Rules do not make something
Right or wrong
Talking heads do not
Make something
Right or wrong
Fake gods
Do not make
Something
Right or wrong
Traditions
Just because
It was
Always done
Does not make
Something
Right or wrong
Your law
Does not make
Something
Right or wrong

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

It is a certain sadness,
an empty sorrow
for something I never had
but still miss.
I ache for any scent,
for any nasal experience
cause I have never known
the sweet smell of anything,
but if I consider it a blessing
I have never known the stench.
of anything.

It has been years
Since I have seen the water
Felt the cool freshness
The cold shivers
Stroked
Backwards
I do not know
Why I do not go
Back there

They say to be heroes
To be great
We have to become killers
Harbingers of hate
Bullets and bomb bringers
No one line zingers
But ****** rage
Howling sorrows
Creators of destruction
Anguish in the name of
Our love of a nation
Patriotism facing
One way while war
Wages in another direction
Violence there for our inspection

A heroic deed indeed
Would be better defined
As the art of ending such wars
Standing arms intertwined
To stop the hate
To end the wars
To obstruct the tanks
The drones
And the soldiers
Who march on thumping
Backs heavy with their packs
Souls stained with their warrior way

We are complicated
Beautiful water bags
With calcium sticks
Tiny members
Inverted ***
Smoking desire
Snorting up ideas
And vomiting
More complexity
Chunks of variety
Intertwine
With red wine
And clichés

All the hopeful promises
were like sugary treats gone rotten.
So, I lay sprawled out in pain
a loving body forgotten.
It was only once
she ever said she loved me,
told me all her deepest pains.
I told her she was lovely,
and so splendidly strange.
I’d come over and she’d recline
into the comfort of my arms
and every time I’d find
the beating of my racing heart.
She would tell me to rub her feet
or massage her neck and back,
and though I proved I loved her true
she never let me get farther than that.
I know she had every right to.
It just broke my heart to be so closed to her
and watch her walk off
with some other ****.
All the hopeful promises
were like sugary treat gone rotten.
So, I lay sprawled out in pain
a loving body forgotten.

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.

It does not matter
But I made us
A flowered mattress
Of shimmering star dust
You know
All the
Dead space stuff
As a poet
That is about as romantic
As I can get

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

I hope those beautiful flows,
Flowery verses, and deep prose
Always help me find my way home
Whenever I am searching these roads
For a place where humanity
Can finally see what I see
And celebrate the success
Of setting world citizens free
From the tyranny of greed

Sleep deprived
but I decide
how I get to
live my life.

Exhausted and a
little bit slow
but I know
the fog will go
when I catch
a couple hours
of sweet rest.

Then when
I wake
and finally take
the days first breath;

I may not be
my very best
but I will still
be better.

I am exhausted sometime I find myself
Waking in pain calling no name
Just swelling with salty tears
Life is less about fears
Than fearing the regret
Not about what I have not done yet
But what I missed waiting
How frustrating
How illuminating
The future is a fountain flowing
Growing and fulminating
Glittering and emanating
All origins of life
That is why I never regret the night
I only fight the light
For the right to decide
How I succeed or **** up my 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.

Nothing ever burns
Only space takes its time
And in turn
We turn
Like planets
Spinning
From crashing beginnings
Bending like sounds in infinity
Looping through eternity
Back to the biggest bang
We are racing
A mad ball facing
Everything
Every single direction
In space

I love all avenues
of human advancement
as long as they
seek the expansion
of knowledge, wisdom,
and compassion.

The cloud covered sky
obscures the alluring
white light glow.

The cool moist air
gently moves
the pre-winter tree leaves
that have already
lost their blooms.

The autumnal red
bush wears
berry colored leaves.

The nighttime’s
seasonal identity
flows freely
on time’s
sharply shaped arrow
that always
flees from me.

I can’t control it
So I let it go
Watch it flow
Cosmic waves
Solar rays
Different ways
To measure
Tidal forces
The water forces
Me to see the sea
An inkling of eternity
A billion years
A trillion more
With or without me
I wait no more
Not an enemy
Nor a friend
Simply is for me
The beginning
And eventually
Will be my end

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

You bought your house with a loan
so it’s a place that you don’t own
but a place you still call home.

