If I disappeared
The universe
Would not mourn me
The loss would be
Fractionally
Unfathomable
I only matter in
This small circle
Of human influence

I sit in the dark
and puncture my heart
play poet to start
balancing all of those
uneven evening stars.
Till all of our scars blink at
the same twinkling beat that
blows me away like
an old-school gangster’s gat.

Now, I bleed
and I can’t get that red shirt back
this isn’t Star trek
but I use to figure that
we would be better than that.
Instead, we are worse.

So I curse this curious soul,
drop off to sleep and lose control.
I let my sub conscious go,
shrink my hope and let sorrow grow,
write it down so you will know
that we are not getting better.
We’re getting way worse.

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

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.

As we age
we subtract
false fantasies
from scientific facts
and reality becomes
smaller.

As we get wiser,
and acquire
a deeper understanding,
we expand our minds
to incorporate
what is newly unknown
to us.

Then the universe
explodes
with
a multitude
unforeseeable
depths
and dimensions.

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.

I am as fit as a fractured fiddle,
with my wooden cords galore
that don’t make a sound anymore,
and a neck like wet cardboard
that is ready to fold and fall
on the bathroom floor.

The practical pianist
played for perfection’s sake
not for pleasure
and that
was her mistake.

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

I used to long for
metal doors
that melted
forming
pool like portals
to other worlds.

Places where monsters
roamed distorted landscapes,
where skies rained
drops of purple
forming portal puddles
that would take me
to places even farther
from my messed up family.

I dreamed of
adventures tempered by pain
cause I felt there must be
a balance to pay in my fantasies.

Scars for freedom,
bruises equaling
the level of love I deserved,
the level that would earn my
warrior princess’s affection.

Through proof of
unfair punishment
while wielding healing hands
I would help
other victims like myself.
Earning a redemption
that was never necessary.

How strange that even in
my fairytale dreams
I treated myself as unfairly
as the daytime beast
that left red marks on me.

But now that I have found peace
I no longer dream of
a troubled love like that.
I no longer feel I need to earn back
that dignity and tranquility
that was so brutally
stolen from this mother’s son.

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.

I am stupider when i know but smarter when i think.

What foul deed
do these fools decree
to submit to this
madness that you see?

Blades of grass,
knives of steel,
bullets that feel
no more or less real.

Pain is reaped
like wheat with
the reaper’s scythe .
As loved one fall
on into
an endless night
while leaders
claim the right
to order us
to fight.

Our fallen kin
lies therein
victim to their whims,
profiting the wealthy
more than the starving
children and women.
While nationalistic rhetoric
leaves stranger thundering
bellowing broken justifications
our new leader elect
just goes on a vacation.

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

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

My heart does not know
nationalities.
It only sees
children suffering,
refugees
running.
They are people that could be
different versions of me.

My anger sees deceit
but softens to the struggle
of a familial ******.
He tries to climb in my window
while I sleep.
I rage
but when he struggles to be better,
my anger subsides.
Sympathy overrides
good sense.
I do not trust him
because
he has stolen from me before,
but it is cold outside,
so I let him camp out
on a cot in my house,
on my living room floor.

My sadness sees
human beings like me
being taken in by a republican
corporate shill.
At the same time
my democrats
can’t see how fat cats
hold the leash
of their party people.
So gladiators fight it out
while businessmen make out
better than the land barons
of yester year.

My hope sees
subtle shifts,
slight variations
of people with
noble intent
periscopes down,
heads up,
they march for a better world.

My cynicism sees
my own stupidity
and laziness.
It sees a world ablaze
that will not change.
So I write it out
and go to bed
letting better men
then me
struggle to set us free.

My dreams see?

Tears from the tree;
The sapling cries
as little vines
bleed pain
for fellow fauna
that have fallen
never to rise again.

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

Step right up
to test your luck
pull a lever,
or pick a card.
If you’re clever
you’ll get a red lettered
queen of hearts,
but if you are
down on your luck
you’ll get a generic joker
who doesn’t give a single
****.

