It has been years
Since I have seen the water
Felt the cool freshness
The cold shivers
Stroked
Backwards
I do not know
Why I do not go
Back there

It's so futuristic
and mechanistic
those fatalistic
mystics of nihilistic
behaviors
that seemed to mirror
the feudalistic years.

With eyes of honeys
and lips buzzing
you have me running
straight into
the hive to get to
your delicious mind,
cause it is so stunning.

Till I met you
I used to duel
with scores of
shadow men.

I dropped the
dripping wax
that burnt me
from within
the skin
of the mirror.

Night after night
I would watch
the monster
grow and grow
and wonder if
I could find a way
to end it.

Several times I tried
to ride that final ride,
to slide the sharper side
of my rusted knife
in my enemy’s thighs
or across his wrists
as he clenched his fists,
willing him to bleed out

But he would still follow me
and in the night I could see
reflections of this darker being
staring right back at me
with eyes as black
as whatever was on
the other side of the glass.

He spoke like me,
broke like me,
and even scavenged
petal free stems
with thorns
that ripped my skin.
Until you my friend
on whom I now depend
to keep me tethered
to my tattered sanity,
who helps me laugh
at my darker past,
came at last.

But if my past
ever comes back
and I have to see,
that face of hate
that haunted me
I hope you are there
waiting with me
cause a mirror
is a very dangerous thing.

I don’t want to forget
How to cry
Don’t want to let them
Rob me of the ability
To release this tension
That squirms inside of me
This anguish that tries to ride me
Lying to me with its knots
And churning stomach
Anxiety in reverse
As my lips purse
As I curse my broken heart
I start to kneel and heal
At the altar of soft, warm,
And oh so needed tears

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.

Broad generalizations frequently decrease the fluidity of human understanding and growth.

This is a poem
about another
solitary shift.

There is tension
in my sore shoulders,
and a tender tightness
in my right knee joint.

The dark sky brings
the trifecta of
three rainbow hallow
having light bulbs
blazing.

Less than a quarter
of a block’s distance
is a pair of lights
that pierces the night
like irritated eyes
peevishly peering
out at the parking lot’s clearing
while pouting petulantly.

Near night’s end
I walk and listen
to the sound of the wind
moving through
the select few
scattered trees
that surround me.

The orange’s juice drips
on my dry cracked lips
while the sun
spreads its orange
glazed glory
across the dark morning sky,
a catharsis of narcissi’s sweetness.

Flags up
and then I am off
fleeing from
the forming day,
and going home
so, I can sleep
the rest of the
daylight away.

He longed to be revealed
Pealed like the layers of an onion
Or plucked like the petals
Of a rose
While Singing
She loves me.
She loves me not.
She loves me.
She loves me not.
Until the last
Layers of flesh
Disappear
And the anatomy
Of love appears
Wet and transfigured
In his transcendent
Affection
A beautiful grotesquery  
Falling in love
With the pain of
Loving someone
Who does not want
To be loved by him

You do not face the debasement
of children and women
cause you worship
popstars, pedophiles, and rapists.
I would leave this
racist nation
but like all those trailer trash
beaten women
I keep thinking
America is a really a good man
and I can change him.

What a weird wonderland
as Alice comes so close to see
the strange curiosity that is me,
an inverted reflection,
while I see negative space
filled by her body, face,
and the thoughts she traces
out for me.

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

Desire is the poetry of flesh
Legs spread when she begged
I inserted the tip of my head
Passion in thrusting
Moving in lusting
Combining bodies
Once separate now fluid form
Moans escape both lips
I move in her, breathless
Deathless in this immortal moment
Every ounce of thought power
Pushing in and in and in
Forcing closeness
Till we *** and become
Separate again
Until the poetry returns
And desire burns
Our flesh once more

It is cold outside
and a small figure hides
trying to keep warm.

There is a fellow
with a cardboard sign
not preaching about
the end of times
just trying find a dime
to eat.

There is another guy
trying to get by
on his minimum wage
nine to five.

There is a foreigner.
There is somebody’s wife.
There are a ton of struggles
in this transient life.

Do not look deep
into those dark eyes
for if you peer inside
seeing past
the blast of
black and white
if you see
another person
you might have to become
a decent human being.

To all those I have lost
I am sorry that I was not there
To hold your hand
Hear your last words
And ease you gently
Into the arms of oblivion
And though you are gone
I still type these words
Hoping that when it is my turn
Someone will do for me
What I failed to for you

For wisdom and knowledge
For understanding and compassion
I sold the fire of who I was
Saw soul’s light expire
In my fervent desire
To be better
Acquiring and inspiring
Art
At the expanse
Of my own happiness
Looking through to
The human heart of darkness
To help create
A collective lamp
That burns brighter and better
Then this dark bitter sun
And though I will never know
Such a sweet world
From my lonely mountain top
You will know
I love you all

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?

Perhaps, I was a peasant in love,
a partly pleasant player
in the prose and poetry
that I present to thee
my cherished queen
of love laden dreams.

