You are soft sprinkles
of rain dropping on
my hot tin skin,
that sweet drumming
as I long to let
you fall in,
not minding one bit
if in loving you
I am giving up
all that I ever
hoped I be.

You are the instrumental
that I never heard,
that brings with it
my own unspoken words,
tiny syllables and brand new
ideas I long to share with
all who wouldn’t mind
hearing it,

as I go to sleep
letting go of reality
you are the verse of poetry
whispered in dreams
and sought in waking,
even though I know
it brings with it
a certain aching.
I have forgotten it
but still long to recall
the whole poem,
heartbreak and all.

I got waves of rage,
that burn the day
brighter than
an atomic ray.

When I see the face
of the human race
ran through the mud
in the name of
god and greed.

When they plant the seed
of corporate deceit,
getting folks on the street
when they should be
self-quarantined.

When made up
tv doctors say
that’s it okay
to risk the lives
of your children
and wives.

When you need help
but they bailout themselves
and the rest of the
behind the curtain
rich folks who ain’t hurting.

When I choke and spit
in spasmatic fits
because I can’t believe
that this ****
is happening.

This tapestry that we weave,
has slowly started unraveling,
as have these mind made for
socializing and traveling.

We did not evolve to be
such distinct and separate entities,
but we are suddenly diverging,
slowly growing into roses who
were made to wither in a shadow’s glow
and fall into the spiraling slideshow,

becoming miming monkeys
or daylight dream seekers
who long to be truth speakers.

Some wake in tears like me,
others wake in maddening states
of mass shared stained-glass delusions
thinking their stinking leader is great.

While I am longing for love,
they are stewing on rotting plates of hate.

While I am swimming in stars
walking and twirling on space rays,
running the wide night lighted waterways
with my wonky weird word play,

they our devouring tomorrow
by destroying today
with their black hole mouths.

Dream is
the loveliness
of deep thoughts
I know naught
freeing themselves
from my unconsciousness,

lips unsealing,
the cool blue
feeling of healing
affections,

nightmare forms
stretched and
elongated
feared and hated
at the same time
I know they came from
my sick mind.

Dull to exciting,
inviting strange lighting
to illuminate
that which will not wait
in the dusty cupboard
of my old mother Hubbard
soon to be empty
closets,

the closest thing
to revelations
that I have ever seen,
sadly
I am frequently forgetting,
even though I know
sometimes that is a blessing.

She is a lost wisp of a lover’s wish,
a forgotten whisper that lingers on
his cracked dry lips
in the desert heated hazy distance,
that one foolish man dreams of.

A serene scene set in-between
fantastic fantasies of cosmic entities
and domestic tranquility.

A tranquil bay reflecting white light rays
while one heart falters, falling before
he could help the whole human race.

As her echo dies in space
the rest of this human mess
is left to witness
his heartbreaking losses
as hope departs
his beautiful heart
and he is struck dumb
succumbing to
the numbing view
of a flowerless reality.

It’s a brand-new day,
for foolish people
to sit proud and pray
for change.

They say
wait and talk to god
until he does
something to help
those we love.

But my friend
in the end
it would be
a million
times more
efficient
if you forgo
praying for favors,
stop waiting
till later,
and do it yourself.

This is a business
not a country,
a place for profits
not humanity.

A place where
they won’t bother
to save your starving
baby brother.

A place where
the politicians
don’t care
if your grandma gets ill
and dies
as long as they
are able to save
the stock market.

A place where
the right to life
is how the right fights
against woman’s right
to choose,

A place where
they may give you
a penny or two
to get through
a pandemic,
but they have
unlimited funds
for the fathers,
daughters, and sons
of the corporations
that run America.

Grief is an old country song,
sorrow spoken in simple broken
verses accompanied by
the tears of hillbillies
and their family as they cry.

It is reaching for forgotten values,
beseeching preachers for what
tired seekers cease to believe
because innocence has been
abused and deceived.

It is hard work paid against
the balance that will never
ever break even again.

Calloused hands and hearts
muddy boots and ***** pants,
from reaping what we plant,
while others are sowing
the hate that they are growing.

Hymnals become pleasant memories
of a place that no longer holds
much power over me.
Nostalgia makes me smile
uneasily as I rise to see
the past played out
then fading from me.

Grief is knowing that
I cannot make my way back
or revisit the people
who are currently missing
from life’s short stay,
in this world’s late stage
spinning plate play.

I need
my vitamin
b-12
musician
nutrition
to energize me
while I sit and listen.

Art is as essential,
as amminos
for growing
musical
muscles.

I need
my poetry
energy,
to keep moving
and informing
every forming
bit of my being.

