You think you know anguish?
You do,
and every time you hurt
I am standing next to you.

With every jagged stained glass tear
that cuts across you tortured skin
bleeding equal part what’s out
to what you keep putting in,
I am watching you.

My kin, dear brother and sister
unevenly met
in the dark places
that I have not visited yet
but I am always close by

When the cold concrete
is your winter pillow
and pneumonia coughs
liquefy your lungs
till, you puke fear and despair
I am there.

When the bomb blast
shakes the very core
of your family values
and your shadows
are more real
then those who were killed
cause remembering
is the worse nightmare of all
just know
I am walking two steps behind.

When your face was red
wearing welts of her rage
bruises and broken ribs
stifling your breaths
while you wished for death,
I was on your shoulder
looking through your eyes
loving you,
wanting to comfort,
and understand you
and the ones who hurt you to.

So, maybe
my light can banish the violence
and joy can spring anew
letting all of you
join me.

Compassion is a
Smile
An open ear
No judgment

Compassion
Is a hug
Warm
And accepting

Compassion
Is a tissue
For the tearful
And my last dollar bill
To a stranger

Compassion
Is a thousand fold paths
Of daily acts
Of kindness

Computer screen glows with white ambitions
Everyone knows the right positions
But I am lost in a world of madness
Walk down in dark the path of sadness
Let me go and I will let you see
The secret flames that burn in me
Life is pure as it can be
Selection becomes our destiny

Science and fiction rolled in one
Fantasy for you my son
Thought I was having fun
I never get anything done

Jack be nimble but he wasn’t that quick
Licked the tip of the candlestick
Didn’t see the point of jumping it
If it might burn his little ****

Humpty Dumpty sat on the step
Staring while mumbling to himself
Not even certain what he was saying
Just praying that he wasn’t cracking up

Little boy blue got broken in two
Left in his heartache to sit and stew
Cause he didn’t know what to do
Just another nursery rhyme who got confused

I pursued my disease
With a virulent persistence
Like the plague
Or your pestilence
I fed upon your opulence
Walking red death
I marked your flesh
The whooping cough
The symptoms most forgot
Dreaming darkly
Poets cry sadly
Artists die crying
As the fever kept eating
All of their sanity
Inch by inch I crept
Awake while you slept
Burning holes in your brain
Until nothing of you remained
Just a cold cart to carry
The carrion left behind
But I still miss
That delicious mind

Bullets and bombs explode. Screams sear his tired ears. With every explosion the young man flinches. He is only twenty something but he wears the whole human history of pain. Every age line creasing to cover the scars on his face. Lines linked by years of abuse, which are mirrored by mental scars.
The voice in the back of his head says “bite a bullet, hell better make it two,”
The computer screen flickers with horrible YouTube videos. Each one marking some new or old tragedy.
“The trick is to turn away before you see too much.” He thinks.
Photos lay scattered across his desk. Little vignettes of human horrors. A homeless man here. An abused child there. Two war zone pics that depicts the tragedy of human ingenuity. Modern warfare swimming in gore and sorrow.
The voice in the back of his head says. “Make sure you double click.”
To the left lay a stack of stories stapled together. Some are fantastic works of fantasy. They portray a wondrous worlds.   Most are darker portraits that paint painful truths. There is a story about a lynching, a police beating, a dark society crumbling under the weight of fear and hatred. Tons of fictions that reflects this dark world, all his.
The voice chuckles, “don’t bother with a note, your writing says enough.”
“The trick is to find something to laugh about.” He says out loud.
A fake chortles spews from his lips, followed by a stupid sneer.
“Doesn’t work does it?” The voice laughs.
The young man bites his tongue. Smashing taste buds and drawing dark smears of blood. Merely a temporary distraction, but it feels good to him. Drips of warm crimson pool in his mouth. He swishes it around like some sick salt water gurgle. Then spits dark blood laced mucus into perfectly white porcelain sink. The red snot sinks slowly down till it disappears into the drain. Leaving only remnants of a terrible taste and slight pain in his mouth.
The voice cries” Blow your ******* brains out, you stupid ****.”
The man laughs, as a stream of stress related **** drains down his drawers.
“I can’t.” He cries.
“Why not?” the voice insists. “Just ******* do it. This world ain’t gonna get any better.”
Tears **** his worn out skin. Life has aged him harshly. Still, something new breaks. A crack cuts through the fuzzy haze. An awkward smile forces its way across his face.
He closes the Compaq computer killing the video, and bringing pure stillness to the room.
“You know for a voice in my head. You sure are ******* stupid. Which makes me stupid too I guess.”
“Why?” The Voice replies.
“Because” the smile widens becoming manic “I don’t own a ******* gun.” He laughs. “Hell I don’t even own my own marbles.”
He slumps down on the bed. Two hours of random racing thoughts keep him awake. Then the cool release of slumber finally hits. His sleep is interspersed with nightmares. Twelve hours later a calmer less worn man awakens. He sticks his tongue out and raspberries the desk.
“I am going for a walk” he says with a saner smile.
Somewhere behind him he hears a chilling voice say. “See you soon.”

