To tell the stories
I have to run,
have to move,
partly for fun,
and partly to view
the world through
a traveler’s lens.

Cause if I stay
I’ll die
of old age,
and barely
make any change.

So,
I have to
run
to grow,
and share what I know
with all of you.

The end of the world
will not need me.
The grief I see
will depart swiftly
when my consciousness
cease to be anything.
Death will release
the anguish I breath.

All the books that I read
will crumble like
dry brown autumn leaves.
All those man-made things
will rot, rust, or tumble.

Even our shared history
will recede into obscurity,
then further into
nothingness,
allowing space and time
to completely
forget us.

It is the ocean that divides us
as celestial stream that hides
deep inside
a treasured light
that we only confide
in those nearby.

It is a temple of dragons,
fates burning fury
that scorches us
to the core
and even more
before
we rise
from the ashes
of old lies.

It is the night sky,
sparkling
but temperamental
reminding us
we are ephemeral
less than insects
in the scheme
of infinite things.

It is daydreams,
dark and bright fantasies
about spaceships
traversing
distances beyond
current capability,
with artificial intelligence
to guide and inform me.

It is a story
in the form of poetry,
a multi-faced
multifaceted
exploration
of my unknown identities
that I explore,
remaining untitled
because I do not know
for certain what it
is certainly for.

I tell of the hell
that befell
a young whale
as purple pastels fell,
mixing in the foam,
bleeding colors
mostly unknown
in this aquatic world,
tainting the slick skin
of my orca acquaintance
I consider a friend.
So, that his kin
barely recognized him.
If not for
the sonic waves
that emanated across
the ocean floor
this purple painted
whale would have
died alone.

We live in
the evening
observing
other beings,

reading
new and old stories
following
the yellow brick road
even though
its full of dust motes
and black mold.

Trying to be strong
but we are depressed
and compressed
into
something new;

Unable to walk to you
or through the crack
in the soon to be
shattered glass
perspective,

you expect us
to conform to
your pews,
bending in devotion
in your church,

but we worship
in other ways
chase better days

When the fog of pain abates,
when you ask us why,
we do not know for sure,
perhaps we never will.

We suffer fools to fare better
Then those who walk in poor weather
Then those who struggle to find the truth
And in suffering those other flagrant fools
Those corporate and theological tools
We cause greater suffering to
All of our youths

I spend my days in an exhausted laden haze
Weariness working on me on several levels
Sapping my will
Snapping at my heels
Weakening my wit
Creating more stress
Retaining more fat
It is not a matter of debate
But a matter of fact
That I state
Aging me rapidly
I am certain most of us
Could use a little less work
And a little more sleep
So I strive to thrive
Not live dead tired inside

The brown leaves curl in
Response to winters cold winds
Dry grass is frozen
Green brown and stiffening
While patches of ice
Hijack the sidewalk
And make tripping fools
Of those who are racing through

The process is not perfected
Yet I place each word
As if it was
My perfect selection
Looking for the perfection
But only if it is fast
Only if I can rush through
Stringing word to
Each other
A passenger
In a car
That someone else is driving
And I can’t wait to see where it goes

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
****.

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

It is the sounds
of ivory keys
hammering strings
that I use to sooth
my tired self to sleep
or to keep
jarring noises
from waking me.

I elevate myself
by understanding
the patterns
I have performed in,
in the past,
and not repeating
said sad weaving.

For some
She is pale white
a bright light
of deathly delights,

but to me
she turns out to be
a flowing robe
colored with infinity.

She is the blooming
of nuclear roses,
orange and atomic red
spread across
the grand expanse.

She is the sparkling space clouds
gaseous forms
that fill a fraction of the void
in the same space where I hope
my particle fly to rest.

She is death
full bodied
and embraced
in the only fate
I will ever face
neither scary
nor beautiful
merely a matter of fact.

Faster than
a flash in a pan
I’m tossed in a can
the discarded man
who made spectacular plans.

Plans that spanned
beyond human command,

a hopeful hearted poet
alone, sinking in quicksand
the sweet gentleman,

a noble sacrifice of convenience
because my momentum
was already carrying me there.

So, in caring I shared
sweet smiles and jokes
all my thoughts and my hopes
to help you all cope
while I go boldly on into
that last dark night
you were all dreading.

So when I die
do not let our nation’s
flag fly high
a symbol of separating humans
by maps and accidental locations,
don’t sound soldiers glory with rifles

Point your pens
to the heavens
where dreams of space begin
send me into oblivion
with love
and hopes for exploration
and in my name
write a better
kinder world
then the one
I am leaving.