If I hope to succeed
in whatever I endeavor
I pursue,
other people’s artistry
is the nourishment,
I need to do
what I want to do.

I seek starlight from burnt out hearts,
where gaseous clouds swirl about
sparkling with the glittering infinity,
living far above and away from me;

Like minded fantasies of spiraling galaxies
swelling with stellar hope
till I succumb
to the collapsed sun
of humanity's
black hole.

I used to think
that I was the one
who was being wronged,
that despite how I longed
to stay
the people I loved
kept pushing me away
or gunning their engines
till all that was left
was the cloud dust
that I was seeing.

I was the big brother
that he needed
but because of
the pain I was feeling,
I left that little kid
to make it on his own
in a horrible home,
and I stayed gone
even after our grandpa
had passed on.

The rivers are crossed
and ready to overflow
so, I cross myself,
wash my hands,
and try to
let all of my
**** dirt go.

There were
two friends
close as family to me,
but things got complicated,
one love inflamed
one week spent
in lust and passion.
Then I was left in pain.
So, I took off again,
hating some immature heart
that wasn’t even ready to commit:
Seeing her later
caused all delusions to pass
when I asked
about all that was wrong
and she cried back,
“you’d know
if you ever came around.”

So, I breath in
the smoke of
someone leaving
and keep seeing
my loved ones grieving
in my wake.

I promised I would be there
swore that I cared
and all that I wanted was
to stick around for
the one I loved,
but when she chose
someone else to be with
I couldn’t be more of a ghost.
Every once and while
she sends me a message
trying to update me
and how she is struggling
and almost always saying
how she misses me.
I always respond sparsely
sparing shallow sentiments
but never really get into
the meat of it.

I’m not the single server
of a heavenly host.
Despite how I boast
of a great and kind heart,
I have committed
more than my share of sins.

She is there to distract,
to stretch out relaxed
and be in fact
something that detracts
from the calming acts
of meditation.

She is not the elevation
of my being,
nor the spectacular apogee
becoming
the ****** of my life.

She is not perfect,
nor should she be,
nor is she
responsible for
completing me.

Though time may take
old lines and replace
them on her aging face
with strange wrinkles,
and body parts will sag,
and heartbeats will lag
till mortality steals
all that we are,
emotions and will.

She is not the best
or worse of anything.
She merely exists,
passing complexity
temporary curiosity
that will not sate
or devour me completely
no matter how pretty
she may be.

I’ve been walking
five or ten
steps out of sync
with all of them;

Just behind
these troubling times
and out of line
I hoped to find
humanity,

observing the disturbing
acts of people hurting
other people,
just to get through to
the good hidden
in plain view.

Light sparklets
spitting from
the light sockets
where poetry
and golden dreams
illuminate
what really makes us great.

But today
hateful claims have cleaved
the heart that longed to be
reprieved from this disease
that greed has infected us with.

My heart longs to be freed
from the sentence we all serve
in our mental penitentiaries,
these imaginary prisons
society has constructed
to keep our good intentions
obstructed.

I’ve been trying to see
all of the human beauty,
handshakes, and hugs,
heartfelt words exchanged because
love and compassion
have become
an instinct
not a well-thought-out reaction.

I don’t think
I can say for sure
if this is truth
or a fiction I use to obscure
how much it hurts
to preach love
and not be heard,
to know the cure
and offer it freely
while people swallow
the very poison
in which they wallow.

So, I might need
a vacation from humanity,
but I wanted to check-in
on all of you
in my poorly written
verses of gentle affections.

I have sought silent moments of wet grief
to give myself that salty brine relief,
wetted white sheets then fell asleep
to find that time had gifted me
with emotion’s soft reprieve.

I have lived and lost, paid the cost
of all that was depressing,
obsessing over what I was possessing
and what was possessing me,

and in those moments, I have learned
quite a few lessons,

like I cannot get back one spent second
pursuing goals that might not come to fruition,
materials things should not be my mission,
and if I am not enjoying the journey
then this trip is not for me.

I have also realized; I am my own light.  
Even though there is darkness if this life
the greatest victory I can achieve
is acts kindness against the inevitable black
that will swallow and take all of us back.

I wish to write
eloquent whispers
that stir
similar words,
making other
poets purr
with the power
they possess.

While trying to
preserve
the quality
of what I
previously heard
hollering from
other exploding sun
artists.

Alone again
I’ve been
resting
and waiting
for my coffin;
I don’t want
die for,
live in,
or let my family
start smelling
the flesh that is
rotting and congealing.
I guess I am just
killing time
while it
kills me back.

Welcome to the worse
ending of our human universe,
cause this is the lamest
apocalypse.