Corporations **** the core
Cuts the soul to ribbons
Takes all the labor
And pays back in paltry paychecks
That barely covers our debts
Whilst doling out pain and exhaustion

But the people are good
Hardworking and smiling
Straining to maintain
That spark of heart
That remains
While paying their bills
And feeding their family

The shift starts
And tired bodies
Stumble in
Factory already
Rumbling
Like last night’s thunder
People laughing and chatting

Lebanese dude calls me Habibie
Grinning and patting me on the back
Brown brother give me a knuckle bust
As he passes by with a playful gleam in his eyes
One guy doesn’t high five but bumps elbows
The Congo girls speak another language
Beautiful flowing and musically rhythmical
The Janitor sings Motown
In this factory town these are good people

The generators hum
The machine sings
Doing their thing
Hoses circulate water
Like life’s blood
Taking in the heat
And sending it away
Bringing back more cool water
That does the same
Cooling the loud and hot equipment

While the employees are stressed and sweating
Wearing muscle fatigue and sleep deprivation
Like it’s their second skin

The machines drums ch, ch, crack
Ch, ch crack like a musical number

While the workers hustle
A smoke break and a popsicle
Then back to work
A lunch break and a conversation
Then back to work
Last smoke break and a phone call
Then back to work
Leaving the factory body hurting
But still coming off
The assembly line a good person

I am a coward. It is my weakness, and in knowing this I should be made stronger. However, my weakness perpetuates my weakness. My meekness and desire for peace makes me **** near gutless.

         I write to love. I write to dance. I write to feel.  I write to live.

I could have sat with the gangrenous, seeing the sawing teeth shred skin to cut further in. I could have held the hand of the dying; saying soft soothing words while they were vomiting blood. I could have joined the ranks of the foreign legion, became a non-religious missionary. I bet my writing would have been improved and all my other talents better used.

As I said before I am a coward. My heart breaks easily from poetry, movies, songs, photos, and tv shows. Imagine how quickly I would crumbled faced with the real reality. If I could see the seething rage, feel the ****** stumps, clean the bandages, while listening to their horror stories how easily I would break. Worse than Humpty Dumpty with smaller bits that crack and split permanently deformed, spiritually desolated.

I can watch the wicked human show from a distance. I can immerse myself in the darkness, but there must be a quick escape. I have to have a switch to click and make the nightmares go away. If I stayed, my thought would stray to the razor blades or pill bottle ways.

         I am a coward. I am sorry. So here the naked man is with all of his cowardice. I am sorry I could not be a better less bitter superman. All and all I am so terribly sorry for my weakness.

Every day strange crafts were made
to keep the crazy kids creative
saner, active, and engaged.

There were projects with weird shades
of sand that swirled together
in green, blue, and purple hues
of mystic and psychedelic colors.

Hands, wet with a white gluey substance
made plaster plates of pure porcelain colors
which  cracked and crumbled
when tossed or dropped.