And to keep up the bills
you go in to a job that kills
any kind of happiness you have.

You crack your knuckles and your back,
work for wages that don’t keep up
with inflation, health costs, and
other things this consumer life’s demands.
So with your sweat and stress
you barely scratch the surface.

And the education that you got
cost you even more then
the home you just bought.
Fifty thousand plus debt
hangs heavy like an anvil
over your head.

So you keep on working
till you are the walking dead,
Till, the stiffness in your arms
and the tightness in your chest
explodes like a terrorist’s vest.

But if you make to seventy
when you were planning to retire
and take a holiday retreat
well, the market lost your cash
so you will be working untill
you finally collapse.

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

Strange as dreams,
she rode a wild
broken horned
unicorn.
Until,
side saddled,
she fell
and straddled
empty air.

The horse
was never there
but the air
was as heavy
as a hot iron
and pushed her
deep down
into a mound
of muddy ground.

She swallowed
soft soil
choking in fear.
Until, the
earth became clear.
Gravity pulled her down
tugging her
tightly fitted gown.

She fell through
the center
but was never scalded
or incinerated
by the hot lava.
She fell
until,
gravity began.
to slow her
momentum.
*** end up,
her feet hit
the other side
and pierced it.

On the opposite
end of the earth
tiny men
gave her long legs
a wide berth.

Her feet shifted and swirled
smacking the air violently,
but she could not escape
her upside-down fate

Until, she was
shook awake.

What mercies made
Could have saved
These monsters from themselves
A loving hand
A hopeful hug
A tender touch
A single thought
And yet this is
An existence
Shiny hell
Were some fall
Where others rise
And little monsters
Breach the birth canal
Ripping us up
From the inside out

I’d like to drink from the collective cup
Sip and slurp up their artful insights
Then gulp and burp ****
Brilliant but
Sometimes stinky art

My dog is
going to die
but the tears
do not come.
They are hovering
just out of reach
on the otherside.

This time
as someone
I love dies
I intend to
remain
by their side
as they journey
into that last night.

The last time
I was too busy
too distracted
to visit,
but in my defense
I thought
he had
plenty time
to live.

The time
before that
I cannot excuse
I left her alone
a withering
figure
stuck in a bed
till she was dead.

I know most
have the blessing
of believing
their grieving
is only temporary.
Their guilt is absolved
because after all
they will see
their loved ones
in heaven.
So, it is easy
to take people
and animals
for granted
but to me
this planet
and life
is a one time ride.
So, I will
hold this grief
and guilt inside
so that I remember
to be kind.

The cold wind whips
my very bones,
strikes the skin
to bend
me to nature’s will.
She whispers
with a melodious tone
“Sleep my child
for tomorrow
will never come

It is a dream of colors
working in the real world
while I walk to work.

I look in to the water
and see a cool pool
of aquatic colors
clear to blue
and whatever
tint or hue
that swims or sinks
into my view
or merely lies underneath
this wet sheet.

I walk along the sidewalk
seeing cement gray,
wooden brown,
and grassy green,
falling behind me.

Red brick buildings,
and one poor onyx
colored car
with a black tape bandage
to match the
paint job.

One pale poetic friend,
and one brown skinned
friendly stranger.

One cloudless sky,
turquoise
then turning to
the darker night hue.

And journey’s end
find me soaking in
rain water
that becomes
a reflecting pool
of everything
I am looking at.

The laughing lion
scared the **** out of the
quite hyenas.

The heart knows how to work,
even when its angry.
Even when its hurt,
the beat goes on
like an angel’s song.
The trumpet is strong.
Faith is hope,
lies aren’t always wrong.
Sometimes my brothers need
to be deceived
so they can carry on.

I am not the bar fly
beer drinking
kind of guy,
can’t stand the noise
of wild girls and boys.
I prefer the quiet nights
but there does not seem
to be a place for me
in this Pokémon Go
***** loving society.