While the world is dealing with
a covid pandemic
and corruption that is so systemic
that our president can’t even begin
to hide it,

I am keeping busy by
trying to write
brilliant rays
of inspiration into
this endless night life;
Tired of the long line
of the long blind
stumbling stupidly
far behind,
unable to find a sound mind
among their cult of greed.

My deep dark cynicism
has been building
brand new chasms
that collapse into
whispering despair voids
which need to be exercised regularly,
but all of the gyms are closed.

I know there are truths and perspectives
that sparkle under the surface,
of this world that makes me feel worthless,
things seldom seen unless the poet deems
to share their deep dark beautiful dreams.

But those were the poems I wrote
to warn of the wolves at our throat,
and now I see my lines of predictive poetry
have becomes our pathetic armageddon reality.

I am ready for the storm.

Though yesterday
still holds sweet sway,
like the flat-bottomed clouds
that pulled away
the deep blue day,

those soft fluffy
cumulous have gone gray,
with wisping whirlwinds
sweeping up dust.

Dark shadow’s overcast
preparing for water’s
vicious blasting bath
as severe thunderstorms
turn a turquoise day
into an early night.

Poems are tiny treasure boxes
just waiting to be unlocked,
freeing hidden gems
or growing light orbs
that glow from within.

They are tiny surprises
of unconscious minds
that finally realize
what writhes
and works its way
from behind the curtain.

They are how shadows sway
dance and play in a
wonderful word ballet
with rhyme and alliteration.

It is nineteen something,
some sort of fictional scene
played out in a reoccurring dream.

As the sidewalk sunk in,
sending me tripping,
stirring up a cloud of dust
that brings tears that sting.

I know it was just a strange dream,
but I remember being chased.
I recall flying then starting to fall,
and how spikes rose from the ground
while my mother monster pursued me.

Seeking peace, sleep was not an option,
but even in the waking
she was still haunting,
hunting me with her violent outbursts.

I know I was not prey
for her amusement,
but I still wonder
what the abuse meant.

Could I be so bad that she
would even hound me
in my dreams,
that in the hours waking
her thirst for retribution
would be slaked
by slapping my face,
and ripping my shirt?

Then when I got use to
the physical pain she put me through
emotional violence and isolation
became the tools she would use
to ease her frustration.

Whispers of adolescent agony
follow me frightfully,
only dulled now
by the distance of time,
and dreams where
she no longer lurks.

Do not seek me
beneath the willow tree
that once bequeathed
her leaves generously,
the browning birthed from earth
that used to be a beautiful green sheen.

She is gone recently
and I am still grieving
the loss made by those thieving
loggers.

You may look in old books,
and find my essence in
the sentences therein,
such sweet blessings
that sang my mind into being.

But do not search the loud
obnoxious crowds
of crowing fools
who act like tools.
I will not be one among
them.

While they are sleeping,
I am awake dreaming,
and thinking;
Elusive to this abusive world.
So, you might as well
go find yourselves,
cause I prefer
to be an introvert.

Our future is as bright,
as the dimming night lights,
those praying parking lot bulbs
that burnout before they
ever get the chance to blow.

Tomorrow will be
something to see,
something which I believe
will come with or without me.

As time moves on,
some may fall back
while others spring forward.
I hope they recall that
I wrote poetry with love.

I wasn’t the first person on earth
and I am certain
I won’t be the last one
left here hurting.

My heart’s hope may be
slightly decreasing
and conditionally
provided in writing.

I know I can’t save us all,
but this is just a small
anthem of rhymes to call
my loving brethren
to arms.

Goodnight,
and my affections to
all of you who
are still around
when this poem is found.

Give me a piece
of the beast
on which you feast.

Listen closely
and mostly
you will hear
at least one of these
children cry
from hunger,

stomach growling,
while predators are prowling,
and the wolves are howling.

Back home the at risk
sit and wish to be rich,
instead see their
family fall sick,
while praying
god will fix
all of this ****.

We could have been
partners and friends
to all of the children
who have fallen in
the hole we were digging,
struggling
with filth on their chins
as strangers pass by
smug in their disgust.

You know,
the world is broken,
and we allowed it to happen
cause the shiny little tokens
made our monkey minds smile
while rich wolves stole the whole
world.

There is over three thousand miles
of mental distance set between us,
but I am just trying to talk to you.

I am trying to flip the biblical script,
overturn the binary political ideals
and help you all throw out your doubt
about the roundness of our planet.

I am attempting to use verbal cues
and poetic clues to get you
to see human empathy trumps
ancient mythology,
and science is more of a savoir
then your made up guy on a cross
who claimed he will save you later,
but didn’t set up an appointment
or provide any real proof that he was anointed.