There were
popsicle stick structures,
small huts or larger houses,
and cereal box tiny toy car garages
that could be combined
to create a two story fantasy.

Each morning and night we children would take
strange pills that had a horrible taste
while finger paints played out painful portraits
of those institutionalized day.

From touch, sight, smell, or thought
The onslaught of ecstasy
Quivers and tingles inside of me
Gingerly waiting
To fulfill the pleasures promised
By ******* or *******
The denouement to frustration
The sensual culmination
Exploding and calming
Aggression
Restoring possession
Of reasoning faculties
******* with
A warm and gooey
Satisfaction

She was a dangerous current
deep and moving
ready to drown me.

She was a dangerous current
pulsing electric
ready to burn me.

She was a dangerous current
but currently she avoids me
claiming she is nightshade,

But the painful truth is
I was not good enough
to be loved.

Come all ye dreamers and dance the dance of inspiration
Fill thy void and ignore the screams of those who stink of desperation
Forget the fools who told you what could never be
For a dreamer’s greatest gift is to see what is yet unseen
To gaze upon the future and know  what will be
Spin around and take a sideways glance at all realities
Be hopeful and be wise dreamer, but above all else
Accept no confinement and strive to be your greatest self

Golden crown
Dancing gowns
Swirling dresses
Are shimmering
Orchestra makes the sound
Watch the glass ball glimmering
Angels on the plastered wall
Painted in your preference

Perfect people prancing perfectly
While the poor are starving
Ruling class
Never lasts
Ages will not remember them
Years to come
What they run from
Is the truth

Monarchy
Stupidity
Docility of the masses
Enslave the brave
Make them kiss the brasses
Big fat *****
In the military
And brainwash all of the children

Wealthy woman
Gleaming gems
Exist in popular circles
Hasn’t changed much since then
But in the end
The money made monarchy
Will get what it deserves

The dare devil in me
Loved to climb and leap from things
The second largest slide
Then the biggest one
I jumped
For attention
No!
For the thrill and the freedom
Leaping
While kids were screaming
Up and down
Repeating the feeling
Exhilarating
Just like the stuntmen
I saw on tv

I don’t like it but I can’t look away
The gore dripping red wet paint
The oily canvass viscera stained
Sick shades of swirling crimson
The artist bleeds what is burning
Blackish blue marks from bruising
Lines etched deeply under her eyes
Thin skin so pale that her veins bleed through
This is her truth the only art that she knew
Swollen spots sporadically cover her flesh
Some were her doing others were
The dark artistry of someone far more disturbed
With every fist with every brutal brushstroke
With every vitriolic word his voice spews
Acrid acid rain and plumes of toxic fumes
With ever horrible day the art turns grey
Pierces her membranes till the last vestiges of
Her once animated identity
Evaporate into a state of insanity
And clumps of paint still cling to the brushes
And the canvass still blushes
But the body is just a broken specter
All art with no spark just bleak black dreams

No tell for the heart
No raven clawing at my soul
No sweet Anna Bell
No black cat
No never more
As was before
An open end
To tell me
But my heart is as black as Poe’s
Dark prose pose for life’s light
No agony
Just enough pain
Not enough to **** me
But enough to keep me in limbo
I know I can go lower
But there are only so many circles of hell
So I tell myself
No Shining on it
No misery
Or pet cemetery
No killer clown
Or Last Stand
But I stand on
The shoulders of others
From Stephan King
To Stephan Hawking
From dark dreams
To dreams of science
From shadows to the light of reason
To seize them
Steal and change
Everything
Life is but a dream
And I dream far too darkly

Sheets fly from my bed
Clothes fall from our flesh
Makes me smile as I turn my head
Such a small mattress

We barely even fit almost fall
Laughing together
Catching each second
Forgetting all the others

Cold hands touch my skin
Securing a riders position
Bodies singing
My ****** physician

Melts my heart like butter
Wishing I could just let go
Feel her gasp and quiver
Hurts so good so I let her know

