The dream of love is a sweet ache
Imagining her lovely round face
Safely held in my embrace
Cupped like water in a desert
Such a treasure

To hold her hand
To say I love you
Without expecting her to
Echo my affectionate truth
But feeling my heart elevated
When she smiles back
And says me to

To collapse in
Pleasurable exhaustion
Satisfied with the day’s end
Hugging her
Under the covers
Letting my warmth
Ease from me
To her cold body

To sleep and wake
Seeing her soft face
Knowing we
Will do it all again

Welcome to another year
of pursuing my supposed
state of physical and mental
superiority.

Welcome to another year
of watching the world
dissolve right before me
as morons run it straight into
another apocalyptic attitude.

Welcome to the cessation
of deep and thoughtful creation
as each heartbeat breaks down
and each friend falls flaccidly
to feed this already rotted ground.

Welcome to the fruitless
endeavor to enlighten the clueless
as I become the best useless artist
of my dying generation.

All ego and fluff as I stuff
each page with my grand intent
to pursue the betterment
of every single human being
that could be served by my creativity.

Then, I welcome myself
right back to this reality
remembering that nothing I do
really matters to the universe.
I am just a speck in the cosmos
with a slightly bigger ego.

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

A kingly stature makes peace
Does not feed or free hate’s beast
Nor ties it to a leather leash
But through wisdom find its’
Causes for fury turn to tranquil release

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

Random waves of wind
ripple across the water,
while wild birds shiver
and it is not even winter.

Darkness and chaos
played out stupidly before us.
That seems to be the story of everything,
lately.

Despite the delight, but brief interludes
with you few fellow poets who
brighten my life with your  words of lights.

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.

I project my heart
out into a universe
that does not reciprocate
said empathy.

Twilight falls, and I can see
stars twinkling in infinity.
Atomic explosions
push out plumes
of nuclear energy
but they don’t give
a **** for me.

The sun that shines
does not mind
if I live or die.
The buds that bloom
from the thin brown branch
will not be bothered
if I fall victim
to some horrible accident.

The massive mountain
with snowcapped tops
will not be moved
or stopped by the loss
of little old me

I am less than a flee
in the monsoon reality

I fill my bowl
with a wicked
word stew
stirring stirring
words
supping up
delicious verbs,
spilling some nouns
while savoring
other sounds
then packing them all
in my current
favorite notepad.
Then onto my laptop.

They can **** you
long before you retire.
A sore muscle
becomes a blown-out knee
compounded upon
every other ache
and blistering pain.

No sleep
cause you work
almost every day
doing it the
addicting
cigarette,
coffee,
caffeine,
and
nicotine
way.

Stress,
till, tension
numbs,
till, the beating drums
barely thud
then beat no more
ceasing before
you even hit
sixty-four.

Now you wonder what
you were worrying about
retiring for
when we are barely surviving
anymore.

I have the aims
of a famed procrastinator
who is perfectly positioned
in the place of
comfort that I prefer,
while I remain undisturbed
and also undeterred
from my lazy guy mission.

Life has, is, and may always be
a series of triumphant heartbreaks
Challenging me to be better to be better
Challenging me to be better than I was

Today is dull
practically
colorless.
I am dumbfounded
and dolorous
as I ponder these
tragic bits
of alternating
emotional states.

The castle cut
a harsh stone figure
with the winds
of this icy winter
piercing its
outer layer
and winding its way
through deep
cavernous corridors
seeking candle created shadows
and forcing them to flicker
and dance.

Rapt waves of water moved
with the wind’s will as well
brushing up
against its base
then backing fast away.

I was the mayfly there
to observes such splendors.
My life, less than a day
in eternity
but I lived long enough
to gift these words to thee,
golden goddess
sweet guardian
of the flying castle
that finally fell
somewhere near
the heart of my
imagination.

Anxiety is a flower that blooms
painful frustration
fear from insecurity
insecurity from uncertainty
or vice a versa
hurting me by blocking sleep.
Acid build-up keeps me
from resting comfortably
and takes me farther away from
my sanity.