Perhaps, I was
the curious cockroach
crawling across
the curators
favorite canvass,
the portrait of our
beloved queen,
to be crushed
carelessly by
the callous king,
becoming a small stain
on the otherwise
unblemished
painting.

Perhaps,
before we past
parting ways,
pondering
old playdates
when we played,
I was your partner
in strange adventures
before my feelings
became too complicated,
before I became
the crestfallen fool,
the King’s favorite jester
who made you laugh
while I tore myself in half
for the sake of your wellbeing.

Now my twin wanders somewhere
out there
unburdened by the broken heart
and if you see him
send him back
so, I can be him
once again.

A quick and queer query,
soft elegy revealed to me
within the silk melody
of the muses who wrote
history in the form
of a dying mystery

While others fall
to slumber’s whims,
I see the sun
fall and rise again
a furious phoenix
force.

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

What a beautiful bottle of
black haired poison she was,
a perfect shade of night.

I slipped in beneath her skin
plunging deeper and deeper inside;
Until her mind consumed mine,
till her needs became mine.

She ripped her wings
and I bled from my shoulder blades.

She scratched her eyes out
and I wept long thin lines
of pungent red wine.

Without any hesitation
She performed a trepanation
so she could shed
the glass that scraped
the insides of her head
and I died instead,

so when her phoenix fire
threatened to consume the world
I flew like a ****** angel
raining wet red roses into her ashes

Life feels like a hammer clanging against a broken anvil
A token of what you were choking down
A broken clown killing yourself ironically
Suicidally marking dimes stretching metal to make nothing
And nothing begets nothing
Rock forgets scissor and paper cuts flesh
Words wielded like stone swords
Smashing and slashing with equal effect
I suspect I am the fool chasing today while I am wasting away
From social decay pleasures so sweet they rot my teeth
But this is just a stream of stinking slick sewage
And instead of swimming in the ****
I think I am drowning in it

I am a biochemical mess
One big bottle of craziness
Not clinical insanity
But the bitter fruits of
My discontented heart
Disillusioned with my dissonance
Being a creature of love
But not believing there is any love for me

I want a new life
in the sun
no more strife
to run from
but years of
love and fun
that will
hopefully come.

Sleep deprivation,
extreme caffeination,
and frequent urination
to the point of dehydration,
what a dangerous
work combination.

If life is a show,
it is one that
goes with the flow,
growing and retreating
with the seeding
of insights
we are receiving.

Rivers shift, feeding
bigger bodies.
Life is change,
but no one
really taught me
how to accept
that reality.

People come
and go
in and out
of our lives
and periphery,
occasionally
coming in for
a reentry,
then fading
into background
static.

Life is for the living
to grab it,
because death
will not grant us
any grand reprieve,
so all I need
is what I see
to go on existing
whilst being me.

-2021

Sad stories make monsters compelling
And wealth makes them desirable
Does not matter that monsters are monsters
People still manage to ignore their horrors
As long as the atrocious act serve their interests as well

The roads of my memory
are muddy wet and slippery.
Brown flecks fly up my back tire
staining my raggedy blue jeans.
Frequently my loose laces
or torn pant legs
get stuck in the pedals
pulling and wrapping themselves
around a thin cylinder of metal
until I cannot pedal anymore.
So, I unthread the impediment.

A wind presses hard
pushing me towards
a neighbor’s damp grassy yard.
Instead of battling
this solid gust
I turn around and let it
drive me forward.
For a few minutes
I fly like superman
speeding down
this small town road.

The cloudy grey skies
drop their salty load
letting lightning loose as well.
My legs pump fast
as the thunder blasts
even louder.
I slide the two wheeled
rusted wonder
into my grandma’s garage.
Then I begin to unplug
everything from the outlet,
though she is pretty lenient
she is strict about that.
Finally, I ride out
the rest of the night
inside
till bedtime.

Time is the bullet
That penetrates us
From all directions
Holes
We dig
Trying to fill it
Putting loss
In rows of monuments
While life takes
*** shots
Each moment
Has got us
Moving farther
Away from birth
And closer to
Our own hole in the ground
And the bullets pass on
To the next generation
As they to dance in
The crossfire

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.

To live free, as me, how I want to be.
In a society that wants to impose on me
Their limited mentality and morality
The wants to classify and separate me
For my natural affinities
To live free in such a society
Is harder than performing
The 12 labors of Hercules

The sins of the father do not own the son.
It matters naught where we come from,
We can scramble out of the shadows of history
and become a better breed of humanity.
Just because it was and always should be
will not be a rallying cry for traditions.
We need not cow to superstitions
that diminish us,
because we have the potential to be
Brilliant.

Everyone has a light to share. It may burn dim or shine so bright it blinds the masses. There is a story in each of you, a lesson I can learn. In some cases I have been blessed to share some of your wonderful insights while someone of you remain a beautiful mystery. Just remember at the end of the day you are unique, your wonderful, and you are appreciated because you bring happiness to those who know and love you.

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

Some strange storm is a brewing,
a dark clouded chaos soon ensuing,
wind and water moving fast
for our viewing
as this wet fury falls upon
the unsuspecting form
of everyone.

