Before the internet
I looked for women,
images I could hold
on to like
a lacy trace
of **** fabric
that rides up and down
the sweet side
of her soft thighs.
The curling black
consuming skin,
but there were spots
where *******
bulged and
bloomed again.
I looked on
in loving lust.
Desire stirred
and I moved as I must
*******
to the devastating
illusion of
secret catalog queens.

The universe may be
infinite as the
collective mind
of humanity,
but my current portion
of understanding
is barely measurable.
My place in space and time
makes me the opposite
of valuable or special.

Oh, humanity
can we strive
to live a life
of compassion?

If we hear
the elderly
crying and lonely
can we spare
a moment,
can we care
enough to listen?

If we see a stranger
standing on a corner
with a lifetime
of white hair
and pain to share
even though
he may be scamming
can we still care
enough to spare
some food at least?

If we stand shoulder to shoulder
with the disenfranchised,
the disrespected
and the disappointed people
who have been
discriminated against
can we look them in the eyes
with love and respect
and not add to the grief
that they always seem to get?

If we get the chance
can we be better
then the others
who came before?
Can we do just a little more
and be decent for a change?

The devil revels
in his wicked rebels,
those bouncing beats
and hyper treble,
blasting bass sounds
and destructive percussion.

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.

What a monster you make of me
All teeth and claws
No heart to speak of
No love to dream of
No hope for a better world
And the beast emerges
The darkness consumes us
But it will only take one of us

He's a brawny brat
whose got bratwurst
for brains.
He talks ****
and complains
about less then
minor pains
while the whole
world is
going up in flames.

It is a spectacular explosion
Of strange puffy whiteness
Daring to duel against
Huge light grey blue hued
Storm clouds
Descending into night time
Star strewn colors
Till the cool cumulous disappear
And the evening rain falls here

He hasn’t got a shot
On this brown town block
Except the one shot
By the stopped cop
Who pulled up hot
Cause the little brown boy
Was playing cops
On this cold stone block

Night after night
laughter just feels right,
cuz it brings with it the light,
that relief of delight.

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

It’s always the way
my beloveds seem to stray.
I am here today
and they are gone away tomorrow.

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 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.

Terror and inhumanity
have become
a tepid brew
that is stewed
in blood
and drank daily,
so said poison
no longer has any
effect on me.

Why do we allow
these shallow
stubborn *******
to acquire annual annuities
on slick sick
investments;

Like oil refinement
or weapons,
such detriments
to our social health
and our environment.

Will we be able
to restrain
this barbaric disposition
that manufactures
guns and
environmental disasters
with our false bravado?

It is the melancholy
of stares lost in thought
of empty chairs
that we forgot
to dust off.

It is the place
where we become
strangers from
the homes we
come from

where shadows flicker
quicker then the stiffer
bodies that fall

and we mourn them all
each with their own degree
of wet or silent grief.

It is silence
all pale pallor and deathly
waiting patiently
to take you and me

while our loved ones
are finally left
to feel the grief
that we now
feel for thee

The heart burns
Acidic fluctuations
Desire’s frustration

How can it be so hard
To find someone
To love and be loved by

To slide my hand
Down the curves
Of her jaw
To pull her close
To kiss softy
And hardly
In tandem
To speak deep
To think well
And compliment
Gaps in understanding

I see the world become
A cycle of love
And loves lost
Deaths and rebirths
Even drug dealers and murderers
Find the full passion of love
In love struggling to find their place
Together

I am a shade
Walking just outside
Of loves touch
It is my own fault
I laid the bricks
Of my own isolation
And instead of cracking
Their sad foundation
I perpetuate such frustrations
Alone
To smart for my own
good

All that he wants is a sign,
saying that he’s headed
in the right direction.

Instead, what he finds
is a cold ghost town
waiting for his inspection.

He is in a hurry
with no clue why
rolling heavy footed
down a highway
fifty-five.

All he really
wants to know
is that there is
something perfect
past his bookish
existence.

Hand in a holey pocket
searching for a broken locket
knowing that he lost it
and there is no way to be
forgiven for this stupidity.

Other people may learn
but he is driven to
run too many risks.

Till, the car twists
tumbles, hits solid bricks,
and he never wakes up,
cause he missed
the caution signs
saying slow down.
at wintertime.

He excelled, but at each level he struggled
trying to elevate himself to new heights.
That ambition burned him,
even when it earned him
what he thought he was due
higher wages, better benefits, and more things
so, every day he stayed
at a job, he truly hated.
Every heartbeat aggravated
by wanting more and more
until he collapsed on his office floor
barely even mourned.