Soft lips press against my chest
Running up my neck
Send shivers in reverse
As I gently caress her precious breast
My fingers brush her beautiful black locks
Eyes lock upon her head
Fixing in on her pupils
I am mesmerized

She dances on my lap
Flowing to a rhythm
That I cannot keep up
Feel a living explosion
Slumber settling in
With a smile on my face
She wears a mirror expression
In our perfect space

I cry inside
From the rush
What a high
Best kind of crush

I cradle her body
As she entangles me
In her rhapsody
We made such sweet harmony

There were no grand pronouncements
No standing ovations or help desk waiting
No nurse on standby for a stand-up guy
No friend at Jack’s bar to pat him on the back
And send him home in a taxi cab

There was no Monday mail that wished him well
No national pride that made him swell
Just this hell a sorry state for sale
And no one he wanted to tell

So, with nothing to show
He let the bullet go and watched the blood flow
No fire alarms sounded, no ambulance rounded the corner
No other mourners other than the quiet night coroner
Nothing left but an empty room and a short obit
That gave his name cause of death and that was it

It’s a dead man’s farm that flows row after row
A strange sick decaying crop that does not grow
But spouts stone statues and musty monuments
Digging dirt of different quantities and qualities
Slightly stiff and dark to light brown ground under
Layers of soft white light reflecting wet snow
They rip the frozen ground apart just for me
Tentatively at first then with a fiercer force
Deeper and deeper into the well of hell
The dark chamber which carries my broken shell
Those plots of stagnant crops postponing their rot
Worms inching and struggling but never piercing
Never startled nor fearing the truth that is searing
I am a planted seed never meant to grow
Potential never allowed to flow and show
Life as the cycling gift it truly is
The farm expands men multiplied by women
Children and elderly corpses cut too closely
No corn, milk, eggs, beans, bacon, wheat, or honey
Just lanes of dead men farming for nothingness

You were a sweet dead red head
A dream I made up to hide myself
A hope I harbored inside myself
The queen fairy of never was
Safer because you never could have been

Held up by crimson silk strings
Hair tied and dried up but still fluttering
Admirers still gawking and shuddering
At this beautifully dead thing

At night I made up stories
Safe fairytales were I could tell you
How much I loved you
A vessel for all of my hopes

But I threw away those dark dreams
All those horrible but loved things
Must go so they can’t grow anymore
Even though the casket caught I still had to close Pandora’s box

I buried you in my memory to become
And empty dream my dead fairy queen
I never knew you nor will I ever
Perhaps this loss is for the better

But sometime when I sleep
Your specter makes me weep
For all that lost potential

I think that I am full of truth
Artistic stuff to share with you
So that’s what I try to do
Living in this life I knew
But sometimes there is something else
I can’t even help myself
Don’t want to talk to anybody else
Maybe this is depression talking
Dark predator stalking
Ideas and expectations
Unexpected destinations
Sometimes they fail me
Sometimes they assail me
Like I am some sort of fool
I never thought I was cool
But sometimes I wish I was cool enough
To shake off this painful stuff

Adonais, thine eyes crushed, bleed like watery wine.
Bruised flesh, spoiled spirit, heart broken.
Tears flow faster and farther than any river,
Raging against futility, suffering your insanity.
Your are beautiful, so full of the luster of youth,
So innocent, so unique, and so freaking stupid.
Wear your folly like a cracked golden crown
Vanity chaining you to a dead path
Rocks and dirt, pretty pebbles and thorns
Bleed your tender bare feet.
You hunger for truth but in your youth
Would not know it really?
Adonais sweet brother of mine
You feel betrayed because I strayed from your side,
But I was once Adonais to.
I walked similar shades of life as you.
Now, you become a brighter reflection of the shade I am.
Your agony rages are like red hot irons
Your sobs fill my heart with sorrow.
I cannot save you, but will not be faulted for trying,
And though we are living, cannot be faulted for crying.
Adonais one day you to will feel your soul dying,
And find yourself reborn newer not better,
Dryer not wetter.
Oh my dear sweet stubborn Adonais
Only time will tell,
But you are special now and will be then as well.