Despite the fact that I know you lack
any willingness to see beyond
the religion and politics you have settled on,
I am still trying to get you to see me
a man who honestly wants to believe that we
can be a better bunch of humans being
despite all the evidence to the contrary.

I am walking back blistered foot
falling off the track we both laid,
those railroad rods on
which pennies were sat
so, they could become pancake
shaped metal bits,
as thin as the skin
of the flat earth minds
that I am trying to break through to.

The world seems to have
taken me far back
to a place that
I never wanted to
return to.

After years of
a routine I loved,
working out
and going to work,
putting my body
through a world of hurt
and seeing those I knew
with a certain distant fondness,

the situation has gone and
closed both gyms
I paid to attend.

Now I am back to
working out home,
which is hard to do.

Plus, the socializing
that I got at the gym
has come to a sad end.

So, I have taken
up gaming
for hours on end
wasting time again
but to be honest
I don’t really mind.

Time to put the pen away.
To take off the coat and unlace
those shoes that you will not use
anymore.

Time to lay down on the ground,
let the soft mud become
the bed you lay in resting
until you are fully numb.

No more running.
No more pretending
that the pain is ending
cause there is some meaning.

This is the chapter of my
repeated defeat
where I fall asleep
and no dreams keep me
breathing happily.

Time to retreat;
You all win.
This is the end
that you were pursuing
abusing those who
told the truth to you.

So, I give away my last
fast single finger salute,
one final ***** you to
all those who
made this world a little darker.

I got no more sparkle,
and I am just really ******* tired.
So, it is time for the dreamer in me
to finally retire
and take up video games.

Praise be to the sacred song
of her sweet sexuality.

Soft skin, paled underneath
the smiling moon grinning Cheshire,
eyes close in silent prayer
to a deity who is not there.

If she only knew that she was,
the goddess of desire,
long blond curls falling down past
her supple shoulders,

cool water washing naked skin,
and from her mind’s distance
she imagines him
the one she loves
adoring her as she adores
the sparkling expanse.
How two lover’s hands
intertwine as passion’s twin finds
peace behind the trails and pines.

Long neck, blushing cheeks,
and in my dreams she is the one I seek,
wonderful witchy woman of words
nature’s breathing poetess.

She rises from the cool blue pool,
hands to her breast as the moistness
slides from her hair down her sides
around and under her thighs,
dripping on the evening’s green
as she greets the night and starts to dry.

Then returns to my dreams,
safely sequestered in passing fancies
of magical women I will write about
but never meet or even see in reality.

The highway lights
glow painfully bright,
as I drive home tonight.

I am more than tired,
and uncertain where
we go from here.

Still, my rattling engine
gets me on the road again,
while my bluetooth music player
has me dancing and singing
to Pink Floyd, and Billy Joel.

An hour-long reflection,
driving and thinking,
as bumps in the road
have my heart sinking
just like my spirits.

Images of yesterday
and tomorrow makes
me quake with anxiety.
So, I learn to enjoy the trip,
even when I am bouncing
as my shock absorbers
slowly succumb to the eroding rust,
as the paint chips and disintegrate
like the rest of us.

Another day’s work done;
I am the captain of my dodge neon,
and the endless paths that I travel on,
even though I keep hitting the same one.
  
One more mile and I am home to sleep,
one more poem for this road to keep
cause it was just a pointless thing.

Here I am
one more
dead man
just walking.

Here I am
quietly
reflecting
on what I see.

Here I am
wishing
not to waste
the space
where poetry
plants it blooms,
that perfect
pink fleshy room
that will soon
be consumed
by rot and decay.

Here I am
ready to play,
for this short stay
which can be bad
or made great
by the way
I take it.

Here I am
hold my hand
as I walk us both
through the
forest trees,
and starlight
reflected in these
rippling seas,
as we share
all this beauty.

Here I am
ready to give
the time I have
left to live.

Where are you?

Speak the words,
that sacred incantation,
tell me everything
will be a ok,
and that love has
an open invitation.

We wouldn’t need this revelation,
or a hundred more revolutions
if it wasn’t for the level
of our collective confusion,
how we succumb to the illusion
that wealth is was what really matters,

and I haven’t seen
a ******* thing
that makes me believe
heaven is here on earth,
nothing better or worse
worth dropping a verse
and letting my songs ring.

This time
this rhyme
is me repeating
pleading for you to start seeing
all other human beings
as tiny flesh treasures,
a temporary measure
of how good we
can truly be
when we act accordingly
to the dictates
of what love makes
instead how hate
makes it easy to let others
elevate their greed
to monstrous proportions,
that should be simple enough
for all of us to see.