In pain our skin is thickened.
Fear causes pulse to quicken.
Getting the feeling we’ve been tricked,
so we harden our defenses,
strengthen our immune system.
Inoculated with heart break
After deadly heart break,
until, we become invulnerable;
Losing the ability to feel anything.

Life is chaos
Not a controlled lawn
Neatly trimmed
Green skin
But wild vegetation
Free flowing weeds
Not some zoo
Or domesticated
House pet
But hungry creatures
With predator eyes
Living to get by
Lest we forget ourselves
We are the weeds
And the wild animals
Wearing false pretenses
And pretentious suits
But the hunger still waits
The dark beast still beats
Beneath
Our human demeanor
Chaos

Truth is the pursuit of our higher self;
Not Spiritual but intellectual,
empowering the ineffectual
with the information they need
to decide what, what they perceive means.

In loneliness
I long to lock lips
Spread your legs
Slip into your hips
And drink infinity
From your body

The urgency of desire
Sacs of hormonal anxiety
Directing me subliminally
Sublime ecstasy
And anguish
Lavish pain
Pulsing in the member
Ready to dismember
All conscious control
Hands on flesh
Or flesh on hands
Two ways giving
Relief
An atomic explosion
In which two crazy creatures
Find calmness and contentedness

Am I
the self-styled
selfish child
who was wild,
or have I gone
beyond
that person?

I sit pondering
old autumn days
when I would play
my cassette tapes,
while my OCD
would entreat me
to organize my
comic book collection.
Then do
my comic book card
collection to.

Self-crucified am I
saw a red flower fall and bloom,
one rose in an abandoned road
unfurling its petals before noon.
I made myself a modern martyr
sacrificed purely for the god of me;
hanging from a bleeding tree
singing psalms of redemption
that no one else ever heard.

In the photo, I can see
a metaphorical
version of me.

One leave
restrained,
chained to
a puddle of ice,
near the end
of its
brown
withering life;

Like it
I am chained to
a withering society
which is
holding me
in its cold grip.
Till, I taste
the wet tip
of death’s lips.

It has been ages
Dyslexic pages
Words blur
And never find
Their proper place
From my mind
To the blank space
But I am not ashamed
I write when I want to
When I feel like it
And if the faucet is dry
Well that’s ok
Because tonight
I’ll probably pop out
Three or four more pages
Or not

I am a caffeine addict
that won’t kick the habit,
that makes my kidneys want to rabbit.

These four walls
are not made
to save
but built
to blockade
and enslave.

This cave
we engrave
with our strange
collecting ways,
soon becomes a
self-selected grave
for our histories
and all of our
distorted memories.

There are many things
I long to live and see.
Till, death makes
a dark caricature of me

let love slip in
behind the onyx eyes
pass the lips of love
too young to bloom
as I fall so fast
and leave this room
far too soon
before I felt
her loving boon.

For she is but fifteen
reading me
posthumously,
longing
like I did
when I was her age
for an artist
of older days.

Let fame come to
pay deeper dues
for the time I spent
was creatively used.

Let those amused
be elevated to
and if my death
is all that stands
between
the longevity
of my poetry,
then send me to
an early grave.

Silver streaks of starlight
come racing through the sky
causing tender tears to fall
briefly from my eyes.

Tiny drops of water
paint the cement walk
a darker shade,
as me and my grandpa
watch the chalk circles
that he made
become another color.

Warm wrinkled hands
hold me up to tickle
instead of accepting a hug,
yet still remind me I am loved.

A soldier’s flag
and five-rifle salute
sees someone I love
disappear permanently
from my view.

The shooting star
is gone before
I knew how much
I would miss it.

