Tis blood and fury
and for its cause
you would build a wall
and construct more bombs
to **** more kids,
to destroy more lives,
and never stop
While acquiring the disguise
to protect you from
the consequences
of your profit driven life.

Tis pain and sorrow
that you built
brick by clay brick
fire by fire
not in a kiln,
but in the hateful decree
of your religious immorality
setting stranger against stranger
calling those who revolt
heretics, blasphemers,
or apostates,
while claiming hate
is equal to love.

Tis my tears and rage
as I push my face
into my pillow case
to scream
because you do not listen to me
and slowly my humanity
turns towards wrath.
I stray, walking away
from my old forgiveness
and redemption days
and fantasizing about
your gruesome demise.

I wonder
will my words
reveal
the truth
of how I feel
or felt.

I remember
myself
curled in a
a curving
form
when I
was very
young
and going
to sleep.

Knee
collapsing
into my
stomach,
hands
around
my knees,
as if
I was a
rolly polly
worm
or a child
who was trying
to remain
unseen.

Why did I
compact myself
in such a
manner?

She left work early
to catch a train
high heels
spiking puddles of rain.

She will not be back again;

Turned the corner
almost tripped
barely missed
getting hit
by a yellow cab.

All aboard and off
at her final stop
two lefts
and straight three blocks,

Up the stairs
with no one there
in the bathroom
waits fate unfair.

Blood shot eyes
and thinning hair,
She hid it well,
or maybe no one cared.

She counts the pills,
and puts them back
Pulls out the razor,
and puts it back
resisting the urge
to finally do that.

In the mirror,
she stares defiant
standing self reliant
ready to live.

A dish of soap,
still bubbly soaked,
slips off the counter
tripping her silent
leaving a cold corpse
where they found her.

We are fragments
Minstrels in our memories
Ghosts
Only partial presence
Our essence
Only vaporous
In filament
In digital
In audio
Visual
And literary
Fading
As all things do
Imperfectly remembered

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

Don't let the lightning steal your thunder
Or the stars dull your light
You may not be destined for greatness
But that is up to you to decide
You can let it slide just get by
Get taken on a crazy trip
Or be the one who takes everyone
On a beautifully strange and wild ride

I look beyond the black vastness
Of the infinite
that spreads out before me.
My eyes are closed
and I know
that the solid world
of reality
waits past my eyelids.
However, celestial explosions
of white, black, and green
flow through the darkness
that envelopes me.
I am sightless
but sometimes
as I breathe
I find my way
halfway between
the waking world
and the visions in my dreams.
Slippery stones
and water that gleams,
saran wrapped
potato beings
are strange portraits
of this unconscious scene.
It is the breath that carries me
as I float slightly
above my body.
It is the silence and solitude
that was forced upon me
by an angry and violent
human being.
Perhaps, it was the first steps
Of a ten year old boy
On his way to find
the inner peace
that still eludes me.
Or, maybe, it is
just a faulty memory
that deceives me.

While others fall
to slumber’s whims,
I see the sun
fall and rise again
a furious phoenix
force.

How fast my favored fuel
of rage burns,

pushing me to
ascend higher then
most humans do,

but not in the pursuit
of materiel wealth.

Instead, I prevail,
pushing myself
in the pursuit of
a better me,

channeling
all the things
I see and seek
into the art
that leaks
from my
poetic veins,
while most of you
barely change.

The sun sets
on your repeated
madness,
as you use drugs
to dull this
unsatisfying ache,
seeking simple pleasures
from the things
that others make.

As I strike
the golden core
of who I am
and who I seek to be
you are drenched
in the misery
of your sick
complacency,
rushing to fill an
ever growing hole,
with more
and more stuff.

There is a wonder and beauty in uncertainty,
that sparkling unknown that unfold before us
making each moment precious
for its rarity and inability to repeat.
So, I hope it brings you joy and peace.

I send wishes like star light
Praying we will be alright
All night long where we go on
But the darkness is strong
And as deep as the sleep of the ocean
History is cooked in
Gas chambers and ovens
Despite all my loving
I can’t heal history
Still the best of me
All I have left you see
Is telling stories
Compelling strangers in danger of forgetting
To remember what I mean by regretting
Knowing it is not our fault
Doesn’t lessen the pain
Nor uncut the historical vein
I just want to teach them and you to
So those human horrors don’t happen again

Busted ventricle,
palpitating atrium.
All these hearts are breaking
from all these stranger
hating.

Refugees are struggling,
hiding from Ice agents
while all these *******
keep buying
what a giant **** is saying.

One person is pulled
from the cancer ward.
One father is stolen
before he drove home alone,
never even made it back from
taking his kid to school.
The child cries
as I wonder why
these people can’t find
their human side.

It is strange that this news
seldom makes it to the tv,
strange how the other’s blues
don’t seem to garner
that many internet views,
but if a white dude
or a caucasian lady is abused
you’ll see that bright and early
on the fox and friends news.