Adonais, thine eyes crushed, bleed like watery wine.
Bruised flesh, spoiled spirit, heart broken.
Tears flow faster and farther than any river,
Raging against futility, suffering your insanity.
Your are beautiful, so full of the luster of youth,
So innocent, so unique, and so freaking stupid.
Wear your folly like a cracked golden crown
Vanity chaining you to a dead path
Rocks and dirt, pretty pebbles and thorns
Bleed your tender bare feet.
You hunger for truth but in your youth
Would not know it really?
Adonais sweet brother of mine
You feel betrayed because I strayed from your side,
But I was once Adonais to.
I walked similar shades of life as you.
Now, you become a brighter reflection of the shade I am.
Your agony rages are like red hot irons
Your sobs fill my heart with sorrow.
I cannot save you, but will not be faulted for trying,
And though we are living, cannot be faulted for crying.
Adonais one day you to will feel your soul dying,
And find yourself reborn newer not better,
Dryer not wetter.
Oh my dear sweet stubborn Adonais
Only time will tell,
But you are special now and will be then as well.

Dear fancy dressed dancing dragon girl
Flaming trimming burning as you twirl
Eyes glimmering as the world is consumed
By the same fire that burned your bedroom
Waves of orange expanding, demanding
Every bit of wood and air as food
Consuming and exuding only ash and sorrow
As your flesh shifts forming patches of melting skin
Changing and rearranging itself
Shedding bits of burnt hair and sanity
Screaming for peace with no relief to come
Arms flailing as you run
And when the dance is done
When the flames no longer sway
In their dangerous and wind swept ways
When the fire ends
Dear dragon girl I hope that you are dead.

Where have you gone
My thin trans friend
Internet companion
Daily confidant
Whose conversations
I enjoyed
Beautiful and dark
I miss your art
I miss the part
Of early mornings
Wondering and hoping
That you sent me
A message to read
Two times you left abruptly
Scared the **** out of me
But you came back online
How I tracked such times
Glad to find you alive
But your third departure
Seemed to be permanent
So I stalked your facebook
Just to take a one last look
And make sure you were still breathing
Make sure you were just leaving
Me and not life
Now knowing all is alright
I say goodbye to a memory
Of someone dear to me
Heartbroken but relieved
That you are alive

If perchance
we stumble in
to this mortal dance
and swing
and dip
across the tip
of life’s ledge,

If we dare
to venture on
beyond
simple reflexes
past poor pretenses
will we meet
and dance
in poetry?

Sweetly
and discreetly
we will bend in
words that mimic
ballet movements;
Feathers flapping freely.
I see you before me
and I adore thee
as a true friend
as a poetic compatriot
because you are great at this
sharing the depths of
our heart that write and love
all the world
below, around, and above.

I let you break me
But now
Whatever ever comes after
The laughter
Be it happiness
Or pure disaster
I promise you
Poetry
Words to make you weep
Verses to make you think
And love
Stacked higher than
A mile high
Stack of syrupy soaked
Pancakes
I promise
In pain or pleasure
You will measure
My memories
By the rivers of ink
That bled
Turning white paper
To new landscapes
Turning darker days
To hopeful ocean sprays
When I say I will stay
It is a beautiful lie
Cause one night
I to will die
My words will
Spread open for you
You will see
That when you read
You feel things
Old and new
Dark and true
Wonderful and painful
Just know
You are always loved
And always
More than welcome

Never was a death so gracious
And I fear there never ever will be
Granted fools may feel salacious
Let their limber bodies bend
While the savage animals rend
Their flesh to scandalous designs
The killer cabal contrives
To take away all lives
Because their body has no divine designs
It will fail faltering and fall
To ills and accidents that attack us all
To ages and we will find ourselves
Lost
We live
We die
And all that is between this and that
Is just a dance against the evening sky

The killer in me
stared diligently
at the latest
human oddity.

Little man
suffering
the sickness
of addiction,
spitting
spastic rage
as his energy faded.

