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

Does time exist
because of this
gravity we feel
and if our universe
ceases to exist
would it quit
continue, or
stand deathly still?

I got a sick suspicion
sinking and settling in
my stomach like iron *****.

A fear that we have been
walking in a maze of sewers
with tons of manure,
that people won’t bother
trying to be any better because
they have gotten used to
the sick disgusting stuff,
and being corrupt
is just how it will be.

You get to go to sleep at night
Hold your child and kiss your wife
While someone else’s child dies
While someone else’s mother cries
Warm water hot food
The freedom to do what you want to
Without a bomb dropping on you
Well isn’t that so nice

I live in my own fish bowl,
a clear stream
of silver strings
swimming gently
with and against me
as I am moved
in a mad and melancholic melody.

Pressing against the edges of my prison,
I try to see beyond
the light splitting prism
into a new multi-dimensional spectrum.

Opening old books of fiction
as my own teddy bear seams split
letting my mental stuffing slip,
I reach and read each page into
a brand new pre-used
mental picture reality
that moves as rapidly
or as slowly as I desire

I’m too tired to see.
So, I need caffeine
to relieve me,
with windshield wiper
efficiency,
of this mental fog.

I slip the restraints
of fatigue
that are bound to me
so, I can see
how the concrete streets
in this city
strangle mother nature.

Trees are confined
to small yards
and other enclosed spaces.
Till, there are only
small traces
of that sweet elm smell.

All mammals and insects
hide when I inspect
the small amount of foliage
that I am able to find.

The birds that I love
hide themselves away,
ceasing their delightful chirping
when I walk their way.

Even the stars are obscured
by the city’s light pollution
creating the illusion
of an almost blank
blackish blue canvass
that stretches across
the night sky.

But I know the truth.
This city
is only temporary.
It will fall and fade
after we all pass away.

It is a nice lie.
They told to me
how nice guys
can find love
in our society
and they most definitely
don’t finish last.
But patterns repeat,
I recognize the facts.
I have been here before
and felt the fury
of the faulty furnace’s
fiery blast.
There is heartbreak.
There is anger.
There is self-hatred.
There is danger.
Then I begin
to lie to myself again.
I proclaim
that in my pain and rage
I can be a bad boy to.
But he is never
who I ever really wanted to be.
I planted the seeds
and cultivated a being
of generous disposition,
intelligence and compassion.
To bad that it so happens
these are the traits
that girls like
when they are in transition
from the **** poor position
of heartbreak and frustration
then going through you
to get the guy
that they choose
because he is better than you.

My howl is a whimper
Blade winding the windy city
Streets cut corners through daffodil dreams

The wolf becomes the lamb
Kicked and sheared till bleached bones
Break and disappear

Not even leaving a wasteland of corpses
Just a frosty landscape
Painted with black tar
And tread marks

I stumble in the dark
Not dumb
But silent
Observing the night
Not partaking in the rites
Of this redundant life
But the surprises
The high rises
Of new hopes
That the dreams
Born of nightmares
Can birth new rights
Kissing the canvasses
Making sweet love
To  the portrait of light

He was flawed.
Tooth chipped.
Back ends
rotting.
Dark brown
moving in
from the rear
where it was
rotten and thick
then thinning a bit
as that ****
slowly worked its way
stench and all
to the front of
his infected jaw.

No misery no poetry
I got this stupid fear in me
That if we healed our society
There would be nothing
Left to inspire me
All I have is all that pain
And if it left me
Would I ever be able to write again

Nothing that I know
lasts forever.
The roads
grow gray potholes.
The orange bricks
crack with
whatever it is
that ages us.
Someday
these things
will crumble to dust
but not before us,
because we are just
looser forms of
that same dust.

Why should she want a love
That says it owns her
And the only thing that matters
Is losing herself in it
Why can’t she have a love
That grows with her
And in its’ wonder finds herself
Growing to

Are you going?
Where have you been?
Will you be lost forever
my treasured friend?

