This is not a love poem
Or an infatuation poem
This is a mad respect poem
Not wanting to own or dissect poem
But a poem of true appreciation
For present and future enlightenment

I'm tired of the ghost town
that this host found
where there's no sound
and salvation isn’t a choir
required to sing here.
The loss just stings dear
when the message isn't clear.

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.

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

One hug can collapse
my inner galaxy,
bringing me to the verge of tears.
Till I push them back
confused
by the strangeness
of my own madness.

She is an addicting drug
and the DTs
would be devastating to me.

She is a dark cavern.
No other human beings
are following me
into her grand beauty
with glowing green moss,
and slippery stones.
Harboring potentially puncturing
projectiles like stalagmites,
and stalactites
which with one misstep
or violent quake
might leave me with
the worst case of heartbreak.

She is a dangerous labyrinth
with so many twists and turns
that I am very concerned,
certain I will not return
from my addiction.

She is a cool pure blue pool
of glimmering water
that is deeper in the center
so, when I enter
I run the risk
of falling prey to
her dangerous
undertow.

Knowing all this
I still choose to be
whatever she says she needs
for just the inkling
of a chance
that she might choose me.

Give way to this sorry state
and if you claim
that life is but a dream
then I dread the wakening.

For if these scenes
are my unconsciousness fantasy
how horrible
this reality must be.

Time is
flexible glass
that reflects our painful past
showing transparent shades
of our better angels
bending to pressure.
If we push forward hard
we break the glass
lose the illusion
of our troubled past
and have a chance
to move on.

The walls are a litter
of chaos layered upon
the anarchy of
spray painted letters;

Various styles of
dripping calligraphy,
silver lines spilling
their energy down
this hard word laden wall.

A lovely looping Y
is engraved in flesh tones
while the rest of the word
remains unknown
permanently obscured
by the intent of
newer artists.

I am awestruck
to the point of
an autistic response,
paralyzed by the
thick presence
of chipping paint
that flakes off
to take us back
to a blank canvass past.

Till, a swirling view
twirling through
enchants me to move.

My hands tremble,
reaching for the small breach,
longing to be swallowed,
absorbed, and added
to this discordant beauty.

Dear memories,

I regret to inform you
time will malform you
as you are retroactively reshaped
to deal with your limited
understanding of today.

Dear compassion,

I am saddened to say
this will not be
the end of your pain.
As you see more and come to learn
the world may still turn
but you will burn
in agony.

Dear heart,

It is my duty to tell you
that despite the breaks
that have found you
there will be more to come,
unless you decide
it is time to run.

Dear dreams,

You have been recruited.
Your hopeful nature
will never be disputed.
We must now work together
and find a way to
challenge each other.

Dear me,

I am glad that you
are not yet
a casualty
of the callousness
of our society and I hope
we shall overcome
the horrors yet to come.

You say caring
and loving
makes us vulnerable.

Well, I wear my weakness well.
Armor cracked,
I exposed myself.

I would not be
another commodity,
or come to see
all human beings
as separate entities.

So, when they weep
more cracks envelope me.
When their scars
are cut open again
I find myself bleeding
with all my human kin.

I have not perfected
the art of compassion,
but I will never completely master
the art of passing
a stranger in pain
without feeling
part of that sorrow.

Like Vincent did,
I go where the people are.
I see them in
their simple glory
and though I cannot paint
with brushes
I work the white canvass
with my words.

My heart melts.
I cry to myself,
and if you call it a weakness
then you are wearing
the wrong armor.---

There is malintent
maliciousness
by a maleficent
monster of a man.

Long ago destruction
became the landscape.
Bullet and bomb holes
punctured the earth.

Though once a field
of fetid forms
filthy with decay
where all the bodies laid
now there is no more smoke.
Here sweet roses grow.

Instead, there are new
war wounds.
Violence blooms.
Each day new battles loom
one man wears down
one woman’s defenses.

For what it’s worth
her heart hurts worse.
Her skin was swollen
and very bruised.
Despite the truth
and her trust issues
she tried to stay
and weather his
horrible ways.