The anger gave way
to admitting the pain
of living
prevented him
from quitting
cause existing
just wasn't enough
to maintain
a healthy mental state.

This was said
in his own slurring way
but I must paraphrase
because
I was too distracted
by the way he lay
quivering.

Eyes dimming
but reflecting
a past worth inspecting,
one of parents rejecting
and hitting him,
of ****** abuse
at the whim
of some predatory kin.

But,
even at the edge
he was still scheming,
thinking, and dreaming
about the next fix,
the one that would
heal or dull this
bad moment
for a bit.

Until,
his last breath
noted
the time of death.

He had a name
but no one will
remember it,
and tomorrow
he will be
less than a blip
in the local obits.

I painted my own world red
No Queen needed
To scream as I pleaded
Off with his head

But sorrows unleashed
Pain enter the breach
I swallow the bleach
And vomited blood
The burning sensation
The pain I was facing
Never really added up

So I jumped in the icy river
Rose up to shake and shiver
Quivering lips
How is it death missed
So I had to try again

A bottle of pills
A dull rusty blade
To slit my wrist
Still to my chagrin
My life continued to persist

I recklessly ran barefooted
Across the winter snow
Rushed in and out of traffic
But death still said no

After two weeks of this
I noticed a shift
No one else had died either
Queer as could be
It wasn’t just me
Who hadn’t expired

The next day
My neighbor broke his leg
And passed away
There was twenty more deaths
In merely one breath
And all I could say
Maybe death was back
From a couple weeks holiday
But I was not going to get in her way

This is it I hear her scream
As I weep and dream sweet dreams
I've had it with your whiny ways
Listen up now or else you'll pay
I can not hear her nor do I try
I just curl up and try and hide
If you don't come out I'll tan your hide
Keep this up and your going to die
Still I conceal myself
Cornered in this shadowy shelf
Praying that the sun will come
Before I have to go on the run
She searches through each room
And as each moment pass I feel my doom
Edging closer and closer by the minute
If death was a boat I'd jump right in it
Still I hide weep and cry
And in these shadows I pray to die
Better to feel nothing at all
Then her fist crunched in a ball

Love makes this life more bearable. There is no reason to turn our brothers and sisters away with violence and hate. Materiel comforts are fleeting, they will fade quicker than you will but love leaves an indelible mark upon the world which can be compounded by our children and theirs and theirs until this tiny floating sphere is no more or we fade from the face love all within the human race.

Your consciousness is restricted by your self-imposed ignorance. You are so much more then your consumerism impulses, your romantic fantasies/heartaches, your political ideologies, and your religious dogmas. You are a universe of potential, something that can be developed in the stillness of introverted introspection, something that is unique and beautiful, something that longs to be shared with the world. You are your own mechanism for self-directed emotional, intellectual, nutritional, and  neurochemical evolution. You just have to look beyond the predefined prepackaged reality and realize just because it is done this way does not mean it has to be done that.

The sadness is in the soft sound of the music that used to cradle you to sleep. Each note and verse full with memories turns into regret. Each syllable a pinch of pain. Each instrument marks a notch in your brain until only what ifs and maybe I should haves remain. the song becomes my sorrow. My sorrow becomes poetry and all that pain cycles back to me. I smile with tears laughing at my fear until all of my yesterdays disappears.

They tell you
That you can be anything
But if you try
They’ll stifle your dreams
If you want to be
The same or different gender than me
If you want to be in love with
Him or her
If you are a boy
Who wants to be a girl
Or a girl who wants to be
A boy
If you try
To beat the lie
To decide
Then you will find
It’s hard to change
With the changing times

I’m too tired
I’m too scared
I’m too busy
To freaking care
My kids need food
I’m to poor
And I’m hungry to
Thats why things
Never change
And you know
It’s true
The struggles
Never end
No time to mend
We seldom get second chances
To start again
Life keeps us on
A broken hamster wheel
Round and round until
We feel
Breathless
And
Powerless

