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.

Her skin was cursed stone
Hard as her heart
And I could not bridge
The gap
Could not cross
The coveted spot
To find her heart
Remove the marble
Till it was freed
Chip by chip
And let her be
Till the stony queen
Finally loved me

You cannot make me hate
It is my own failure.

Even though, I have known
that pebble and glass strewn road,
cut my feet on those jagged shards,
and felt their sharpness biting my skin,

You cannot make me hate without
more than I hate the weakness within
when I give in
to hating again.

Life is a pre-gone
pre-drawn
predawn
conclusion
cause we fall
as the celestial lights
of others
finally begin to rise.

I don’t like periods
In my poetry
They are fine
In prose
And paragraphs
But I don’t find
They work
At the end of my lines
The stanza stops
Or enjambment
Works better
For the poetics

Let me write you
a smile that
shines through
the gloom and doom
to get you through
this dark time
that is hounding you.

It is a worrisome world
that keeps itself
in a state of peril.
A galaxy of
merry fools
who fail to remember
the lessons of
all those old
days of December.

I feel dislocated,
isolated,
less than hated
because to the masses
I am irrelevant.
Even when,
I speak the truth
in poetry,
trying to make
it more palatable,
I am unknowable.

A Rockstar of the mind,
but my people
will not find the time
to remember
what I offer,

and as we
disintegrate
from history
space and time
will not be bothered
to remember
this bothersome
human species.

A glass complexion,
distorted reflection
filled with new
shades and hues
of my personal truth.

Silent stares in contemplation
as I stand facing this tense face
that I know so well.

My body smokes itself
as the mirror fogs up,
with the hot water still running
on the other side
of the wet flower shower curtain

I sit back
letting myself be
submerged in salt rich water.

I let my dead weight
pull me under completely
as I listen deeply
to my heartbeat.

Soft drops of water
pitter patter above me
raining down gently
from my shower
like a white noise
generator.

Barely a minute until
I emerge,
sitting still
as my tense muscles
become more relaxed
then they were before
this wonderful bath.

I know that you love them
but sometimes you hate ’em
want to hug them and hold in
all the pain their displaying

Equal sense of frustration
versus a sense of
gratification,
you need to take a vacation
from your human relations,

got the whole population
of this ****** up nation
praying for a release from
their problems and exploitation

and as you struggle to escape them
you still want to save them,
but they act like little children
who worship what imprisons them.

The words speak thusly. “Do not follow me into the dark if you do not intend to live there.”

There is pain
At some points
Piercing pain
In some places
This fierce pain
Is a searing bane
A dark stain
That feels as if my feet
Will shrivel up and bleed
It is mind numbing
Just not numbing enough
To cancel its physical form

Stench muted by froze form
The winter flakes that frost his fur
Greying from delayed decaying
Slowly thaws on the edge of spring
Allowing the cycle to resume

My brain is a wooden ship
rotting from the outside in.
Till termites chew and tare
leaving more holes then I know
that grow and leak more than words.

I lose nouns and verbs,
more than adjective and adverbs.
Conversations are lost.
All experiences
pleasant and painful
average or terrible
are obscured.

Faces and names slip away
Sinking to the bottom
Of this opaque ocean brain
Then life lets the rushing waves
of time take everything
farther and faster away.

The last lantern flickered
reflected in the black water
while raindrops made ripples
and little waves were formed
in the wake of the wooden boat’s
unsteady movements.

No cars or clocks to hear
just the soothing percussion
of light rain falling
on a saltwater world
of an eerily clouded night.

The empty vessel
loses itself in
the same ocean
that claimed
the men who had been
rowing out for some
grand late-night fishing.

I fear that like climate change
we have already lost
and all that remains
is to succumb to the thumb
of greed and this
broiling summer heat.

Do not mistake
kindness
for weakness,

cause it takes
strength
to fight this
anger,
to resist
the fury
that persists
as I watch
wicked men
go one waging
a war against the truth,

as I watch
woman
reward
*******,
those
elite
alpha
monkeys,
with a love
that is
rejected
and abused.

It takes
a determination
most do not have
to maintain
compassion
as pain reigns
in the open veins
of bully’s victims.

It takes will power
to smile and be polite
when violence
racism, and sexism
run rampant.

Sometimes,
it takes all I have
to swallow the bad
and work small acts
of compassion
into my day.

Two boat pass.
Crossing the
sparkling Thames
choppy water
pushes each vessel apart.
Still, both horns sound
as travelers watch
their opposite
float away.
They will never meet
but they will always have
these moments
on the friendships.

You
dear humanity
have robbed me
of my sanity,
stealing my solace
and left a disease
of emptiness,
but I will
have my peace
when I leave,
when I am deceased.

Greed and goodwill do not usually work well within a  corporate dynamic.

Think loud and talk softly so that many may hear you. When you speak softly those around you must silence themselves and open there ears. I hope people will learn just because you speak loudest does not mean you win the argument. If you must raise your voice and interrupt another person than you have proven only that you have a louder voice, in that moment.

The cold metal door
lets loose leaves
in with a soft breeze.

We are all
improbable,
impossible people,
preceding
all the things
we needed
to exist,
our ingredients,
our history.

We are
a culmination
of struggles
beyond
our imagination,
wasting
the faith
we place in
religion
and politicians.

We are
crazy,
lazy,
stupid,
violent,
destructive,
devastated,
prostrate­d
to the things
that should be hated,
fools
that fly
so high
on the shoulder
of older giants.

We are
beautiful
creative,
a spark
that made it
this far.