Until, one day
her face collapsed
under his furious force,
and her body went limp
as life divorced,
soul torn from flesh.

There is violence on the street
but it’s all foreign **** to me.
Pavements cracked until it bleeds
but that stuff never touches me.
Bombs dropped till no one moves.
Government pay out corporate dues
fat cats swell as they sale
the stuff we use to **** ourselves,
but since it never reaches me
I am free to ignore it,
justifying the lie of America the great and free
while I never ever explore
the life of the children who are poor
and what they are driven to do
cause we ignore them until
they inconvenience us
or there is a profit to be made.

The dusty
spider-webbed
wet and ruined
wooden slats
are stacked
too high
in the back,
rotting
way past
safety standards,
and they won’t last
more than a month before
they collapse
and spill
the junk we stored
all over the
warehouse floor.

I’ve been your noble knight
salt white marble pillar
holding you up carefully
while other lovers crumble
under the weight of
your kind of love.

Once I was
a carefree breed
uncowed you see
by my society,

but I as I gained
sweet security
measured by
materiel wealth’s
so called maturity

the fear of losing
what little I had
confounded and
controlled me.

Once, I would have
given my last dollar
to any stranger
who was hungry,

I would have stopped
to comfort with kind words
anyone who seemed
bothered,

and whether going to
or coming home from work
I would have stopped
to help a stranded stranger.

Now, even though,
I know
these people
pose no danger
I do not stop
nor part
with any pennies.

Instead, I rush to work
and to the gym
to make money
and muscles
in hopes of
fitting in
by looking
buff but still
trim,
working towards
that **** thin.

Nose to the grindstone
focused on the job
and all the stresses
like keeping well dressed
and keeping my car running,

the once
kind carefree fellow
I used to be
becomes corrupt
by my insecurity
in the pursuit of
stability.

Carousal dreams
Carry my laughter
While my past screams
Chase happily ever after

And I age faster
As the day fades
Stars stray
From their place
And die
Before I ever see
Their true face

Sparkling carnival colors
Spin around
Up and down
Absorbing
The sunny summer day’s
Heated rays
Till the ferris wheel seats
Blister my broken bottom

Grey gravel
Green leaves
See me passing
These barren streets
Crossing memory lanes
Passing past self
Leaving all the blame
With a person
I will never be again

The circuit board breaks
Pathways flare up
And fizzle out of existence
Muscles spasm
As I walk in to the last chasm
Leaving trails
Of nothingness behind me

The cavern closes
No one else goes in
And I never come out

The sheep minded
Elevate ignorance
To celebrate
Their own mundaneness

Claim this enslavement
Is natural
That the moral
Shun the strays
Who walk in
Diverging ways

Cling to status symbols
And fashion trends

Their mind bends
To fit their servile situation

Praising the nation
Instead of humanity

Consumers not real creators
Products not innovators

Digesting stupidity
And spitting the same
Uniformed madness
Right back at me
And that is why
I love working nights

There is a slight heartache
but not as bad as it could be
because it is so familiar to me.
It came when and where
I was expecting it be,
like a gut shot
when I tensed my stomach.
I wasn’t flummoxed,
just a little ******,
and annoyed
cause I am tired of
the girls I like
putting up with so much
from the bad boys
while I toil to cultivate
and perfect
this nice guy shtick.
Till the person I want to be
is the person I have become;
Kinder, gentler, compassionate,
stronger, and faster
with more endurance,
but the man I want to be
seems to be a hindrance.
So, it comes to this
must I sacrifice
the person I strive to be
or suffer alone for eternity?

There are no rings
of will’s green projection,
no sorcerer’s spells
of protection,
no magic hammer,
or mighty mutants,
no green monsters
or Inhumans.

There are no Amazonian warriors
there are no masked
caped crusaders,
no day walking vampires,
or any other special men in tights.