Incineration
Decapitation
Mutilation
The Veneration
And Sublimation
Of a Freethinking nation
The Devastation
Of Liberty
Comes with the
Consuming identity
Of Religious
Indoctrination

I wonder will I be defiant till the last red drop
Will I handle myself well
Tell the truth
Or Withdraw
Retreat in defeat
Will I pursue
What I view as right
Or will all the fight
I have to give
Shrivel inside this shell

I could not cut a man down in cold blood
Shoot him in the head and leave him to die
Forgetting he has a family, others who will suffer
Could you cut him clean from this mortal coil
Would you gun him down if he wasn’t a stranger
If your faiths weren’t different
If he didn’t seem to be a danger
If he was your brother
Your cousin
Your cousins friend
That friend’s Uncle
How many degrees do you have to be separated before it gets easier
Before you can **** someone without thinking or feeling like something is wrong
How many shades between you and black does it take to turn off your heart
Don’t let them slice and dice away the spark that knows from heart to heart
We are all connected
The shadows of strategies and collateral damage
The camera closing in from a distance
We all live and die
Love and cry
So how far removed would you have to be
To take a gun and **** m

Its dejavu
the things they do
writing the same poem
but for who?

**** near everyone starts
with the same words.
He or she
and what follows is
some heartbreak
or stroke of obsession.

As if their words
are possessed and compressed
into such tiny things.

Where once blue jays sang
as they softly perched
partly leaning over
where deeply green leaves grows,

now their heart moans
and their skin grows
silky red river scars.

Where once chipmunks
chattered and scattered
dancing around each other
in a wild rumpus,
claiming this ground is
theirs,

now she cries
a ****** without her
drug of choice,
not ******
but his angelic voice.

Where fish scales sparkled
and the pond rippled
in pursuit of what fishes do
while the water was
glimmering to,

now he is perplexed
about how complex
her brown hair is,
wants to know
how she tastes down there
and longs to smack that
backed upped ***.  

Nature evaporates.
Philosophy and poetry
lose their edges,
while I sulk away
to wither in rage
and my own heartbreak
cause I know they are
so much more.

They are vast caverns of complexity,
deep seas of variety,
and a universe inside themselves,
but those are depths
they will not explore.

“Delete me.”
I am stuck in a code
that repeatedly
hurts me,

Bits of binary
classification
of various nations.

How people
Define
My mind
Demand
That I bend
To their morality
That I accept
Their form
Of finality

Enter
Code word
Banality
So I never excel
And we never
Get well
Cause they disabled
The anti-virus
And they want
To crash the whole system

It is not their matrix
We exist in
But an expanding universe
Of quantum possibilities

So before they get to me
Try to make me forget
Who I used to be
I say delete me

We are dilluted
Polluted by our sense of separateness
Deluded into thinking
That kinship is a shrinking circle
A stinking cesspool
Generations of veneration of
Lines and boundaries

But bones buried under history
Connect you and me
Her and him
Us and them
No matter what country
Or century we live in

On my way
to observe
the world today,
this reality
that will decay
as it fades
from green glades
to a cement sidewalk
city of strangers
onto crumbling towers,
then back again
to nature,
and a dark void.
Where is the art
and meaning in this
existence?

Another bit
of walking in
a water like flow
towards a direction
where no one
else ever goes.

The squeaking
car frame
inches
towards the
intersection,
changes lane
to head out
on an empty street
leaving only me
to remain
in silent contemplation.

Random red flowers
already budded
built up from
a brick bed
in contrast
to the car lots
that I past
it is confusing.

Into the small
white building
for scheduled observation,
for preplanned poetry
and for self-education,
I see random racoons
moving in the room
crashing in to
monochromatic clutter,
conceptual art
but I don’t get it.

Could it be
the chaos created
by consumption
in this modern
society?

I return to
my small room
to catch the sleep
that has been
chasing me
since I got off
at 7 am.
Still pondering
my weary wanderings
as I doze off.

Is life this the answer
to the art
that I have
yet to understand?

