She sleeps now
With her wilted roses
And crooked
Cracked sidewalk
Such a broken walkway
Gentle gardener hands
And piano fingers
Plant and play no more

We lay down so low
let go so slow.

Till, the tremors in
their voices
mirror our own.

Congested in fear
as we hear clear
the final call,

Green swamps
see sinking dreams
of stinking sewage
and hear our horrors
as we scream.

The earth is softened.
Till, brown mounds are moved
to cover your corpse
from their sorrow filled view.

It is what we fear most.
So, we claim heavenly hosts
will come for us.
We trust the lust
of a white collared thief
who sales us relief
from our fear and grief,

but we all go down
into the ground in the end.

My problem is that I am driven. I have a certain level of willpower that most cannot honestly claim. However, many with this degree of will power become rigid. I am fluid, because directing much of the energy i have is a undeniable sense of empathy. This makes pursuing a world of materiel things highly detestable, because I know these things come at the cost of our humanity. So my pleasure comes from the consumption of art and knowledge. I am a strange **** that strangles the seeds, and softens the earth of your subdued minds. While you keep trying to grow straight like the rest am trying to bend you so you can see around OZ's curtains. Good luck,

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.

The tea steams microwave heated.
I add some coconut oil cause
they say it is great,
full of nutrients
so, I sit drink and ruminate.

The day has just begun.
Here comes the rising sun.
People rise to walk to work,
but I do not move among them.
I am not one of their number.
I abdicated that fate I hated,
predetermined patterns,
predestination set in order
to maintain the wealthy man’s
desire for money and power.

Busses rumble with loud children.
Yellow beasts bellowing through
my neighborhood and onto
the schoolyard I once knew.
It was a place where children scorned
all the words and other things I knew.
Even though I longed to join their crew
all they knew how to do
was alienate young individuals
who sought the truth.

So, I sit and stew about our youth
as my friend finds his coffee to brew.
He tells me about this new youtube dude
who plays video games and gets lots of views
making millions of dollars.
All I can think is I am a great writer,
but my god daughter loves him to.
I abominate, abominate is a great word
the weak willed sheep who follow
untalented *******.
I shudder.
Then yawn and stretch.
I blink.
“****” I think.
I need more sleep.

It is too early for me.
I am too tired to be
this frustrated with society.
So, I go back to sleep
to find a better world
within my dreams.

Nature is weighed down by winter’s solid white water.
Cold winds break across the burial ground,
soft mounds where their family history is found.
Mother, father, brother, and daughter stand
struggling to hold onto each other’s hands
while the black clad tools of this corporate land
prepare to eviscerate the safe drinking water
with metal pipes of pure crude destruction.

He sculpted reality
Shifted melted metal
To shape a better world
The hand of man

She sculpted flesh
Growing cells
Pygmalion of the womb
Suckling and nurturing
A newborn

He made madness
Mimicking solar explosions
Destruction
Death

She gave birth
To generations
Yet veneration
Was given to the masculine
Man made god a male

The progeny turned upon
The progenitor
Male propagated pain
Female yielded the fruit of life
In all forms of adaptation

Though I reject gender division
In societies expectations
I would prefer a female god
Giving birth
To the damning male model
Condemning all those who live on
This beautifully evolved Earth

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.

The summers spent
Will not return
Even when we revisit them
They are distorted
Each year passing
Finds them lasting
But losing bits
Parts sorely missed
And with the death
Of family and friends
We find we cannot
Retrieve those parts
Ever again

I am not the bar fly
beer drinking
kind of guy,
can’t stand the noise
of wild girls and boys.
I prefer the quiet nights
but there does not seem
to be a place for me
in this Pokémon Go
***** loving society.

I want conversation
while other guys
pretend to be patient
so they can slip
their small *****
inside her drunk ***
or drop a sedative
in her wine glass
and become the next
Bill Cosby ******.

I can’t seem to face this
rambunctious crowd.
They are too loud
and I would rather
get to know a stranger
or simply talk with a friend
then try communicating
over aggressively loud music.
I want peace and contemplation
but other people are partying
like they are on death row
cause they know
that they will have to go
back to work.

This scene doesn’t work
but that doesn’t make
them jerks
it just means
that they haven’t evolved enough
to catch up with me.

The factory is a human mutilation of our soul
Mindless repetition putting out one part of a product
No skills fully learned or refined just another machine
Nothing to learn and grow for, nothing to strive for
Just day in and day out until death, illness, or retirement
Claims your fleshy sacs of aging water skins

Time makes grotesqueries of us all.
Tiny sacs of water,
flesh that holds itself together
withering with each year.
Skin bunching, and freckling,
time takes each smile
exchanging grins for winces.
Tumors bulge,
while the memory
of each loved one lost
recedes into an amorphous fog.
Hair bleaches itself,
slowly greying then whitening
as it thins.
Mobility becomes restricted
by pain, and exhaustion.
Labored breaths resist
Death’s inevitable kiss of black bliss.
Until, even loved ones cringe,
trying to touch,
but shivering too much
with a tinge of
fear and a slight vibration of disgust.
A single loved one down,
we know the score
and as we watch several more fall,
most of us
march on oblivious
to the fact
that these grotesqueries
will soon be us.