There are no gods
coming to save us,
no flying aliens
here today cause
all of our dreams
of grand heroics
are just fantasies
with nothing to show
for it.

There is no guarantee
that good will succeed,
no grand decree
from a higher being
that demands man’s
obedience
to a specific moral standard.

There is no soul mate,
no reason to think
we are all that great.
So, there is no reason to wait
cause there is only now.

I hear the train stutter
as it vibrates the whole block.
A conductor runs
those rusted cars
roughly across the tracks.
From the bank
I can see each car
with their random tags
from artists
all over this land.

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.

It is a miracle of desire
That flesh fits
That evolutionarily
We came together
Lust and pleasure
Temporary companions
In this temporary life

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.

They were
crimson
arterial
kisses,
blown in
razor sharp wind;
loving me to death
as I was frozen.

She wears
a pink dress
with a pink
flowered crown,
as pink leaves
flutter
and fall
to the ground.

I am the sin barer
goat supping up
the soupy bread
that you spiced with
your lies and violence,
to achieve spiritual purity.

I watch and transcribe
the things that you do,
recalling and retelling
the horrors you committed
throughout time.

You ****** the memory
of our greatest tragedies,
all those atrocities,
white sheet warriors
burning crosses
and lynching men,
all those right wing
fanatics who spew hate
and vote in
the corporate supporting
politicians,
all those war hawks
hawking bombs and drones,
all those burnt bodies buried
beneath those broken homes,
all those charred broken bones.

I cry out but just as I am
about to reach you
your rusted blade slices up
and inside my tight gut.
Warm viscera falls through
sloshing out greasy and sloppily
on the grassy meadow beneath you.

How easily I become the repository
for your sick story
as you sacrifice me
to rid your self
of all those memories.

I have
strong arms
to hold you
but a gentle spirit
that does
not want to own
or control you.

If I had white wings
of soft feathers
on my back
I would wrap
you up in them
to protect you
from any attack,
and if I was heavenly
I would still
submit to thee
an angel’s decree
of love and devotion
given joyfully.

I will not drown
in those deep blue eyes
but swim those seas
for as long as my
lifespan allows me.

No surprise
you know that
this is not a lie
I am ever your devotee.

So, whatever or whenever
you need or want me
call and I will come running
yours until
you are done with me.

It is the heart of me
that she does not
even bother to see,
a red bridge that breaks
collapsing into
a darker crimson pool,
I set this mess
before her,
expose my scars,
as I worship hers,
whisper gentle affections,
promise fierce protection,
but she turns away
unswayed by the fruits
of my heart,
and I turn away
forgetting the self-love
I struggled to attain
and succumb to
that old familiar pain.

My pen cries wax tears
dripping on the floor
from the bedroom
to the bathroom door.

While you lay sipping
sweet intoxicants
I walk, partly slipping
trying to reach your side
trying to believe the lie
that love exists somewhere.

But someone else sings for you,
while my heart bleeds the truth.

The white crow flies
laughing in the night,
“Never was and never will be
you will never ever catch me.”

Cracks in the sidewalk
splinter concrete
but I can’t see
the same openings
in me.

Crunchy dry brown leaves
crumble underneath my sore feet,
a victim of this summer heat.

I bet I look suspicious
stopping on every block
to look around and take stock,
looking down every street
cause I can see things
that touch me
and use them for
my poetry.

Grandkid plays
his clarinet
looking for
attention that
he can’t get
cause his
hefty grandma
can’t even look up
from her cellphone.

Little children
outside playing
get fenced in
for their safety.

Older dude
works outside
while I’m
walking through.
He has
a wooden fence
and a ladder that is
wooden to,
doesn’t even
turn his head
to acknowledge me.
So, I walk on by
this human being
cause lawn care
seems more important
then our neighbors.

Even I
a sympathetic
nice guy
walk on by
people who look like
they could use some help,
because I just want
to be left to myself.

Black man identified
by his brown skin,
I wonder how many people
even notice him
in his superman shirt
with few good teeth,
hunched over holding in
the stomach pain
that is bothering him.