She dances like the desert
Light brown sand in the wind
The color of her soft skin
No longer hiding her features
Behind old religious doctrines
A little bit of belly
Arms as strong as titans
Fingers flicker like lightening
Clicking castanets
Moving in circles

She dances for herself
Eyes cast fast in all directions
Killer queen of my destruction
If I pry I will die because tonight

She dances for herself
The goddess the demon
The angel with a silver blade
Slicing and gleaming
Veils of fire barely light
The dark ground
Concealed by black sky
The sands swirl
and she follows

The music is gone
My words are only hollow
Projections of her passion
And perfection

I want to drink deep of the poison of lust
The human disease and desire to do what we must
Still I am startled at how sick I can be
How much my soul aches and burns to be pleased
Even though some say it is sinful to want it so much
To linger and long for a soft and sensual touch
I find myself lacking the strength to resist
These carnal urges that seem to persist
One look at her smile and I am ashamed to say
I can’t help but think of her in a naughty way
But under all of these fleshy concerns
There is a deeper hunger that constantly burns
It gnaws at my stomach like acid reflex
And is far more subtle then a need for ***
To hold and be held to comfort and be comforted
To speak and be heard even when I am weak or perturbed
And be allowed to do the same for her as well

the unwanted compulsion
that enters unbidden,

the impetuous impulse
that refuses to remain hidden
cause it rages like a lava storm
frustrating and incinerating
every organic thing in its path,

such an inopportune occurrence,
a deeply resonating disturbance,
the deadliest and most addicting
drug of all,
a catastrophe worse than Lucifer’s fall
cause it has crushed more angel hearts
than any other heavenly disaster.

Logically, I should be afraid to fall,
and in my great wisdom try to avoid it all,

but the longing for love
makes a ******* and a fool of me.

For every cell of skin
That fills without
To love within
Powder blush
Purple brush
That paints their face
I find the only place
I wish to race to
Is beside you

With every ***** babe
Model or pageant queen

I find only you rule my dreams
My nightly and daytime desires
My masturbatory fantasies
Tight lips
Tasting your powerful tongue
Wispy word goddess
Dark hazel eyes
My thoughts do not lie
They hold no surprise
Only the years of affliction
Facing such an addiction
For which I would
Sell the world to feed

You are my need

My desire claims me
Not for victory
But for desires sake
The fingers rake
Across thin skin
Tiny lines form
The scratching
Acting threads
Of delight’s achievement
Pain a reward
For giving pleasure
My eyes gleaming
As her screaming
Ends in the satisfaction
Of ****** and exhaustion
We sleep together and separately
Contorted awkwardly
Trying to avoid the wet spot

I want what devastates me

Sugar so syrupy sweet it sickens
Red liquid slows and thickens

Black lips painted poisonous purple
With thin lines of strychnine
My fair long haired Mary
Marvelous Magdalene
And terrible Typhoid
Saint and Succubus of lusting frenzy
Draining the core of me

Morticia the Mortuary Queen
With fatal fingers that feel
My moist internal organs
Throttling my throbbing heart

Dear black orchid
Princess of the pentacles
Funerary eyes of fire
Waking Walking Death

Yes she is so bad for me
Still, I want her so deeply

I can’t seem to detach
The shelves hold books
I do not need
Soft and hardbacks
Stacked chaotically
I want to keep them
I want to give them
To someone who will
Appreciate them
But I do not know who
Will take them and treasure them
As I did and do

I want to detach
From my cache of comic books
But my memories are attached
To all that muscle and flash
The stories of my past
Are sculpted heroes
Of fantastic proportions
And grand moral fortitude
I do not want to lose
The person who was
So deeply intertwined
With those graphic stories

I want to detach
From the ****** way of thinking
So I rub one out
Yes it hardens and shrinks
So that each day
I am not driven
By lust and passion
So my perspective is not blurred,
Woman are more than mere
Objects of desire
Desire speaks more of
Seeking something special
A unique kind mind
But the yearning still surges
Spews milky madness
To calm my edginess
It is in my flesh