I want conversation
while other guys
pretend to be patient
so they can slip
their small *****
inside her drunk ***
or drop a sedative
in her wine glass
and become the next
Bill Cosby ******.

I can’t seem to face this
rambunctious crowd.
They are too loud
and I would rather
get to know a stranger
or simply talk with a friend
then try communicating
over aggressively loud music.
I want peace and contemplation
but other people are partying
like they are on death row
cause they know
that they will have to go
back to work.

This scene doesn’t work
but that doesn’t make
them jerks
it just means
that they haven’t evolved enough
to catch up with me.

She is a child of death metal
blood red but fading petals
black hair to match her despair
like the emptiness of the cosmos
as her stars burnout one after another.

She stays up all night
cause it is the only time
she feels free to be who she is
the only place where she feels safe
enough to spare her sparse smile.
Little lithe dancer bending her body
soft and slowly for nobody.

She sings such a sweet wounded melody.
Half siren and seraphim calling out
to her only true love,
some dark anime character
who isn’t half as dark as she is

I got the worst human deformity,
a kind heart and extremely sharp mind.
You see one or the other
would be so much better.
A soft soul with a sweet disposition
tempered by a lack of information
would make facing reality
a little less bitter and heartbreaking.
While a rational mind minus
the temperament of the compassionate kind
would make broken hearts
a thing of the past.
I want to look beyond the past,
and be a true gentleman,
but to be aggressive,
competitive, and
alpha minded is what
the cattle wants.
Unfortunately, due to a mix up
I got both qualities
which makes me
so ****** up
and disposable.

I would like to be kind and generous
not out of fear of the worst of us
but because that spirit has become
that heart of truth and love.

There is a certain anger I dismissed
Pretending not to be ******
I part from the healthy rages
Letting people slide by
Because I could understand both sides
But each time
Boots treaded heavily
Marking my back painfully
Spikes buried deep inside of me
Till blood was all that I could see
I tore the better part of my anger
In a desire to be enlightened
And in exchange for this enlightened change
I got a fist to the face
And a pink slip that said
You are not welcome as this place

Her skin is a secret scripture
written in love’s affection.

It is a game of hate.
Heavy metal rages
move those iron plates.
My rep’s pace matches
the beats and rhythms
that my phone is playing.
I’m not displaying
anything.
It’s just fun
and self-improvement.

Desire is the poetry of flesh
Legs spread when she begged
I inserted the tip of my head
Passion in thrusting
Moving in lusting
Combining bodies
Once separate now fluid form
Moans escape both lips
I move in her, breathless
Deathless in this immortal moment
Every ounce of thought power
Pushing in and in and in
Forcing closeness
Till we *** and become
Separate again
Until the poetry returns
And desire burns
Our flesh once more

I can only dance on
The strings of memory
That tether me
To my younger self
For so long
Before the emotional
Barrier is gone
And depression
Reigns once again

As I measure
my black past
against the vast
dark expanse
of space and eternity
all that see
here before me
is the nothingness
that will ignore
or envelope me.

So, let me explore
this strange metaphor
as massive pieces of meat
circle me
in a banquet of
life’s opportunities.

Sweet and succulent
strips of flesh
that were cooked
and laid abreast
to impress all these guests,
are just beyond my reach.

Should I rush
to stretch my hands
possibly knocking over
other things that stand
in my way
to the dismay
of the other dinner guests?

Or should I wait until
the feast reaches me,
sit patiently scheming
for what I will do
when the beef stew
is within arm’s length?

Will this allow all those
surrounding me
to get their fair share?
Or are the pickings out there
like the ones in here
hoarded by the pre-blessed
bunch of privileged fools
who include me to,
should I flip the table
and let the scraps
scatter where they maycont.
hoping that wherever they lay
they make someone else’s day
a little brighter
by making their poor stomach less lighter.

Is it magical
my obsession
of imagination?

I dream of dark stones
engraved with green glowing
long lines flowing
showing the ancient texts
of druid spells.

I imagine soft puddles
infused with
more magic
then most could handle
as white fire
flows fiercely
from thin lines
that connect
beneath the wet surface
looking almost like
the neural pathways
of my overactive brain.