If you think this is a new thing
you haven’t been reading
our shared history
this is just a crime
in a long line of crimes
we committed throughout history.

This is not some poem. This is pure truth. Right now I am crying , because no matter how hard I speak and write love my country keeps arming up for war, and attacking the army for its vile acts of barbarity is apparently like attacking a religion because people worship the military and soldiers.
How many ******* times do I have to cry love while other cry war till people listen. I am so emotionally exhausted but my pain is irrelevant compared to the victims of America's policies which are almost always enacted in the interest of the wealthy.

As always she is the body of desire.
Pierced lips pursed with impure intent.
Mouth wet with desire.
Body writhing in the agony of passion's unfulfilled promise.
Black hair long and fallen like her favorite angel;
She absorbs the dark arts of lost hearts
pleading with the power of a submissive’s gaze,

Heaven's arms wrapped around her slender figure
while the denizens of hell desire her softest whisper.
The best passive conqueror of my soul
and I submit to the lust of her being.

She took my corpse soul
Bone dry and empty inside
Blood soaked scythe
That painted the night sky
With hopes for an ending
Soul spending in spinning
Atomic energy on the demon in me
She rose to see my flesh form
Finally feel and bleed
From the deeper need
I was regenerated and reinvigorated
Just in time to cross loves line
And have her turn loves laughter
Into lover’s lament

Dr. Cornell West.
is not a retreater,
but a bright spirit freer,
a spectacular speaker.
His vernacular is sweeter
than any lazy deceiver.

At first I thought they were beautiful
a thousand tiny blinking eyes
flickering in the back
like Christmas lights
blinking at uneven intervals.

An hour or so in
I imagine the blinking lights
are red messages
coming from the outer edges
of some other solar system.

Then as fatigue sets in
they shift
same shade of red,
still blinking,
but now appearing hungry.

Seventeen hours later
and severely exhausted
my mind teases
the tip of madness
as the red blinking lights
seem like
a thousand spider eyes
ready to devour me.

Think of me as poetry
Sweetly succinct
In this meager
But beautiful reality

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.

No needle still we chase
That purple syrup dragon
Let that poison ride our veins
Carbonated grape beverage
Which gives us
A light crack type rush
Then makes us crash

Sometimes when it is beautiful and peaceful
When fatigue sets in
And the meaningful
Burns a hole in my stomach
When the seconds are ticking
Just between content and sorrowful
When memories play jigsaw
With my heart
Pushing pieces into their improper places
Spaces where these feeling do not belong
Even though it is wrong
Knowing that life is good for now
And could get much, much worse
Sometimes, when no one is around
And my mind echoes with the years
I spent in isolation
When I meditate
When I am certain
That my existence is fractionally pointless
Even though I am not depressed
I think that today
Would be the right day
To die

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.

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.

Deception is the art of media, church, and state. It should not be the foundation of how human beings veiw and treat each other. That we are seperate is a deciet. As humans we are all bound together, not in some magical web of destiney but as a human collective with a social responsability to make this world a place of peace love and understanding; instead of a world driven by self-interest, and fear.

My mind is a prison
that strong thoughts live in,
a place whose dominion
is given to flights of fancy
that only a few fellow creatives
are allowed to view.

The clouds curl behind shadow birds
Fleeing just in time to miss the summer rain
Leaving me to see to the softened earth
Leaving me to see all the greys
Dull earth shades of brown
Colors lose themselves
The ground is less disturbed than me
I want the rain
I beg for pneumonia
Just an excuse to quit it all
And end this long week
To never speak again
So I let the coat get soaked
I let the button up shirt
Stick moistly to my body
I let the pants wrinkle up all wet
I let everyone leave
As the rain washes
What is left of me
I just sit still as stone
On the grey monument
Till the water in my eyes
Is just tears from the sky
Till all the paper in my pocket disintegrates
Till the ground starts to swallow me
Like it swallowed her
Never fully digesting
Just weighing me down
From this side of death
Till it all stops
And trudges back
Slipping and backing into my skin
Feeling other emotions again
Heading home I start to sneeze
Smiling inside I beg please
Let this sneeze be the death of me

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

Damning verses
from ancient scripture
gave excuses
so he could hit her,
with logic as fluid
as ***** dishwater
that ******* father
beat on his daughter.

I was sitting quietly
just outside the city
beneath a starry sky,
contemplating all that is
in this strange 3d life
and enjoying a cool night.

Knowing that once
the night ate the day.
Then the sun ascended
in an orange expanding blaze,
reaching out to touch the blackness,
allowing the dark streaks
to sneak away.

I was slightly blinded;
Dry eyes sore and blurry
from the light a shining
as people hustled by.
It was a change you see
from my normal
nightly duties
of guarding empty factories.

Even so,
I still know
they are both
great places
to ponder the briefness
of our human existence.

I do not begrudged
this hearty heart
that feels so deep
and drowns in part.

Knowing that strangers
may exist
but once we meet
we are no longer this.

Once we break bread together,
shed tears together,
walk in wavy roads
Of parallel pain together,
though we may be quite strange,
we are no longer strangers.

