,
pretty hands,
pretty ***;

She handles
all those
compliments
fields all those
unwanted stares.

Some young guy
says something nice,
but when she doesn’t
acknowledge him
he calls her a
stuck up *****.

Some one
grabs her ***.

Someone
presses her up
against a wall.

Someone
raises her blouse.

Someone
intrudes
where he is
not meant to.

Now she is awkward.

Now she is uncomfortable,

Now she is untrusting.

Now she doesn’t
want to be beautiful.

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.

It is caffeine induced insanity,
heart beating rapidly,
stress and anxiety
hunting me viciously.
I try to slow my breathing,
try not to see all the possible
bad outcomes,
but my nervousness ruins everything,
tightening the valves and ventricles
that should keep me moving.

Now they keep me cringing
worried about what worse thing
that may still be coming.
I clench my chest,
try to calm my breaths.
Until, I am able to
force myself to sleep
and awaken with
just a little more peace.