Sleeping I dream of
orgiastic fires
that consume
everything in my room
with a lustful passion
whilst passing
my serene sleeping form.

It is preposterous
there is no point to this
trifecta of
waking and sleeping dreams
other than their functioning
of distracting or enlightening me,
bating my better nature
to expand itself
inspiring me to elevate my consciousness
through the explorations
of whatever wonderful what ifs
and never was realities cont.
that come to me.

You could be a great book,
not the scriptures
that you do not read
but listen to too receive
imaginary blessings
Of abstract relief,

but in that time worn skin
under those arched eyebrows
there is a story brewing
written by doing
explored in the living
moment to moment.

The text is irrelevant
cause it will never stay in print
only be impressed
upon the breathes
of the ones you know.

It may
change and fade,
or change and grow.

The truth of flesh,

The warmth of touch,

The smell of sweat,

The sound of wet grass
shuffling beneath
cold wet feet,

The poetry of fun

The prose of those
whom we embrace
and others we fail to face,

The grief of loss,

Tendered to experience
So all can appreciate
the wisdom gained
from your mistakes

You can pass it down
in fragments
in whispers
out order
in facts or partial truths.
Because the best story is
you.

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.

A dark numbness
comes creeping.
It is a deeply draining
Autumnal day.
The black clouds
part and weep
salted tears of red.
The grey stones,
perfectly planted
in awkward rows
mark the resting spots
of the decaying dead.
Each rock reads
thin identities,
shallow impressions
pointing to passing affections,
remembered by no one,
but random passerbys.
The day dries
and the grey, white
clouds die.
Now a bush bleeds
crimson colored leaves.
While other small trees
bereft of leaves
wear red berries.
a brown orange leaf
hangs precariously
from an otherwise
bare branch.

The gravel road
cuts up my skin.
Now my blood is salted
with the tears I held in.
As I walk the road to my end

She was not an angel
but  still she had
the gift of empathy,
with eyes able to see
deep inside
to human suffering
because she knew
that well of sorrows
better than others.
With a siren’s tongue
She could speak wisdom
softening the sharp sorrows
of the strangers that
would come
to her for healing.
She was a gifted healer
though seldom ever able
to ease her own suffering.

He was a slender trickster
with a strange aspect.
Dark shadows danced
deep inside his corneas,
reminiscent
of the old apparitions
that still haunted him.

Neither evil nor good
but misunderstood
the trickster
moved to entice her.
He wooed her with words,
wines, and revelries.
Till she succumbed to
his devilries,
and for a while
they laughed
and smiled,
living a little
happily ever after affair.
Eventually,
darkness ensnared
the light that they shared.
The trickster ran away scared
leaving the enchantress
alone to bare
all the dark shadows.

I tried to approach her,
to break the barrier
she built up in pain
to help the healer
heal again,
but her long
lover affair
with the trickster
left her unwilling
to open herself up,
and now I suffer to
knowing there
is nothing that I can do
to save her from the pain.

I do not know
where the trickster went,
or if he ever returned
when his fear was spent,
but last I saw
of my sweet sister
she was still struggling
to get clear
of the chaos.

Sometimes
at night
I hear her sorrowful songs,
they are beautiful,
but I find tears cloud my eyes
and I cannot listen too long
or I just might
cry until I die.

Stars twinkle in your hazel eyes
As I adore you in this night of loving admiration
Even though you're a galaxy away

She wears the ocean breeze
As it flutters around
Like butterflies and bees
Her hair becomes the air
Waving hello and goodbye
To the hazel foamy brine
A salty time
It is a dream
I dream to be there
Amidst the water
Free to be me
Happy in love

Under the immensity of time’s tidal forces
man’s collective achievements are like
the rotations of one electron in one atom
in one molecule in one cell.

What makes a good soldier
I’ve never been to the battlefield
And if I can I still never will
But I am curious how you define
What honor is

When questioning in the time
Of war is treason
And the battle seasoned
Veterans will blast you in the head

The best qualities I quest for
Will get you shot in the heat of war
And instead of doing what’s right
By being a good human being
You have to degrade yourself
And become a killing machine