The parking lot is a sheet
of solid ice beneath my feet
and it is fun to slip slide
but I wish I had some
warm rainy night vibes,
because all of my night lights
have either frozen or died.
You know that I tried
to believe your truth
but your truth
is my lie.

You are a strange picture
of wavy raven colored hair
and beautiful smiles.
Still there is a darkness
that hides behind
your sweet and hopeful lines.
You sing for me
like a coal mine canary
and for a bit
this bitter winter gets better.

It is not your duty,
but you are a dream to me,
a playful majesty
in a cold lonely choppy sea.
I watch a thin curvy wave of
snow flow away
running like the dying day
that fades while strays
like me stay in pain.

It is not fair to wear you
like a light tan armor
but I have lost so many other
battlefield friends,
more leaving then passing,
tenderly basking in a world
safely centered in love and hope.

But love and hope is the rope
that I wove to hang myself.
I shame myself looking to your heart,
knowing that you have your own battles.
I hope you beat every demon
that scorches the porches you call home

As for me I fly alone
waiting for the day
the icy roads take me away.

Goodnight my poetic friend,
master of the hearts that mend.
Till we tweet, tumblr, or
Instagram again.

Cheesy layers slipping down
huge burger patties,
bread, and fries
drawing in my hungry eyes.

I devour this delicious horseshoe
so fast that the yellow liquid drips
down my chin
mingling in
with just a tinge
of saliva cause
I was
so hungry.

Thus, I consumed
over fifteen hundred calories
in an afternoon
enjoying every bite,
regretting nothing
and retreating to
the sweet boon
of a comatose state
of this sated fool.

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.

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

You tore our planet to pieces
Ripped up the land with your strife
Civil wars, and genocides
Snuffed out all that potential life
Creating a void that no light can pierce

With your war and consumerism
You closed but increased the distance
Between rational human beings
Stirring the masses on to
Mass extinction
Despite my pleading, crying, and screaming
Leaving me voiceless in obscurity
In the name of fake security
And false promises of prosperity

Oh, my dear humanity
If I could have died for this lost cause
I would have
But you have
Even managed to deny me that sweet mercy

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.

The best artistry enraptures its creator in a fugue of furious activity that is almost beyond his/her control. They are overcome with inspiration and must follow it. It is the unconscious mind ripping and taring at the fabric of the creators mind, and it is is the closest thing to ecstasy I know.

Cut her open
and you will find
immeasurable potential
hiding behind
skin and muscle.

Not a casual canal
but a tunnel to life,
brewing ingredients
deep inside;

The chance to grow
a being who will
develop unforeseen
ideas for humanity,

the chance to harbor
a hopeful artist,
soft hearted songwriter,
social worker,
teacher, scientist,
painter, activist.

A man does not wield
that level of power,
that wild wonder
of a body working
to put a new lifeform
together in a womb.

A woman’s body
is a gateway
to all worlds beyond,
it is the center
that pushes our species on.

What weary traveler wanders slowly down a worn and dusty road. Knowing that it has been year since anyone last traversed these dangerous trail. Still he dares to bare the burden of clearing this once wondrous street of debris, so that those who wish to walk this road once more can do so unafflicted by dark memories of the struggle once undertaken on this path before.

2010

With the voice of eloquence
and precisely placed poetry
she asked her love to be
a being of stability.

However, I longed to be
the one she looked too to see
love’s gentle eyes reaffirming
turning life’s truths
into reassuring simplicity
making a promise that I
could never really guarantee.

It is a good thing she did not look to me
cause all I could promise her
is this moment in eternity
all I could give her is my passion
and gentle but attentive curiosity.

We are fragments
Minstrels in our memories
Ghosts
Only partial presence
Our essence
Only vaporous
In filament
In digital
In audio
Visual
And literary
Fading
As all things do
Imperfectly remembered

Make it quick.
You are already
killing me slowly
dragging me
through the snowy
thorn covered field,
making my flesh bruise
changing it from pink
to blackish blues
as you spread the abuse.

Just make it fast.
slip the blade past
my ribs and up into
the heart you broke
as you choked
the land I loved
as you grabbed
children by the throat,
while you demonized them
with shaded lies.

Your corruption is poison
and I am tired
of writing the same poem,
so just **** me now.

What a shame
that full of ****
misogynist
moves with
deliberate
dickishness
looking for a
a sacrificial
lamb
to feed
his drunken
hunger,

that slick
slinking
trickster
who confuses
the masses
and misuses
the women
who view him
as an authority figure.

I would
burn this *******
well,
metaphorically,
give him
a sea of grief,
but it seems
people put him up
as a visionary,
which is scary
cause what I see
is a vile violator
of humanity.

There is something there
in the downtown square,
an angel statue
with statuesque hair.

On my way to work
the nightshift,
I stop and stare
at the strange
stationary beauty,

whispering secrets
in her ear
that she’ll never share,
cause she doesn’t care.

She is as hard as metal
but the last beautiful girl
staring up at the stars,
while loud cars
blast by
destroying the peaceful night.

Like Pygmalion
I am in love
with a statue,
but unfortunately
for little old me
there is no
Aphrodite
to bring my beloved to life.