Some people don’t want to be saved
Don’t choose to be slaves
But somehow manage to remain
Tethered to the tired ways
Of their tyrannical societies

This is not a world for romantics
Cause we love so fast and hard
And break so easily
And with every heart
That gets cracked or damaged
It gets harder and harder
The distances between loves
Gets farther and farther
Until the romantic
Is only a romantic in his dreams
Loving strangers from a distance
Because it is safer to love an ideal
Than it is to love the real thing

I have read a thousand poems,
perfect pastel paintings
of parting affections
or partners reunited.
The ****** being excited.
The mind stimulated.
The soul subjected
to the withdraw symptoms
of a broken-hearted victim
to someone’s cheating whim.

I have seen beauty broken,
flesh cut open,
skin pulled back
like a burlap sack
that holds her heart
a burden of
daring to love
then loving too much.

Identity shredded
by the one who bedded
then left sheets red wetted.

I have read the thin inscriptions
stone written in the arms
of grey angel statues,
and ****** Mary’s sacrifice
how she gave love and life
to be despised
because of what lies
between her thighs.

I have heard the moans
followed by a flood
of suicidal tears.
Each droplet eroding
the confidence
the lover once built.
Till, she wilts.

I have loved
all those broken hearts,
pushed poetry,
past their whispering rain of pain
breaking sorrow’s barrier
to help them clean the stain.

Till, the addiction claims them again
and they fade away
like a snowflake
on the cusp of spring
no longer able to fly or sing
because they melted their wax wings.

My beloveds floats away
on a crimson stream
and I cry in the wake
of losing such beautiful
human beings.

We watched her go to sleep
Sorrow will not keep
Her eyes open anymore
The procession line
Moves in time
Synchronized
To the loss of life
She will not wake again

Blood red petals
Floating in a bowl
Watery
Death
But still oh so beautiful

Why were cops and robbers
Cowboys and Indians
Soldiers and soldiers
Super Heroes and villains
So entertaining
For the remaining
Of our childhood

Sometime before
eight in the morn
the driver takes
his car to pump four
for a pre-work
gas station coffee break
with three cups or more
of caffeine to take
the fog off
of these early morning
day’s lazy haze.
Then the driver
goes on his way
on the highway.

The highway is a field for
the dead or dying to explore
if they want more
than the daily grind
of nine to four.

The rain watered road
makes the truck driver’s
tires spin with
wet smoke and misty ghosts.

Broke black tread
lay scattered on
the highway bed.

When the road splits
to unknown exits
the driver shifts
but does not
change lane.
Instead,
he follows
the predictably
predestined path
rolling on into
a totally expected
death.

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.

I went to the local store
but that’s a lie,
like all the lies before.
I saw her sitting
under soft lamp lights.
That’s another ******* lie.
I loved her deeper
than the ocean tides.
That is such a pathetic lie.
I appreciated her
while she was alive.
Man, I got so many lies.

He told her that
she was the one
but he was lying to
both of them.
Said he’d be there
until the end.
The lies get so deep
you can drown in them.

She said their signs matched
and they were soul mates.
That’s a lie that I really hate.
She shut out other options
better men that she could date.
Humans lie so ******* much.

You know the worst lies
are the ones
we tell ourselves
because we are to scared
to know ourselves.

Sometimes I build a nest
of nice lies
and sit in the bird ****
getting ready to die.

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.

I measure my life
in the richness of my experiences
not the artificial yard stick of economic success.

So many rules and I broke them all
Like never let them touch me
Never let them in
Never let them in again
A rule I broke over and over

They are
petty parents
parroting
previous
patterns
of poor
behavior.

I was good before I met you
I’ll be the same when you leave
But in-between you and me
Right now I want to be great

No truth was ever known
And meaning was made by man
Measured us by the seasons
While it bled us all of reason

We faltered as we fell
Stumbled upon ourselves

But maybe if you’re reading this
Whatever madness made us sick
Whatever mental plague
Like greed, fear, or hate
That created this impoverished mental state
Has fallen, letting our angelic nature rise

Maybe we are better
Perhaps we are worse
Only you who read this now
Truly know if we beat this human curse

A *******
with alcohol
did not turn
out so well.
He shoved her down
then dragged her up
as he yelled.

He hurt her hands
with his
hateful rage
squeezing
just to see
the pain
on her face.

Screaming,
“you’ll
notice this
now
you fat
******* cow.”

Her skin
swelled
like a
red balloon.
as she spoke
about
that raging buffoon.

Shadows circling
each bag under her eyes,
she cried
surprised
at the violence.

