No one will give you
the love you crave.
They will not swoop in
with a red cape flapping
to prove love equals fate
No superman or wonder woman
is coming to save the day.

Maybe angels get to fly.
Maybe Greek gods
never die,
and heroes
always win
in the end,
but those are only
lies we keep telling
cause the world
keeps on failing
and we all come
crashing down
in the end.
Maybe I am Icarus.
Maybe my wings
were made to melt
but if I am falling
you can’t catch me
until you catch yourself.

You can’t save me
you can barely
stand up
for yourself.
You have no parachute
and the plane is
already too high up.

You touch heaven
then hit the ground,
crush your spine,
make terrible sounds
as your body
folds in on itself
like a black hole
in the center of our
universe.
You take all the light you see
and never let any out for me.

You can’t save me
you can barely
stand up
for yourself.
You have no parachute
and the plane is
already too high up.

Quick sand
is your favorite playground.
Silence is your favorite soundtrack.
With a face swollen full
of all the **** you used to pull
and the scars that dance across your skin,
you pull your hair back in a bun
while you take this track, and run.
Till, the starter pistol
becomes your favorite gun.
So, before we are all our done
tell the truth.
You can’t help me
because you can’t help you.

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

Wars raging everywhere I look
Politician and corporate crooks
Feeding money and bodies
Into the industrial war complex
To serve the will of the world banks

How fitting, that I own alone.
Worked and saved for it.
Bought and paid for it.
Became a slave to it.
Lived it graciously
Even when I hated it.
Dreamed about cheating on it
With some true love
But my truths weren’t
True enough to break its orbit,
Now, I am so close to mastering it.
The final stage will be
To see me
Die alone

The flowers blossom
In fleeting spring
Succeeding in
Seeding friends
With beauty’s
Loving imprint

Though I try not to be,
I am an arrogant ***.
It is a superior mind
that resides inside
the skull behind
my hazel eyes
camouflaged by
my mediocre life.

I subscribe to simplicity
for the sake if my sanity.
I project my intellect
for the sake of my vanity;
Invisible observer,
unloved lover
watching the world
under the cover of obscurity.

But the purity of my purpose
Is a self-serving illusion,
and though I am
extremely intelligent
I know that the belief
in my supposed superiority
is a self-insulating delusion.

I’ve been looking for years
searching the streets
seeing the strangers
that I meet
keep being incomplete
while I am trying to
find the piece
that puts us all back together
how we never ever were;

Still striving to be better
not to be bitter but more clever
then ever,
I became the watchful walker,
the people stalker,
observing all in silence
absorbing all the
horror and violence
just for a chance
that I might find this
fantastic formula.

Many times I have come close,
seen the kindness that I know
starting to expand,
but something stops its growth.

Till, I realized
this quest was lie
I told myself.
The thing I was looking for
the dreams I longed to know
were only there
in the hopeful words
of my fellow poets.

I spent all my life looking.
Until I stopped,
cupped my chest,
felt my heart,
and realized
to my surprise
that humanity
was in my mind.

Give me the profound
Not the dulled down
The sensual
Not the theological
The scientific
Not the spiritual
The real
Not the mythological

I do not know
If I have ever loved
So carefully
Holding tightly
To those
Whom Hundreds of miles separate
While pushing those closest
As far away
As I can

Today I do not play the game of hope
Heart torn out
The desert sands have burnt my hand
I know this is just one more transition
But from my dark position
It feels as if this grief
Will never pass
That only sorrow lasts
And all I ask
Is for a warm blanket
And time to sleep myself
Straight into oblivion

Purple pleasures
poisonous pain,
nature’s perfect
colored flowers
hover
near our hearts.

A flurry of fuzzy
flowers float in
a hot summer winds.

I like loving beauty from a distance
A soft spot
Not lust
But adoration
Lesbians
And
Straight girls
When I was younger
The hunger for love and ***
Drove me
But now
I am a vessel for appreciation

No lie can live forever
Cause liars always die
Leaving the next generation
To waddle slowly to the truth
Letting honest heart free to fly high

What demons
darken
her deep
brown eyes,
hastening the violence
that seeks to rise?
Are they truths
that hurt her
or lies
that move
to mollify
any turbulence
in her life
so that
any gifts
she harbors
inside
cannot thrive?
Is it conflict
she needs
to seed these
plentiful rows
of dazzling roses
with extraordinary
beauty,
or is it
tranquility?