Oh brother,
I can’t see you as my enemy
when your right here
standing next to me
struggling in America
a parallel complexity
of all those strange societies
just striving to be
a little bit better.

Oh no,
You’re in the blue car
just in front of me
passing other strangers
who don’t want to be
away from their family
but they got to work
to get paid and pay the bills.
At the end of the day
they rush home to see their kid
and watch them play.
They are my brothers and sisters.

Okay,
I know this world is strange.
I’ve cried out this life is pain
but that’s not a matter of fact
it’s a matter of what I lacked.
Though, the particle of hope is small
my love envelopes us all
so I’ll pass my atomic heart along.

Hell yes,
I hear the hopeful hearted dialogue
that denies the over simplified diatribes
from that mad lib racist guy.
Humans rise.
Strangers stand in line.
People love each other
hugging out binary code
saying we will all be fine
in ones and zeroes.
So don’t waste this time. Cont
You don’t have to look hard to find them.
They are not walking a step behind.
They are standing right here.

We are increments,
tiny moments,
moving from
one instance
to the next one,
and then on,
and on again
until we fall
and feel
our bodies end.

I let my dreams hurt me,
helped hope hang me out to dry.
I watch the world go crazy
and sometimes I wanted to die.
Still, in the morning
just before I remember my life
I get a glimpse of hope
and the irony of it all
makes me laugh.

My skin burns with the day’s dusty heated haze
Swirling winds catch the dry dirt and hurl it
Like a desert sandstorm
Light grey and white clouds coming rolling in
Followed by their darker grey and blue hued kin
The sounds of thunder following them
Proceeding the flashing lightening
Resounding with a furious cackling
A dark natured storm’s strange laughter
All building up to the wicked water laden wind
Washing my work wearied skin
And cooling my six to six sick shift
Tortured and tired flesh

The phone store
is closed,
but I can still see
the sharp blue glow
of those
bright screens
blinking out at me
from the window
to the streets
where I am walking slowly.

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.

It is so torturing
trying to only eat
healthy things,

passing on all
of those sugary treats
that I know aren’t
good for me.

Then later
I go on binging.

One donut
takes me
off the wagon
of healthy
living.

Then the
same shame
spiral happens,

no napkins
just two thousand
plus calories
of insanity,
leading to guiltily
working out.

What are
these cravings
all about?

Bright white lights
burn my eyes at night,
makes me wonder why
I have to drive like
it’s all my life.

They sear my retinas,
so, I flinch.
as a loud *** trucker
passes by real quick
and this other ****
just sits
on my ***
making it hard
for me to see anything
driving home on this
over illuminated highway.

A cop blasts red and blue
distracting me
as I am driving through
while he is parked
passing out tickets to
some driver uncertain
what she should do.

There is nobility in humility,
but discipline and persistence
has its value in this resistance
and I am always seeking
that self-improving
human empathy moving
kind of thing.

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

What a tragedy
that though I used to hope,
there does not seem to be
any place for me
in this dark mirror
world society.

Some say that he is horrible.
I say that she is adorable,
and that their judgements
are deplorable.

Cause despite how she is transitioning
there is an inner beauty still shining,
all that outer stuff is purely aesthetic
all that hatred is absurdly pathetic.

I like her to be
feminine or masculine
as she pleases.

I am going to drown
in the gown
that was grown alone,
brown and dried
from the leaves that died
and the seeds of death
that were sown at home.

Barely a buck fifty,
gift from some
far off city
that was given to me.

A soft gaudy snow globe world
with winter glitter swimming in
clear plastic that a snow man
must have recently move to live in.

Cute as can be
even though
it was cheaply
made, bought
and given
with little thought
or effort.

Welcome to another year
of pursuing my supposed
state of physical and mental
superiority.

Welcome to another year
of watching the world
dissolve right before me
as morons run it straight into
another apocalyptic attitude.

Welcome to the cessation
of deep and thoughtful creation
as each heartbeat breaks down
and each friend falls flaccidly
to feed this already rotted ground.

Welcome to the fruitless
endeavor to enlighten the clueless
as I become the best useless artist
of my dying generation.

All ego and fluff as I stuff
each page with my grand intent
to pursue the betterment
of every single human being
that could be served by my creativity.

Then, I welcome myself
right back to this reality
remembering that nothing I do
really matters to the universe.
I am just a speck in the cosmos
with a slightly bigger ego.

A cartoon talent
that was unbalance
he guessed
they got dressed
and directed
themselves to
zany acrobatics.

The bad guy pathetic,
plebian, and antiseptic.
He should have suspected
they were heroes in disguise.

I used to love that show but
now I am a grown up,
so, though I like to look back,
smile, and really laugh
I guess I’ll have to pass
on that old loony toons
madness.