I am fractured
These dream I have
Manufactured
Do not sway
Me away from past grief
Do not lessen
The happy days
We have known
The smiles that were
Softly shown
Glowing
Till death did part
Familial hearts

She is a walking heartbreaker
In pictures, words, and lust
Tears form flowing outwards
Falling faster and faster
I sit foggy eyed and find I must
Distract and extract myself
From her painful poetic presence
From her deep dark hungry essence
Sultry and sulking for another lover
She breaks me so quickly and easily
Once a regular communicator
Now I barely register
Perhaps it is better for her
And a lesson for me to lessen
People’s ability to infiltrate my heart
For my sanity I unfollow and unfriend
But occasionally go back there again
Like biting my tongue to see
If it still hurts me and if I will bleed
I find that she still holds to strong of a grip
Over my heart and mind

Here is a truth
when I do
what I do,
by not reaching out
to the few who
used to care
to stop and share
their time
and stuff,

then why should I
expect
when I get
back to myself
that they
or anyone else
would give
this ghost
any notice
at all?

The arc of our life
is a queer covenant,
burning out the porcelain
colored, electric smoking oven
that we were cooking
useless crap in.

It is a cloudy carnivore
A beast that uneats
Odin’s one good moon eye
Returning light to
This once barren
Night sky

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.

The clock in the waiting room
hasn't been changed to
reflect daylight saving time
just like the one in
the coffee break space.
The black liquid tastes
like a remedy to my lack of sleep
but since each clock is off
I am constantly caught
thinking my weekend
is an hour closer than it really is.

Induced in caffeinated frenzy
The whimsy of forbidden love
Passion swirls stirred by the spooning
Mooning over my beloved
Engorged with desire
And all I am able to do
Is to die or write about what that inspires
She gasps as I collapse
United in my imagined state
A world of never was or will be
****** fantasies
Unreality becomes poetry
Urges become action
I spend myself on internet ****
To purge this painful ecstasy
*** and return to my sanity
Until I read or see her brilliance
And the cycle stiffens anew

Nature is weighed down by winter’s solid white water.
Cold winds break across the burial ground,
soft mounds where their family history is found.
Mother, father, brother, and daughter stand
struggling to hold onto each other’s hands
while the black clad tools of this corporate land
prepare to eviscerate the safe drinking water
with metal pipes of pure crude destruction.

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

Ignorance and apathy are plagues that promote human suffering.

Hug me like the world needs it
Like you will bleed if you cease to
Like there is a beast inside of you
And a hug is a cure

Being true to oneself means acknowledging who you were, if you do not acknowledge who you were you can never learn from your,  mistakes, striving to be who you want to be so you can grow, and knowing who you are now so you can find balance in the moments between the past and the future.

No justice no peace
The riot geared up police
Line up to stop these
Hopeful and heartbroken people
From protesting
To the inconvenience
Of the wealthy

I cannot give myself over to the apathy of uninformed disinterest or the deep self-sacrifice sacrifice of saints. So i slumber in this sea of pain connected to suffering of others while being detached from their distracted pleasures.

This isn’t dub, love, or stair steps.
It is a broken banister touching free air
body falling over there tripping on myself.
Angry eyes fly by screaming out why
to that deathly still starless night sky.
Darkness consumes me and I wonder why
I smile sadly still failing but trying
to live a good and kind life.

How fresh the fields
of pain I feel
has yielded fruits
bitter to the tongue
and slowly rotting.

It is a hollow hole.
The clicking sound
ticking down
is not my heart.
Instead inside,
I find the truth
to **** the lie,
that hope is an illusion and
order is an addictive and
overly optimistic delusion.

That the fleshy thing
I thought was beating
sending blood and energy
through me
was just a bomb
waiting to blow
laying me low
so I would know;

That we dance on strings,
not made of god’s energy
or fated things,
but thin golden lines
of our own mortality.

We evolved to be
nothing but
corpses in clothes,
whose flesh feeds
the next generation
which needs our particles
to grow.

The food doesn’t fill the hole
Does not complete the soul
I cannot watch enough
Good TV shows
To concede the fact
That what I lack
Is a consequence  
Of what I chose
Those who know
Those night shadows
Should realize
This party guy
Practical joker aspect
Is partially a manifestation
Of my abject loneliness
There is no holiness
Only a hole ridden shell
And I tell myself
It will get better
And with enough distractions
It usually does

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.