She is a journey
To a place I have never been.
Soft wind mixing with fogs.
Thin trees with few leaves
Stationary but still moving more than me.
Small streams that carry sedimentary history
Sweep me away as well.
A magical marshland
Wearing dull autumn colors
On the verge of exploding
With springtime hues.
A place I will only know
In photographs and romantic fantasies.
To say that is fine by me
Would be a lie
But I accept that the best
The world has to offer
Will always fly by
That is my set of
Strange romantic lies.

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.

The City is a strange circuit board
Powered by electrical madness
Populated by disconnected people
Who are propelled into a feeding frenzy
Of shopping for hollow goods

At first it was intriguing
a diversity of deranged
and severely distorted experiences
to write about in my poetry.

But after a while it got to me.
There was nothing gratifying
or even entertaining.
The lying and scheming
was straining.
The days of distrust
were spent hoping
that he would get busted
or just get busted up
and never come back.

An argument,
then weeks were spent
in cool calmness.

But he would always
come back again
act like he was a friend
use my water and electricity,
eat my food,
ask to borrow money from me
and when I insist,
refuse to leave.

Once I had a curiosity,
then I had compassion,
but all that is drained from me.
Now, all I see is me tense and angry.

I want that ******* ******
to stay the hell away from me
but my roommate
keeps letting him back in
cause he is family

I wish I could see tomorrow
Clear the tears of fear
That spawn a darker dawn
The clouded vision
The lack of mission
The people I am missing
Because they only come back
When I remember the past
They only last
As long as I endure
So I wish I could see tomorrow
But I am borrowing tomorrow’s promises
To revisit yesterday’s loves

What fools these lovers be
That rush so rashly
Foaming forth
Like the oceans edges
Standing just upon the precipice
Of life and passions fury
With one misstep
Find themselves
Dashed to pieces
And still the thrill
Would be enough for me
To risk said suffering
For just a chance to feel that alive

What is one act of kindness
against a lifetime of darkness?
One kind word, one handshake,
one smile, one dollar,
one ear, one meal, one ride
against a bad year
or a bad life.
Sometimes it is the difference
between a good day
or a bad one.
Other times it only equals
one moment against
an army of shadows.
Sometimes it means the world
other times it is lost
in a sea of sour expressions.
Sometimes it is the difference
between life and death.

Rush rush till the last blush
Of life dissipates
When stress no longer waits
When time abates
And you cannot delay any longer
Cause death is all that awaits

Two trees shadows duel
crossing dark blades
on the stone and brick courthouse
each demanding dominance
not knowing their shadow's growing
shows two becoming one
spirits made to become
soulmates under the sun.

I come to my perspective
from a position
of privilege
with more power to express
points of view
that are oppressed
or ignored.

Et Tu
Brutae,
its two
I say
as you jab
and stab
my flesh
and blood away

Time does not care for you or me.
Even years after the trees
sway with the breezes
that once carried our laughter,
time will not remember us
not care or want from us
a single second more
then what we got before.
It is neither fair nor unfair,
simply part of the air out there.
Like the currents that carry
our boats from one shore
to the next sandy beach
it will not be worse for our loss
or much better off.
It will merely be
continuing sans human being.

Empathy is What makes us an amazing species. It is how close we can actually come to understanding another's pain. It is a spark that lights the flame of compassion. As artists we engage that emotion in other's hope to utilize to our own ends.

       My greatest ambition has always been to write that which inspires love and compassion. To create some thing that clears the distance between you and me, and makes this a world of us.

      I have failed but continue to try.

I carry a little notepad with me
to jot down my deepest thoughts
or take note of what I see.

There are reservoirs of grief
So deep
That they threaten to drown me
Wells that cut through the core
To the other side
Burnt
Lava pain
That erupts
Cools
And leaves a permanent crust

I revisit them in silence

They are as natural
As the geysers
That spit steaming hot water

They are the bedrock
Of my earthly identity

They are my history
Left in the sediment

They cause me to pause
In pain
To wake in tears

Yet I hide the years
Of sorrow so well

But the hidden truth remains
It is in my name
A line of loss
The terrible cost
Of living is losing

And all that is birthed from the earth
Will be taken by the earth
Even my pain will go that way

Well we sit until it stops
Can’t hear the ticking of the clocks
The clicking of the locks
As we lose all notions of control
Time sweeps us up
Space beats us up
Fill it up with stuff
But the stuff is not enough
Man this life can be rough

The strange old house
with gray crumbling
tiles that were
exchanged for
off yellow siding

A place where
I spent so many years
laughing and playing,
personal history making

A place where
the stone sidewalk
was placed unevenly
from the screen door
and the gravel street

A place where
we buried
a lot of pets

A placed where family
would come to meet,
and speak
of important things,
where we would convene
for delicious meals

A happy place
that I sorely miss
as I write this
to sadly state
I no longer
go back to
that special place

How cliché my love of clouds is,
but I have been enjoying this
cloud watching pastime
since before I was nine.