On a back street
next to the railroad
an old soul drives real slow
in a ***** brown van
careful not to go
anywhere near
the cops that drive
by here
cause he is homeless.

Now, I hit this business district
full of business men *******.
Politician ignore the
bums who inhabit it,
only care about how to
maximize profits.
Scraps of litter
spread across it
just like all the people
who cross the crosswalk
avoiding small talk
and the gazes of stranger
because they feel
like they are in danger.

An American flag flies high
down the street
from a stone church
were people meet
so they don’t have to think.

All for the sake of order
I to create human borders
to maintain my sanity
in this reality of pain.

I need to read
to seed my mind
with a variety
of strange fantasies,

to inhabit a multitude
of identities
and let disparate ideas
be revealed to me.

I’ll set them free.
scattering all these things
like jig saw pieces
to an unknown puzzle.

Then I will write
A new  fictional
world of words with
truthful purpose.

I will let all prose
flow
letting all poetry go
where my subconscious
wills it.

I will follow fleet of foot behind
barely keeping up
with my quick witted
well read and readied mind.

I am a terrible human being. **** storming, anger machine that spits hateful things in poetry.
My memory is a landfill, of abuses, and poorly remembered happier times. I struggle to find the truth behind my anger, sadness, and regret. Is it what I remember, forget, or can’t forget that has ****** me up? Her face causes the familiar rage to rise. Voice spewing lies, or what I think is lies. I spent most of my life trying to figure out how it was my fault. I am still trying to figure how it might be my fault. Hyper kid, tired and lonely mother, the formula does not mix. I cannot calculate the value of her violence minus what I did to deserve it. Did I earn it? People aren’t all bad? I can remember going to the movies a couple of times, traveling and listening to music, holidays and presents, but in the present all that is shaded. I am jaded by being locked in an unlocked room, cut off in solitary confinement, because she got busted for the violence. I remember how she had to know what I told the counselor. So I stopped telling them anything.
A smart man knows that human memory is not perfect, so I keep trying to figure out how I deserved to get hit, why I deserved to be isolated, verbally degraded. Part of it had to be my fault, cause people just don’t lash out. I struggle to find out what it was all about because I am scared. If I can’t figure out the reason, if there was no good reason, could I become her?

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.

We are only human
Built up from the muck
Made of dna
Purpose constructed
From chaos
How we define
What designed us
Time plus adaptation
This ecological manifestation
That feels pain
That feels love
That feels loss
And so much more
Compassion in actions
One person to another
We could not be better
Because we are only
Limited children of the cosmos
Only human
For such a small span
Of time

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

I come from
a myriad of
multiverses,
all times
and spaces
that converged,
all potentialities
that led up to me,
to the river that
will flow,
and the mountain
that will rise,
climaxing
in the epic apogee
of the death
of this frail body.
I am
a prisoner
of that certainty.

I watch the videos
Could have been
Dark tv shows
Or horror movies
So graphic
So ******
So real
Makes me feel
An inkling of their pain
Others remain
Untouched
Do not watch
That stuff
But I struggle
I want to know the truth
Want to see what
Nightmares do
When they become real
So I descend down
That dark damning
Corridor
I may not come back
Before
My heart is broken more
But someone has to look

Your lives can be
tragically
tinted
by your profession
and studies
but equally elevated
by the same.

Imagine
That skin
Burnt
Under the sun
Not from fun
But from
Stolen labor
History’s black spot
From slavery
To Chain gangs
To the modern
Prison
Profit machines
Grinding
Human beings
Into to dust
They are us
We are them
Our prison
Our minds
Stolen

Occasionally, I am besieged by the cruelty of humanity.
Burning blankets of pain and anger inflame and engulf me.

But with a crack of kindness my hope is restored.
I meet a decent person who helps me out
when I am in need.
I meet a friendly person
who calms me down when I am panicking.
I see my better self reflected in strangers.

Then a ****** mows down
a crowd of innocent bystanders
with a van and a bunch of guns
and I am right ******* back
to where I started from.