It should be a rarity,
this wicked wealth disparity,
but look at these crooks,
these modern-day land barons
coming in with their horns blaring,
not caring about the poor despairing
population they're supposed to be serving.

Instead, we got politicians earning
lots of profits
while the impoverished suffer from
the loss of options.

I'm not scared of strangers. I'm afraid of forgetting how to be kind.

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

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.

There is a clap.
Faces face
your candy cage
gilded in gummy
sugary glues
made to amuse
your sickly
sweet tooth.

It’s like you use
an apple for a gavel
doling out justice
in judgement
of those who
are starving;

Like you’re ignoring
the reality
but you’re  
hungry to.

We have the tools
but you’re more interested in
revenge for imagined
slights.

So you fight
against your own interest.

Instead of a
grand buffet
you put rocks
and mud on you plate.

Until the day
you fade away
a little slower then
the women and men
you were judging
but almost in
the exact same
anorexic shape.

Welcome to life’s
rented out property.
The entry fee
is completely free,
but the interest charge
is pretty **** hard
and you can’t get out
of this backyard
alive.

It is a curse of negative spaces.
Strange featureless faces
speak in discordant tones
repeating bland talking points.

So, I escape into the worlds I make,
sing in swift but slurred words
making my own rhythms and lyrics
as I stumble in a manic state,
pulled down by the heaviness
of my creative plates,
those several pieces of porcelain
spinning on thinning sticks.
Till, I fall, crack, and break.
Then in my broken state
cut all those around me.

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.

My quick wit
put me on her
stupid hit list,
but her hitmen
took their best shots
and missed again.

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

I get frustrated by those who think they know me. I may come off as intellectually arrogant but spend more time trying to see the world from different angles. Since I suspect that i'm frequently wrong I endure a lot and forgive more then I should.

Watch the withering wax work workers
Plastic people who barely move
Barely groove love to lose
Not knowing what they are choosing
Just smoozing and boozing
Darts, beer, and harder shots
Then it’s hangovers and back on the clock
What a shock
The cycle goes
Work and party
Work and party
Work and party
Till the hardy
Cannot swallow another shot
Till time cracks the clock
And all that they got
For a lifetime of work and parties
Is an open coffin

Not quite winter
but the bare sidewalks
are already cold.
A frigid wind blows
with indifference
as strangers
pass each other.

A soulful voice
accompanied by
a beautiful keyboard
sings hope
from a street corner,
while nursing
a small plastic cup
of transparent
brown liquid.

Such a sweet
street performer,
I drop him
two dollars,
as he shivers
and smiles.

Such a sweet
street performer,
but the night
is a promiscuous lover
leaving him behind
in time
looking to find
tomorrow’s mind.

Not quite winter
but the bare sidewalks
are already cold.
A frigid wind blows
with indifference
as strangers
pass each other.

A soulful voice
accompanied by
a beautiful keyboard
sings hope
from a street corner,
while nursing
a small plastic cup
of transparent
brown liquid.

Such a sweet
street performer,
I drop him
two dollars,
as he shivers
and smiles.

Such a sweet
street performer,
but the night
is a promiscuous lover
leaving him behind
in time
looking to find
tomorrow’s mind.

The world can be a cold and dark place. Whispering winds of change force us on into an uncertain future. We struggle to maintain a strong sense of identity, but so many loose themselves in the crowed, and their potential is losses to the desire to conform.
phew, lucky for me I don't know how to conform. Being a nerd has its advantages sometimes.

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.

Time stretches the stars
Till the heart find their scars
Have become space time
Stretch marks

How come two fo the most important topics are taboo? Talking candidly about religion can lead to resentment just as quickly as talking about politics. However, these two things are the most powerful forces in our modern culture. Sharing insight and learning from each other , should be the most logical thing. While Remaining ignorant of these topic or avoiding themseams kind of dangerous.

The rockets flare fast.
Multi-colored explosions
spread across the night sky
while I
sit alone and stew.

I am alone
suffering in silence
succumbing to
the sovereignty
of my loneliness.

There is a woman
who hurts my heart,
a smile and voice
that presses my sanity
from the inside out
like a tube of toothpaste.