Today Athena’s hair is
long and bluish grey
losing fluffy bits
as they fly away
as the day gains
more morning shades.

Behind a brick building
proceeding the rising sun
receding colors of night
become a pink and orange phoenix
fighting a dragon with a pink and purple underbelly.

Just so we are all clear. We all have a vested interest in equality and fairness. What harms a strangers can and is harmful to us. Our social interest are intertwined. So I would advise us all to engage in acts of kindness on a daily basis.

We wear our weariness on the sleeves of our souls. Even now I to miss the younger me, wondering is he a shadow of what I will be or am I a shadow of what he was.

In my sleep they murdered me
Burning flags of liberty
Flaming crosses
Soil destroyed
No testaments left
That is how
The truth is avoided
That is how
Reason is voided

What a weird wonderland
as Alice comes so close to see
the strange curiosity that is me,
an inverted reflection,
while I see negative space
filled by her body, face,
and the thoughts she traces
out for me.

Once proud this waterless rock
Now sings with all her being
Humming winds
Swirling in space
Touching the face
Of eternity
While lusting after infinity

Split infatuations
Sick with desire
She spews fire-like mud
Splitting herself
In anticipation

Her core churns
Her soul burns
Coldness creeps
Into corners where
Her strange affliction
Bares itself.

In love she is cracked
Shaking off the last bits of history
Till space and time
Consume what is left to find
And only radiated crumbs remain behind

I got the worst human deformity, a kind heart and extremely sharp mind.

I hope when the stage lights soften
And my body chills
As the energy eases out
Of my old man frame
That I am with the people I love
Joking, and smiling
Till I am unable to do anything
At all

The window wears
My ghostly reflection
Transparent eyes
More meaningful
Than mine
Brown hair becomes
Black as the night
Age lines
Make strange shadows
A face I hate
But the glass window
Is still better than
That twisted bathroom mirror

Why do you hate nihilist? Do they impose those fancy lack of beliefs upon you? Are you afraid to let go of the meaning many cling so dangerously to. Must you have a certain order in order to sustain your own existence?

We are displaced
by pain’s past,
a place where
black roses bloomed.

Where sorrow was groomed,
but between
the waxing moons
there were small smiles,
light laughter
hugs, love, and
stories.

Though shadows came
soft kindnesses
kept madness at bay
with bright interludes
breaking through
shaking the core of who
we thought we were
and who we want to be.

Presently, I visit shade
to see the sun above the leaves,
to see the light shimmering
in small rain puddles that pool
in the streets by my old school
in the cool springtime afternoons.

The pain is a permanent companion
but through those tinted mirrors
of bruises and verbal assaults,
I see a sunny side of sanity
the goodness inside of me,

and in time
even the shadows become a pleasant
memory.

I will never be wealthy
but I can help you see
clearly to our shared humanity
in print and polished prose
that represent those
who are not close to me
but in poverty are me,
a part of this universal family.

I found a journal from a homeless man
and his words worked within
my previous position,
words with the same pain
I was once burdened with
when I was homeless.
I had a journal to
though this one
is a little different.

I came at a different angle
but this person is not a stranger
this is just one aspect
of our singular story
that should unite us in our humanity.

Sometimes it is not racist
It is merely a miscommunication

Two boats passing
Never merging
Never understanding each other

Just standing on guard
Waiting for hate to make
Someone fall hard

But wait
You just skipped a page
Stripped the skin and did not take a look within
Did not see or bother to read the poetry of their soul

So strangers yell at each other
Sling hell at one another
Do not hug or heal their brothers
Just perpetuate the same mistakes

As one man walks away angry at the injustice
Another man slumps his shoulder in confusion

As one man is plagued and played by the illusion
That we are separate races in combat
The curious remains unheard
Becomes disturbed

Because he loves everybody
But he was already declared
An enemy of the state
In this struggle to erase hate

The coat is coal black and twice as heavy
compressing me
but I will not turn into a diamond.
The early winters white waves of crystalline water
are like deserts sands,
A barren wasteland,
leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Give me one more word
just a little more time
to wrap you in my arms
in a hug so tight.

Give me one day
from sun up
to sun down
one more conversation
before we lay you
in the ground.