With a few lights of potential love
hope cracks my steely exterior.
My guard drops.

I dream of folded fingers
wrapped around my neck,
Of gently caressing her skin,
Of poetry and passion.

I try to restrain hope
to a reasonable buzz
because I know there is no love
and I am always right.

Truth sours hope’s dreams,
curdling them in my stomach
reminding me
there will be
no happy ending for me.

So like a good little soldier boy
I march on
tapping my drum
and writing these
sad love songs.

I know better
I love life’s pleasures
Unlike the old philosophers
Who created grand systems
Of morality
That they could never live up to
Systems that sustained their ego
But I know
I am no hero
Half hearted
Hopeful
Maybe a word warrior
Working wisdom
Into my poems
But I do not sacrifice much
I am weak
I love
But not enough
To decimate myself
Not enough to give up
The pleasures of my life
I know myself
I would like to be better
But I am too **** lazy

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 bonfire burns.
Flickering ashes
rise up in black smoke
flying like
little lightning bugs.
My face is flushed
with its radiance.
I am forced forward
like the fire
is a tiny planet
with its own gravity.
I get as close
as my flushed face
will allow.
My hands move around
the aura of heat;
Such a sweet
orange beauty,
it beckons me
while dancing against
the edge of night’s
dark infinity.
Such a sweet heat,
hides in the vaguest
corners of my memory.

There is something so deeply fatiguing,
that it takes any illusion of meaning,
steals the purpose I was using
to keep, keeping on moving,
even when I’ve been sleeping in
even when I’ve been eating enough;

This life just makes me so tired.

It is a metallic mountainous monstrous beast
fed on the flesh of the subdued worker class.
Weary eyed figures form a line for work time.
Strangled masses stumble in starving for relaxation.
Tension tightens their tired bodies and stripped bolts.
Work men’s muscles stretched and torn to their limits
only allowed to recover on the weekends.
Red eyes and amp energy drinks don’t stop the draining.
Machine metal bites furiously smoking sore bodies.
Steam and heat cook the workers till they are tender,
and with one exhausted misstep flesh and bone
Are consumed; blood and gore paint the assembly line.
The whistle blows, production stops.
the hunger is sated, and the factory slumbers.

I let the heater broil my skin.
29 degrees short of a blistering lobster boil
Turning my cheeks two shades less than crimson
Just so I can keep my weary red eyes alert.

Cause even though the night sky may relax
My raggedly overtaxed mind,
Exhaustion still ruins evening’s solitary stillness.

The stiller I sit
The more I wish to slip
Into dreams of yesterday
Dipping into deep and destructive waters of nostalgia
Scabbing over my itchy scratch and sniff pain
With highlight clips and theme songs
From my old favorite tv shows

Wanting to wash away today's pain
With chocolate covered strawberries
Till I restore my belief in the brotherhood
Of faith and purpose
That reason and enlightenment murdered

Mind running engine running
Vents pumping out dragon’s breathe
But the heat does not hurt
The carbon monoxide might suffocate me
But the fire does not burn
Memories keep strangling me
Till I can barely breathe
And the only thing I can inhale is regret
The only truths I know
Are the sorrows I have not felt yet

20 minutes to warm my flesh
To think and scribe the thoughts that others hide
20 minutes then I switch the heat too cold
Crack the windows and my bones
No longer stuck in the past
No longer struggling to come back
I exist in the now

Do you recall
the black dot
dark spot
fevered body
burning
sun hot
getting dizzy
and cold
feeling
a hundred years old.
Till, you fought off
this severe
chest cold congestion
that might have been
pneumonia.

I am not the wreckage
Your life was built upon
Or the side street
Were rushed lovers meet
To greet each other
In a panic with frantic fingers

I am not the hole
You fill to ****
That internal ache

I am not the hero
Or the villain
Of this small
Human production

I am not like
The similes
That litter
Your eulogies
Or the metaphors
You adore

I am simply me
Still searching
To find out
Who that is