It does not care for borders
But breaks imaginary lines
Waves that rise and fall
Does not conquer those concrete walls
But sees eyes pleading for peace
Hearts beating for loves release
Tension and destruction
The cessation of human devastation
The humane reigns and claims
The right to feel
Joys, sorrows, and all things in between
The greatest gift and curse
So do not dull the passion
Do not quench the thirst
Do not cease to feel
For in feeling we reach for fields
And start to make a journey
To a world where we are better human beings

Despite how hard I tried to fight
This doctor’s heart
I cannot stop the light
Cannot end the love
That shreds my insides
Every time I try to quit this life
I just come back
From the darker side
Every heartbreak
That rips the earth to shreds
Just turns up new stronger soil
And I replant
The best parts of who I am
I will cure the world
Of all the hate, violence,
And unnecessary heart break
Or I will die trying

I’m not looking to date ‘em
Or wanting to hate them
Not bothering to debate ’em
But I am sick of the women
Who stick with the bad men
Cause they think they can change ‘em

Those stone steps
to the state police
rise to the
base where
the cops stay
to plot and fleece
the population
they are sworn to serve.
Even though,
they may believe
that they are not
the tools of the rich,
I know they serve
the wealthy man’s property
and not the poor people’s
need for security.

Spring, summer, and fall
Have fallen so fast
Now the sickle is sharpened
The scythe is ready
The harvest is bountiful
The wine is heady
The winter is here
So let’s be clear
You froze to death
Before you disappeared

My heart is a tomb
Where demons fear to tread
Where angels fear to fly
A catacomb
Where I alone
Exist to exit
Or enter
But always a specter
Yes a sparse spectator
Of the best parts of life

If skin color, place of birth, politics, or religions is what separates you from a stranger. Then remember your stranger was once a baby, has lost or will lose someone, and they will cry as you do. They will walk awake in mourning as will you, as you do, because they are human to. Syrian, Republican, Dominican, Cuban, American, Conservative, Liberal, Democrat, Atheist, Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, and all variations between and around these distinctions are part of our human family.

I want to sink into my soft covers
Let the warm quilt gently smother me
While the electric heat enlivens me
So I can meditate till I reach a state
Of deeply restful and spiritual dreams

Let the world rot
Let it sink in decay
because I got no faith
in this human race.

Sometimes sanity is so insincere, like a sarcastic comment to a crying child or a cold shoulder. Madness is the only logical response to the horrors of humanity.

I am a piece of paper,
a digital display
ready to be filled
then someday
made blank
but please do not
throw me away.

When the last whole-hearted hero falls
True blooded poet warrior
Who challenged those
That turned cities and homes
Into barren bombed out wastelands,

When the wooden walkways
Are consumed
By the brush,

When the concrete
Cracks from nature’s ****** up,

When the canyons fades
Turning colorful shades
To white, black, and gray,

When the green hummingbirds
Cease the beatings
Of their supersonic wings,

When the tired panther
No longer sleeps
Or rises to drink
From a sweet summer spring
After hunting and eating
Some other wild thing,

When all things living
Start to decay
Then solar winds
wipe them away
In ultraviolet rays
Of destruction and disintegration,

When time forgets
That we ever existed.

A flurry of fuzzy
flowers float in
a hot summer winds.

There are to many layers

Locks to long
brown with only
a hint of grays to come;
I tell the young lady
please buzz it all off
and make it one
size fits all.

Sandpaper bristles
scrape against
all my grains.
I shave it to find
a familiar face

Water washes away
the filth of
a long work day
but my face
does not betray
the truth
of who I am
or was.

I peel back the years
one wrinkle at a time
as the red lines
recede from my corneas,
as tan becomes pale
and winter pale
breaks down to
summer bronzes.

The weight rises
and recedes
more frequently
then I care to admit
as I struggle to get
back to the core of it.

I shrink,
an implosion of sorts.
Losing memories,
losing words,
losing time,
As I struggle to find
the essence of me.

I go back to the zygote
then split that
and watch those halves
retreating.

As two human beings
Go from needing
to never meeting.

Then back to
the primordial ooze
that glowing goo
that ungrew
to undue
protein patterns.

Then space dust becomes
the unbanging
never attaining
the pure essence.
There is more
but it is a journey
of eternal regressions
that never finds
an end in my mind.

I am as strange as a purple orchid. Though I love people, there is a deep need to retreat into my own world, to think, and dream without the intrusion of outsiders. Sometimes I feel bad about it, right now I just want to be left alone.

Life is the lead of the century
The best role we were born to play
These lines are what we breathe to say
Struggling to live today
Only to die tomorrow
And all that went in
To how we got here
Each struggle
Each generation
That birthed the previous
Stretching all the way back
To the beginning of time
Is the only miracle I need
To feel like I am
Part of something divine

The fields of dust
become dry death
as the surviving few
choke on the stew
of putrid fumes,

slippery viscera,
a dismembered
remembrance,
the living entranced
by the ultimate
state of existence.

Null,
zero gains
nothing comes
back here again.

I kiss the killer
Cold bone queen
Pale pallet
Dirt laden limbs
Skinless
Breathless
My heart
Is hers for the reaping
Beating
Crimson
Meaty valves
Pulsing
I would play coy
Pretend I want to stay
Extremely far away
But I’m only flesh
Always edging my way
Ever closer to her rotting love

It’s not submission
but a positive disposition
towards those in a position
to be friendly
or a thorn to me.
Hopefully,
I can spread
positivity.