I worked but seldom succeeded
making enough to get what I needed
and enjoying what I had.
Though his stone was big
I left an almost omnipresence of positivity
with every stranger who met me,
so I die contently.

Through time and space there are a million minds that mirror my own. We share idea, though somewhat distorted between us and many times we have never met or heard the original idea. There is something in the convergence of our existence that causes great ideas to develope sperately but similiarly. This is to be expected we live on the same planet, share similiar forms, feel similiar emotions and have acces to similiar information and technology.

The struggle burns,
scorching scars
straight down
to my bones,
cause I know
I struggle alone.

You were the chaos
of swift currents
sending me under
in a ridiculous
blunder
as I was consumed
by my desire for you.

Angry, jealousy,
all things I thought
I had discarded,

but the brick wall
that was ****** red
which I built up
to protect myself
crumbled
in your clumsy presence
as you intruded
in the life
I had carefully constructed.

Sleep deprived,
driven by emotions
which I knew
clouded my rational mind,
I still longed for you;

And the thought
of the loss
of something
that never was
caused
black waves
of anxiety.

Until, today
when I found me.
I am not hurting
or heartbroken,
but working
on knowing
that some attachments
are better than others.

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

With the flick of my nose
I lost the soft scent of a rose.
Now I know no rose will ever grow
and I weep to myself,
“Why am all alone?”

Then they plucked out my eyes
so now I can’t cry.
My soul is so parched
that even my heart is dry.
Thus, dryly I sigh,
“Why am I alone?”

There were sounds that made me smile
but the loudness of this life
caused my eardrums to burst.
Now I sit in a state of silence
left with only fingers to touch air
and feel the vibrations I can’t hear.
It’s like a Greek tragedy
with bits of irony I will never see.
So I think in my head
that I might as well be dead
because now I am truly alone.

It is a wonderland
of wondering eyes.
Strange people
walk on the red tile floor
to explore
the doors
to artists’ perceptions
and projected expressions.

White furry feet,
following first
my eyes find falling fury
like a solar explosion
of violent ginger on yellow orange.

Then slightly concealed
I see a surreal reflection of religious will,
as a beautiful female body
lay limp, ready to be baptized
by the appropriated
white guy version of Jesus.

My favorite thus far
is green vertigo
a swirling portal of
multi-colored abstraction
guarded by ruby tinted sentinels
on either side.

Further down the rabbit hole
me and Alice go
to white rabbit dress
by Felicia Olin.

Till, ticking clocks
cannot delay
and I must redraft
this poem about
the art on display,
and save the rest
for another day.

It’s the age of digital wonders.
The world cast before our feet
to be reeled in and gutted,
plunging further down the hole
Of personally preferred biases.
All the information ready to be devoured.
Generations scouring the abstract
for solid connections
but the ones and zeroes
cannot touch a stranger.
The distances conquered
cannot yield flesh upon flesh communication.
There is no oxytocin connection.
Instead, all the files of pain
are relegated to the spam box.
Humanity is filtered in favor of
cheap proclamations of internet love
and the once wondrous round world
becomes flat again.
The sun revolves around the earth.
Four fingers forget opposable thumbs
and we never evolve to be better
than we are.

We do not let go
so, their grip
remains,
but slowly the vice
untightens
and their lives
are untethered.
We come in together
but leave each other.
Till, the memories
lose their distinctness
and bit by bit.
We blink and miss
each experience
that softens and dissipates.
Until, we withering flowers
fall the same way.

You break me beautifully
split the fabricated flesh
that once felt like silk
under your soft fingers.

When the flashes few
fell on the fellows
who knew
how to seek
and perceive
the state of higher things
beyond most human beings.
Somewhere
between
the air
we share
and the things
that make us scared
there is
just a glinting hint
of deeper truths.

I do not enjoy the
busy highway.
So, I take a slow ride
on the frontage road
on my way to work
tonight.

Thin wisps of
dark blue clouds
curve over
a turquoise sky.
Then the day fades
and nightshades
are interrupted
by lightning
off to the left.

Past the gas station,
where buildings become
fewer and farther between,
glow worms work
the fields of grass
blinking like
stars on earth.

Tears work
there way
past my solitary guard
as I recall
an old yard
of childhood games
and familiar family faces.
Too many of those faces
are now specters
planted in a deadman’s field.

No time for nostalgia,
no signs of weakness,
I beat this melancholia
with exercise
and caffeine
before my coworkers
can ever see me.

She's a protester
not a warrior
but something
so much better,
a singer song writer
a warm and brighter
lamp that keeps us
from succumbing
to the mind numbing
dullness with which
greedy men try to use
to **** our muse,
and give us the blues.