We are
born to fall.

The musical fog
mists my eyes
and mystifies
my curious life.

The night is sweet
and generous to me,
offering a soft breeze
to please,
and prevent overheating.

But there is something
eating at me.
Grief bating,
it has been waiting
for an unconsciously
expected tragedy.

So, tears threaten
to consume me,
water devouring
soft skin,
and flesh reddening
for something
that has yet to happen,
something I have imagined.

Though, I know
the night is beautiful,
I still cry.

This dismal day
dulls my emotions
in favor of
some distant
tv visions
that I used to love.

The human narrative can not be written till after the fact. Only then can humans force it in to some cookie cutter continuity of meaning.

She slept
in silent contentment,
the soft saltwater
serenity
moving gently
in a cradling
motion

The silver streaking
salmon school
barely moving
hiding under
the algae laden water
while sinking
into the deeper trenches,

As the cool white
moonlight
reflected
in rippling water
for no one to see.

The site seams to be fixed.

I'm so invested in humanity that human suffering wounds me, and cruelty offends me.

The flooded fields
of folded flesh
that fell upon
thy aching chest
burnt thy heart
but failed to
grant you
a merciful death.

Your damp glittering dirk
is dangerously wedded to
a wet red death.

I am instituting make a friend laugh day. Laughter has so many positive effects. It reduce tension and blah dee blah dee blah dee blah. So I challenge everyone to try and make someone you know laugh. Lets make the world a better place one chuckle at a time, or two if you prefer. (warning: excessive laughter may make you feel better and improve your day.)

Science and logic trump ancient scripture.

These brick buildings
are built up from
the ground
wearing empty porches
with no sound of
family conversations
or love.

In meeting and seeing her
my heart brightens up
like my headlights do
piercing the darkness
and shining through
to clear the heart killing clutter,
opening the dusty shutters,
and letting her smile
peer through to my
deeply entrenched defenses.

This dismal day
dulls my emotions
in favor of
some distant
tv visions
that I used to love.

Some people seek thier own stagnation. I seek the novelty of new information, and the knowledge i need to shift my understanding if the evidence i percieve requires that of me.

The rockets flare fast.
Multi-colored explosions
spread across the night sky
while I
sit alone and stew.

I am alone
suffering in silence
succumbing to
the sovereignty
of my loneliness.

There is a woman
who hurts my heart,
a smile and voice
that presses my sanity
from the inside out
like a tube of toothpaste.

She has a family
and I have spent
thirty-seven years alone.

One taste of domestic tranquility
has enslaved me
made me want to be
her partner for eternity,

But sadly
I am not the one
she longs to see
and it breaks me.

Like all things
this will pass
but right now
it hurts to be alone.

The world can be a cold and dark place. Whispering winds of change force us on into an uncertain future. We struggle to maintain a strong sense of identity, but so many loose themselves in the crowed, and their potential is losses to the desire to conform.
phew, lucky for me I don't know how to conform. Being a nerd has its advantages sometimes.

The children played
With fake rage
Displayed
The false bullets sprayed
And bloodless pictures
That the media portrayed
Were meant to dull
Our thinking ways
If only they could see
The black coffin
The red tree
That they will be
Buried beneath
Perhaps then
My dearest friends
They would choose to play
Tea parties instead
Of these childish war games

The battle was brave
but today is the day
when the heart will falter.
There will be no tomorrows,
and all previous echoes,
each individual iteration,
each past person
who stood hurting
but still struggled
will lay this heavy burden
down to rest.

It is blindness by consent
Not knowing where we were going
Not caring where we went
Just tearing up the world
As we play follow the leaders

Becuase that is the way it is, becuase that is the way it has always been, or becuase it would be to hard to change is not a good reason to keep doing something.

What will people say
such a scandalous affair
a trickle claiming to be rain
when no water ever
comes near here.

Oh, dear what will
they think.
I shiver to inquire
what would ever inspire
such vague ideas.

If I truly cared
what strangers thought
I would not
be who I am
a poet pleading wares of words.

Truly I am a fool,
because I care
just enough to want
people to read my words
but not enough to change
the core of who I am.

Three pages behind,
so I look to find
any observation
that will stir
a poetic line;

Like white flowers
on a metal wire
that look like
a metallic vine.

Three pages I seek,
so I listen to
whatever will speak
to my poetic sense,

I hear lots of clicks
as I drive by on
the highway,
then a musical beat
that I cannot place
because it is muffled
and lacks any base.
I pop the top
of my center console
to see a strange glow
as my cellphone
tries to wake me up.

Three pages that I yearn to complete
but I have no comprehension
of what strangers smell,
so I am only left to write about
what I feel.

I slide my hand up and down
searching soft sore spots,
looking to see if they
are too cold or hot
and flinching when
I come across a bruise.

Three pages to complete
it’s the deadline I set for me
every month I try to write
thirty pages of poetry.
Now I only need two
to get up to what is due
this far in the month.

It is a story maybe a prose piece
I know these lines are what I need
Not to be rich but to succeed
Poke a hole in your mind
And plant a seed so deeply
That you won’t forget me
Or what it means when I say humanity

With a pen *****
that angry ****
defused her heart
and crumbled it.

I am too tired to stop.
It’s too late at night.
I am not scared.
I do care
but I just got off work
and I want to get home.
I pass you by
while you struggle.
I do not see
if you cry.
I do not know
if you lived or died,
and I only feel
a little bit bad,
because six out of ten times
I stop for strangers on
the roadside.