Thus in our mind’s connection
the only real option is to lessen
the suffering of one another.

There can be dignity in suffering
Not the Christian kind
That sacrifices this life
For some sort of mythological reward
But the kind that takes their lessons in pain
And learns to be stronger, and gentler
The kind that teaches kindness
To those with so little to share
When the so called wretched poor
Places their faith in the goodness
Of a stranger a danger perhaps
But not a lapse in judgment
More like a hopeful promise
That swears we can all be
Better human beings

White snowflakes fall.
Brown boots break the ground.
Porcelain perceptions
are lost and now
crimson puddles
seed the grounds.

This is what is found
when nationalistic
rhetoric
slowly crosses
from let’s make
this country great
to this is who
is to blame
and who to hate.

Till, that ill suited
nuclear rage
resets the atomic age
and glass jars
of peach preserves,
rhubarb,
and non-perishables
in dusty cellars
are the only things
left of us human beings.

Time broke the heart of Van Gogh
Wrenched the soul of Edgar Allen Poe
As the ages spoke with words and paints
The romantics yielded up all of their pain
And put it on display in canvasses and pages

People retreat
further and further
into religions,
politics,
consumerism,
or chemicals
to avoid
confronting
painful truths.

I feel like a strange man of contradictions As a rational human I want to aproach every thing logically, but as a dreamer I want to live life with such amazing zest and passion. I want to be consumed by the beauty of life and lost in its wonders drowning so deep in the moment that I can not escape it, yet still be able to focus and do what needs to be done to acheive greatness.

The time is eleven oh eight
The clock counts
The end of shift
To tick tocking far away
Nervous tongue
That splits the tip
Restrained to the point of pain
Fear that some vain *******
Who feigns righteous outrage
Will take away
That which enslaves
With meager wages
And the fool
Will not have the tools
To maintain this vain
Footrace
Slipping off
That track that
He hates
But believes
Is the only real way
To exist

If you say that a child should not go off to war
Then I say everyone I know is a child
Youth in wisdom and intelligence
Full of potential
Not made to waste in the ways of war
But blossom in the days of peace

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.

When I am gone
Please weep for me
Grieve to see
The loss
Take that pain
Knowing I will not
Come again
and channel it in to
being a kinder you
and cherishing those
who still remain

Take note
Of the knife
At your throat
It is not the apostate
Whom you hate
That threatens you
With a ****** blade
But the brothers you slayed
For your fanatical ways
Who bring to bare
The same violence
You brought them there

I got a fascination
with the frequency
of my urination
in relation
to the caffeination
of my beverages.

The tv is blaring
with the
big bad wolf scaring
three little pigs,
who manage to
get the jump
on him,
making me grin
when they win.

I see
other cartoon figures
get hit with
a TNT blast
if that was me
I wouldn’t come back.

All the ducks in a row
like Donald and Scrooge,
even got a black duck
who is a daffy dude.

All the laughter
is great,
this passionate pleasure
made frame by frame
eases my pain,
and remind me
how funny
****** up
**** can be.

Unaffected but afflicted, convicted
of the crimes my people have committed,
and all the pain of history that was inflicted;
Sometimes, I get white cisgender guilt
for a system that was already built.

Some days
I wake
in tears,

Some days
I wake refreshed,

But today
I woke
a blank space,
nothing to emote
I’m just a still pond
with a small wooden boat
afloat.

It is the dark that makes us appreciate the light, cold that makes us appreciate warmth, moistness that makes us appreciate dryness, and sadness which makes us appreciate happiness. That is one of the many reason I love stories that do not have a happy ending.

You crack the facts
Splinter reality
Set loose insanity
Before me
Ripping the white fabric
Opening and unfolding
Light
Turning the bright
Into star laden night
Turning the expected
Into the pleasure of uncertainty

Behold the beautiful poet
The baggage she had to keep
Even though she couldn’t stow it
The secrets swept away
Even though we didn't know it
And all the opportunities
The ones her parents said don’t blow it
All that **** she wanted to forget
Comes out between ten and twelve o’clock
When the grandfather hits the top
And time finally stops
The poetess is freed

my poems don't show in the feed when I read others, so I am not sure if they are showing up for others to see at all.

There is juice
bleeding from
The flesh of the apple
As my predator eyes
Lick the drops
That drip
And slip down
The light green side

I am hungry
so I bite deep and fiercely
letting the sweet pleasure
envelope me.

In my frenzy
I bite to deeply,
spit seeds
on the ground before me;
Hoping a tree
sprouts
so I can be
like Johnny Appleseed,
the progenitor of a new
delicious American dream.

I am twisted.
As self-inflicted
fissures
crack
from all the pressure
that fizzles within,

not from soda or gin
but from my growing discontent
as I contend
with this trend
Of infantilizing
women and men,

this categorizing
everything improperly
for the sake of comfort,
consistency, and certainty
labeling things
that need no label
instead of just letting beautiful things
be complicated and interesting.