Then in a contortionist’s
sick fashion,
I watched her
twist herself
up in knots of
confusion
and weird love,
as she tried to
justify
our own abuse.

Will you feel me
and my lyrical poetry,
soft syllables
that speak easy
as the greasy
politicians fleece me?

Will you flee
to feel free
before you ever listen
to what I am giving?
Like all other
disappointing people
will you disappear
before you hear?

Cause I brought
my heart here.
It beats clearly,
thuds obsessively
begging people
to love me
because I am
so **** lonely.

My desire is more than
the mere lust of touch,
more than the yearning
for ***.

It is the need to connect
and be heard
by the one I prefer
who desires the same
passions from me.

It is the truth that breaks a poets heart. To know such violence lies in the eyes of the so called protector. Everyday I find myself more heartbroken even though I see the violence coming. Cause for every stride we made for justice their is another ******* hiding behind authority trying to take it away.

At night with the camouflage exhaustion
The white light burns red signs to blur
Indistinct edges dance out of focus
The quiet stillness is painfully disturbing
Thinking and waiting for the hurting
Of 35 years to punch me in my mind
Still I find this cold midnight isolation preferable
Night roads circle to the edge of nowhere
Memories drive me more than fear
I echo past sentiments, darkness seeds
The night sky with infinite with tangles
Yet conceals the true depth of nature
My hand aches with so many scribbled truths
And my mind stumbles to further such a reckless
Train of thought so I stopped for now just now

Singing birds sit
on thin tree limbs
that fracture the heavens
while a white streak
seeks to sheath
itself in the
turquoise sky.

In love I long to find
our veins are intertwined.
Till her blood becomes mine
and every heart attack
is lessened by the fact
that we share
two hearts.

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.

He knows her naught
So love at first sight
Is only an illusion
Superficial observations
Assumptions of her nature
And if he confesses
Eternal love based upon
Initial observations
Than he is either a liar
Or the most dreadful sort of
Romantic fool

I did not
go quietly
into the
dark night,

but willfully
astonishing
all who ever
looked inside.

Bigger and better
built within,
well intentioned
and well written,

I moved among
you,
talked
and learned from you,
begged and pleaded
for more decency.

So, when time
finally came for me
I did not go quietly.
I went lonely.

I got the runner’s disease,
always on the move
with time chasing me.
Hourglass is running down.
The sand is almost depleted.
You will see me surfing
through the cosmos
in the stories
you are reading,
see my flesh receding
see old lines repeating
as I lose my mind;
But I am always moving forward,
always stepping ahead
the only time I’ll stop
is when I am dead.

I am being silly
flexing
while wearing
a black coat
but under these
long black sleeves
I got arms
like young
Hercules

Whether I am weary
or not
I wrap myself up
in the cold
winter cloth
to shiver
and shake
this dust of snow off.

I go to work out,
then go to work,
whether I am wide awake
or barely alert,

But, my once feather light feet
now are like lead weights
that burden me,

Caffeine doesn’t seem
to be working,
even in excessive
doses,

My left eye closes
sealed shut
with sleep dust,
so I pull it up
and out
like a little scab,
thank goodness
it doesn’t bleed
like that.

Even though
I try to trick
my tired mind,
I know
that I am slow
because
I don’t even want to
finish this…….

My blood is ink.
At least I think.
The last time I saw it
was when I tried
to cut myself and die,
but ended up
only staining the kitchen sink
with bits of runny poetry.

This is how the spoon stirs,
how the soup swirls
in several spinning
concentric circles.

This is the plump
juicy red tomato body
struggling against
the gravity
of this liquid reality,

plopping when it drops
jalapeno sauce
dripping little hots spots.

This is one spicy dinner.

Her breaths are
the flames of
Anubis.

Her lips are
the cold fury
that becomes
the dread
of the undead
in Hade’s domain.

Her presence
proceeding
certain needing
to collapse
makes her
such a sick supplicant
suicidal somnolent
under the inevitable
onslaught
of each empty
underworld.

I write a red heart of love. Feel glass viens shattering. Then take those blood shards and give them to the world.

It is a grassy green wasteland
that rises from the highway
at a strange angle.
The verdant plains rush away
in a darker shaded wave,
that used to be a sea of dry brown
but now it flushed full of life.