The pillars of learning are acquiring information, retaining it, being able to retrieve it, then being able to adapt and use it in various situations

Oh, how I long to be
the silent lips
of your poetry.
Eyes wavering
to and fro
like a pendulum
falling down the page
as you find my poems
and devour them.
Then,
I long to be
the one you wish to see,
so you can speak about
what you read.

What can my mouth say that my tongue cannot
For they generate more force and fury
As they climb and fall across your beautiful body
What can my mouth say that my eyes cannot
For in their gaze you can feel my hunger
My desire for your pulsing flesh
Against my throbbing flesh
My eyes feed upon you lovely visage
Beastly ravishing you with my desire
I am insatiable, hunger rising
Your tender skin causing my fevered lust to rise
You precious smile inspires me
When your lip press against me
I am flushed with such sweet ecstasy
I would return the favor a thousand fold
But in our lovers release gasping and moaning
Exhausted, I collapse inside you
I hear your body humming
Still I desire to be closer
Though we are only millimeters apart
I wrap my arms around you
Pull you ever closer devouring your body with mine
Shielding you from the outside
While you protect my heart from within
What could my mouth say that my actions have not already
Words cannot express the passion you inspire
They are inadequate in the shadow of action

Some of us hide behind hardened exteriors. We create a shell of fear and mistrust which guards us against the intrusions of strangers into our lives. Still if we look beyond our shells we may find they have become prison which lock us in our hearts, and blind us from the beauty of the world with clouds of ignorance and suspicion.

Not quite winter
but the bare sidewalks
are already cold,
and a perfect place
to put my bare foot
to ease the aching pain
as long as no one is
looking my way.
So, I slip off
my right shoe
press it against
the cold concrete
until the pain leaves my feet
and hope
no one notices
this silliness.

Shame on me
for having a human heart.
It is a strange weakness
to watch and see this
wave of inhumanity
and wonder why
I stand immune
from said insanity
whilst all the other people
rush and strangle each other
in a frantic state
of hate and rage
that breaks the place
where some people stash
true love away.

My heart is a haunted house
A horror cornerstone
That holds the ghosts I know
Sparse specters of pains
Laughs, tears, and love

Shingles that twinkle
Under star lit nights
Door knobs to nowhere
With the fingerprints
Of everyone I ever lost
Empty rooms that remember
Every lesson ever taught
And everyone one
That I forgot

Casper does not live here
Full bodied forms
Of ectoplasm do not appear here
But everyone I know
Will either meet here
Or be left behind
When time finds
No more locks
Or knocks on
The red painted door
That drips crimson
Finality on the front porch

There is the sound of
bones snapping
acting like
two soldiers cracking
sword against sword
with such a fierce resistance.
It is almost painful
but after
the tension passes,
though I know
it is probably
not healthy
for me
I still crack
my joints
gleefully.

I am the forgotten butterfly
The friendly fairy who does not cry
For being passed by
For being left behind
A nice guy
Ahead of his time
Loving in secret stanzas
Smiling and idling
While potential lovers
Move on with another
And the wings become ornamental
Flutter, frozen in the winter
Crack and crumble
Frost bitten and forgotten
Beautiful but broken
Till waiting and loving
Leaves me all alone

I don’t think
people were meant to be
built up and
stacked on top of me.
Building complexes
give us strange
complexes.
I got issues
cause I’m trapped in
a brick building
when I should be moving.
My comfy chair
has me strapped in
watching hours of
television
on my laptop.
I don’t talk to people,
just text and
chat with them.
It’s not personal
cause at dinner
I don’t look up.
I just stay focused on
my little telephone.
No handshakes
no eye contact
no empathy
because we
forgot that
we need to talk to
and touch
other people.
We need living things
to be human beings.

Do not let the darkness in,
completely inhaling
death and destruction
like poisoned oxygen.

Do not let
the pain of loss
distort your perception
of your own history.

Do not let
the gray gravel roads
you once roamed
disappear
behind you
as you move on.

Do not let
your kind intentions
drown in
a sea of salty
despair.

Do not let
who you were
and who you become
be defined
by mankind’s
horrible crimes.

Life is a trickle in a faucet
filling it up with discontent.
It is the pitter patter of water
soon to be possibly stagnant
in that cracked porcelain sink.

But all that liquid grows
till it overflows
or evaporates
seeking some salty sea.
Though it may go
where it pleases
it leaves me to be
the filthy
stained sink.

I feel like a ghost. I have the ability to fade away, and dissappear into the mist. I have done it before and I think I will do it again. For me it is a never ending struggle to never become trapped. I will be free, no matter what it costs me.

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

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.

You don’t want to love me
cause I am darker than
a starless night
and deeper than
the stars I dreamed of when
we sat in class and
read about them.

You don’t want to love me
because honey you will suffocate.
Your mind will dislocate
as I elevate your consciousness
and you will not be able
to return from this enlightenment.

You don’t want to love me
but I dare you to try
come on try and fly as high
as I wanna take you.