She has a family
and I have spent
thirty-seven years alone.

One taste of domestic tranquility
has enslaved me
made me want to be
her partner for eternity,

But sadly
I am not the one
she longs to see
and it breaks me.

Like all things
this will pass
but right now
it hurts to be alone.

If it is a race, then the pace of one set of clouds out does the ones that float above lazily. Smokey dragons cut across Odin’s one good godly eye. The night pursues its cold cool wind muse,
and I cannot lose, because I use this muse so well. I walk the building corner to brick corner unwilling to enter the unyielding nightmare hallways. I do not wish to walk in the white hollow echo chambers, alone and uninspired while the night spirals in lunar delight. I postpone it as long as I can, walking the yellow concrete corners like they are tight high wire. I swerve and struggle to maintain my perfect position, for fear of falling into the black top lava pit. The inside world waits for me like a ravenous beast. Please oh please do not force me to leave the light breeze that brushes my skin gently. Glass and metal doors see me swallowed whole. I did not want to go but now I know this white washed world will be my graveyard fantasy. The red buds on the tree beckon me, but I cannot go back out. The musical clank of metal clips that hang the flags summons me beyond the security doors with their dangerous whipping movements, but I am not allow to explore such freedom. The strangers of varying degrees, shapes, weights, skin tints, hair, and teeth beckons me to question their history. I cannot go out there to the fantastic. No that is a lie. I could if I tried, but I chose to hide in a secure hourly wage paid life. I could leave and let my wanderlust take me where it will. I could go back to Pleasantville, Champaign, Williamsville, Pontiac, Mt. Vernon, and Danville, then go see places I have never been. I could give in to the seductive siren call of landscapes unseen, sounds unheard, and strangers not yet met. Instead I sign my time sheet, walk and repeat, securing nothing. I drive home tired and come back and repeat that as well. I accept the mundane. It is a part of the price I pay for a slice of peace.

No life has a happy ending because every life ends, so why not fill what precious few moments we have with all the love we can give and take.

There’s a crack
in the back black
parking lot.

There’s a crack in my engine
so, my car
won’t start,

and there’s a crack
in my demeanor
so, any one
can look in
and see my
bleeding heart.

Today I’m struggling
to find
a potent
portent
of the human
condition
to place in
my poetic
compositions.

My beneficence
stems from
my shaded happiness,
because if I was
consumed by
anger or sadness
I would not
have the energy
to be kind.

When knuckles crack
And spine snaps
Front to back
The lack
Of sleep
Ages me
And I sit wearily
Wary and waiting
For the next cup of coffee
To rouse me
Cheap breakfast sandwich
As breaks squeal and sound this
Wednesday morning stress
Fifteen minutes away
From starting the day
Then it is ten to twelve
Hours before the self
Is allowed to emerge
They purge me
Of anything that makes me me
Fifteen minutes back
To the big mac
And another ten or twenty
Depending on how the traffic rolls
Fast or slow
You know
All I want to do is hit the sheets
**** my ***** swollen feet
Just let me sleep

Business interest
are not the best indicators
to make decisions.

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.

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

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?”

This dismal day
dulls my emotions
in favor of
some distant
tv visions
that I used to love.

Look at that
Humans are
Dust motes
Dancing on
A cosmic scale
Burning behind
The comet’s tail
Too important to notice
That they are
Less than a particle
In a universe
That is an electron
In an atom
Of a larger universe

It is the mind of a menace,
a monstrous figure
that shredded the air
opening
a doorway
from nowhere,
and released
a horrendous creature.

A dark and grimacing face
protruded
from the splintering
of space.

Fierce features
found their form
revealing
long sharp teeth,
and lighting like
eyes
which
further pierced
the dark skies.

A tortuous tongue
tormented
the villagers below,
violently lapping them up
to devour their bodies
and tasty souls.

Till, Helios,
the lord of light,
intervened
with a raging stream
of sharp solar power,
pushing this dark beast
back into
it’s nightmare realm.

But the crack
is still open
so, the beast
may come back
someday.