I paint you
with a brush
smothered
in blue.

Then write you
with only
a verb or two;

Nothing much
just a vaporous
presence
that stews
on the canvass
and inked paper.

The skeptic in me
hears and reads
his works patiently,
but responds
with a despondent
acceptance,
cause the reader believes
the fallacies
of a faith
that have long
eluded me
due to my
stumbling,
humbling
rationality.

It wouldn’t be the blues,
if once in a great while
you dropped by with a smile
and some speck of good news.

I wish it was easier,
that, that ***** didn’t
seize the girl
and with violence
end her fragile world.

I wish there was certainty,
that the just would rise
and we would see
justice served fairly.

I wish there was a scale
that balanced good
and everyone could tell
evil would be discovered easily
and the bad guys would always
end up in jail.

If I had more clout
or courage with less
bouts of doubt
I would turn these
wishes into
a reality that serves
all of humanity,
one that helps us
get over
what the **** dudes
with entitled attitudes
put us all through.

I am not a god, or great actor.
No matter what factors stand,
I do not have the luxury of being
anything other than me.
I only get the opportunity
to exist within this community
whilst struggling to improve the quality
of my being.

I am dangerous,
old and cantankerous,
standing up and acting
outrageous.

Amongst an infinitude
of corrupted dudes,
I am the brightest loser
In a constellation of fool.

I have seen
a mess of human tragedy
and on a bad day
wanted to see it all
just go away.

Let us pretend
That this dark portent
Is a potent precursor
To your painful pursuer
The perfect person
To persecute you
You have no defense
Against this prosecutor
No safe haven
No soft heaven
No monster to placate
Till you find a safe place
Just the terror you wear there
On your cherubic childlike face

I’m letting go to let you know
The snow that grows
By loads and loads
Till frosty feet
And frozen toes
Are merely frigid memories
Till all the trees are barren of leaves
Till April fools is but a foolish memory
And memories of you and me
Are dust I let you know as I must
With little strength left
I am letting go of all I left
But still keeping a little life for myself

I am tired
and full of junk,
just a mess
of cluttered madness
stuck in my trunk
along with the skunk
that makes me stink,
makes me think
I will never be
the inspired version
of the poetic me
that came before,
the one who could
write four or more
poems a night,
and read a book or two
each week.

To see you smile again
to play a game of
Chinese checkers
and then dominoes
watch wheel of fortune
to see who knows
the answer faster
then those *******
on the show.

To see your
scraggly face
half-grown beard
silent strong type
who smoked a pipe
who worked the campground
near the end of his life
just to make a little more money
and have something extra
to do at night

To go back to when
we three were traveling
together to New Salem
me the small skinny
child with tubes in his ears
and you two old farts
who took me there

Now I only see you two
in dreams.

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

One more heartache
to remind me
that I got a lifetime of love
making me feel worthless
but I just take that *******
to the gym and use it.

I’ve been baking a cake with
the bad ingredients
we stocked in our cabinets,
sugary and chocolate bits
to rot our internal organs
and stain our already
brown and yellow
broken teeth.

The arc of our life
is a queer covenant,
burning out the porcelain
colored, electric smoking oven
that we were cooking
useless crap in.

She wears
the blush of flesh
lit aflame
with the wild wonder
of an untamed
parallel passion.

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

The lesson is
we are not less then
other men
but different
in our radiance.

Some may shine bright
while others wear a light
that is on another spectrum
one that most humans
are not even looking for.

The streets are empty.
Yellow lines
run from
the horizon
as I ride them
to the end.

The houses
are boarded up.
Hordes of home maker
won’t wake up.
Soccer moms
won’t be
driving on,
because its all gone.

Glass windows
are shattered
with strange webbed cracks.
There are no spiders
to climb them
just long lines
of silence.

I can find this
lack of violence
everywhere I look,
because all roads
lead to a state of
nothing hood.

Nothing is good,
but it isn’t bad either.

I used to be scared
of big fat spiders
but right now
I would be happy
to see
any non-plant living thing.

There aren’t even any dogs
left barking at me
while I move.

Its just miles
of mind numbing
loneliness
and an eternity
of time
to be consumed
by many mad
states of
my fragile mind.

I got this addiction,
to slight degrees
of self-improvement
fantasies.

I got a bad habit
of trying to be
the guy people think
is a super hero.

When others rabbit,
I take their pain
and grab it
till it scorches me
to prove something
is good about
my humanity.

Sometimes
I try to make
the people
who are full
of hate
and suffering
see the shimmering
beauty
of what
runs through us all
unevenly,
the artistry
of evolution
and poetry.

It pushes me
out from the corners
of complacency
were most would
rest easily.

But it also spoils me,
rotting my ability
to achieve
any normalcy.

So, I am
a human being
apart
from most other
**** sapiens
and while I am
trying to save them
I am also trying to
escape them.

On the level
the devil
is holding fast
to the last
of his
disciples who insist
he is just
the coolest
rebel
to ever exist.