It’s a sad song
When the soldiers come
With their loaded guns
And finger held firmly
on the trigger

The tears won’t stop running
For the victims that keep falling
On the battle ground

And the enemy
Well they are just siblings
From another father and mother

It beats louder than I can stand.
Like a tale tell heart
I hear it going
knowing that the immensity
of what I hold inside of me
will either **** or free me.

I hear the sound of thumping.
A foggy night finds me bumping,
as I keep running from the stunning
sound inside.

Now it is deafening,
but no one else can hear it.
I rupture in side spewing lines
but no one else will feel them;

The poetry of love
thud thud thud,

The poetry of peace
Thud thud thud,

The poetry of compassion
Thud thud thud,

It is all the poetry of me
painted in red ink
working its way
in the form of a heartbeat
turning me inside out.

No fault of her own
This heart that is known
Gives praise to her lips
Indulging the razor tipped
Poisonous barbed edges
Asking for more patience
And getting nothing for my troubles

Lonely we imagine
that love is an
elusive dragon
dragging us
from the corners of
shaded chambers.
Eyes flashing danger,
as breaths of ember
threaten to render
our tender flesh
to cinders.

I am dangerous,
old and cantankerous,
standing up and acting
outrageous.

Amongst an infinitude
of corrupted dudes,
I am the brightest loser
In a constellation of fool.

I am flesh and blood,
kin to the sins you refuse
as you waste your life
allowing yourself
to be misused.

A thousand pleasures
delayed or denied
by crooks who
have lied and pried
where they have
no right to.

They spite and smite you.
As you go through
early embalmment,
because you spent
your whole life
decaying prematurely,

That’s why
when you see me
I am still smiling,
laughing, and enjoying
all those forbidden fruits
you call sin.

She sleeps now
With her wilted roses
And crooked
Cracked sidewalk
Such a broken walkway
Gentle gardener hands
And piano fingers
Plant and play no more

The point break
Pencil tip
Ill-equipped
To handle
Such creative rage
Pushed into
The blank page
Till white bleeds
Graphite
Till night seeds
The deepest poetry
And I find me
The broken pencil
In two parts
Taped together
Still writing

Stone statue
A monument
To a man who never was
Perfect pose
Perfecting an idea
Of a beautiful patriotic dream

I'm starting to think that in a world were people can be convinced to do things that are not in their interest the guy trying to look out for them is going to suffer more then they are.

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.

The stars are twinkling guitars
Sending out radical vibrations
Signals to our expanding nations
They are Vikings burning in space
And dying a billion years later

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.

Some say be patients
it takes time to measure
and debate this
racist institution
while your religious
delusions
put you right back
to the place you
started from.

Palestinian
children
and women
attempt to
protest apartheid,
fighting against
those borders and walls,
walking towards boundaries
where snipers sit
settled in
to shoot the innocent,
and continue
freedom's infringement.

Soldiers fire to take
the lives of those
they dehumanize.
Two thousand
are wounded
and fifty plus
dead.

My government is complicit
in these illicit
acts of violence.
We support and supply
the horrible ordinance
used to brutalize
and end those unfortunate lives.
Our politicians
spin blood red threads
into golden ***** lies
and celebrate the bad guys
who have no intention
of compromising,
the ones who
go on occupying
and terrorizing the Palestinian people.

Meanwhile,
state supported
media guys,
are televised
to tell us lies,
go on air
to share a side
that shames
and blames
the victims of
new atrocities,
by their favorite
allies,
repeating
reports of agitation
incited by
Hamas,
but no one on
the Israeli side
was wounded
or died.

From the mainframe
That brought you war games
Head-shots for **** points
Team death match battles
Close to realistic war scenes
On your plasma tv screen
Here your enemies scream
As their heads explode
See your IQ drop
While dexterity improves
As your gaming console
Get used to control
A digital killing machine
Pumped up world war dreams
Cause death is a game
And killing is great
And now our children are well trained
To fly our missile and machine gun
Loaded drones
and shoot down the enemies
Of our sick bloated
Corporate corrupted
Fake free state

I got no swag,
just a split spine
that sits in a bag,
that I drag
everywhere
I go.

My *** is a phantom limb,
of long ignored desires
that stir within,

Imaginary women,
****** fairytales
of strange scenarios,
silicone sexiness,
constantly urging
cupping and grabbing
licking and *******
my long meat stick.

I am unable discern
the reality of it
because it has been
over two years for me.

So, I give up
looking for love
and get down
to the ***** business
of amputating my desire
with *******.

Internet ****
plus hand equals
tension relief
and my ability to focus
increases.