Aint' it a shame
I hear them complain
as clouds of smoke
circle their faces.

Tight jacket teens
glare at me
dangerously.

Tallest of the bunch
growls angrily,
"stop looking at me
puke face."

I turn away
but not fast enough
cause mister
tough stuff
has something more
in mind you see.

Stomping over all
indignantly,
he yells
"Hey,
you ignoring me?"

I try to move
faster than him,
but a shove in my back
makes it clear
this is a race
I won't win.

So, I face him.
Two years older,
might as well be
twenty-three
to my early teens.

He pushes me
back up against a tree,
then goes in to punch
me in the face,
but my face
does not remain
in that unsafe place.
So, he hits the tree.

Cursing loudly
with a mangled hand
slows him down,
but doesn't stop his friends.
They follow me
down the street
and beat me till
I am out of wind.

This is were
this poem ends.
There is no
sweet revenge.
Time goes on.
I don't see them again,
and this becomes something
distorted and fictionalized
in these poetic lines.

Just passed that last blast
of winter’s wicked fury.

What a relief
to get some heat
cause I was tired of being
frozen.

Finally, here
seems like we cleared
spring
and jumped
straight into
the summer’s blue.

Sadly, this quarantine
has me catching
the fevers of cabin,
has my jets lagging
without ever flying
spiced with just a tinge
of unwanted crying.

Please no more storms,
please don’t get too warm.
Let this disease
finally pass by all of our
families.

Cause all that I want
is to come out of the house
and see all of you.

What darkness did we inherit?
What sick gift did we receive
from our poorly informed parents
who thought that they were right?

Was it genetic buried in our DNA,
making it almost certain that
we would turn out the same way?

Was it in our up bringing
the sick streaming of violence
and language that was demeaning?

Is it our destructive birth right
to perpetuate the same plight
that plagued our family life
with late night outbursts
of abuse that hurt worse
than falling off our bikes
or banging our head against
the thick mental metal bars
of our psychic cement prison?

This is how villains are made,
when the hero is hurt and left
feeling deeply betrayed
by those he was trying to save.

When the world turns astray
as fools and brutes get in cahoots
walking around town to clown,
putting kind hearts down
while they parade
making darkness from
the brighter day
in their crooked cavalcade.

When the world he loves
tends to turn sideways,
and upside down.

When the right to maintain
justice becomes too much of a strain
and he is too tired to explain
why what is right is right
over and over again,

When the heart is red stained
from the pain that inflames
his sense of morality
and he sees no hope for humanity.
  
When he is demonized
for being the nice guy
on this very wrong
planet we live on.

You can see it in his eyes
as all his hope dies
and he either breaks and
succumbs to the lies
or becomes
what he despises.

Used to punch
metal freezers,
shred my bare knuckles
on a black bag
when I didn’t feel like
wrapping my hands with
***** dishrags.

But I put those fists down,
lost the pit fire,
let those flames expire
cause I was so tired
of how that rage burned.

Simmering passed
a soft-boiled brain,
used to workout
just to dull the pain,
now I workout at night
just to feel a little more alive.

Dreams won’t let me
go to sleep gently,
or rest peacefully
but it is the waking hours
that are more disturbing.

Always been a fighter
even when
I wasn’t even
scrapping with
other slack jawed idiots.

Sometimes it is just
my own mind
that I am battling,
as my demons come
ready to swallow me.

How I long
to love and be
loved as greatly
as the poetry
I write for humanity,

to be consumed and seen,
as I live a dream,
knowing that showing
the true me
will not end badly.

How I long
to know myself
and share that
with someone,
to let the tight brace
that carries my pain
be undone
cause I no longer need
the crutch that clutches
too tightly.

Like the ocean
that loves the moon,
as the night dies
far too soon,

like the snow
that melts
under heated passion
becoming
liquid love
and steamed breathes gasping,

though, I know I shouldn’t
I long for
the one thing
I want more
than life itself.

The red apple
reflects perfect
imperfect randomness
of this
wild world
that whirls
in my malleable mind.

False fabric skin
folds in
concealing
empty pockets
that we pretend
are not there.

While
two fish swim
diving in
and out of
our fishbowl
forehead
as Pisces
abstractions
such a strange
water sign reaction.

Till, dark waters
rise
from behind
my already
cloudy eyes
and drowning mind.

This is lazy writing,
soft lightning
inspiration recovered
from other
poems
and translated into
the language I use
to handle my
mad hatter nature.

The rivers
only run
backwards
in our dreams,
fantasies,
and memories.

We can
only go back there
when we think
and remember,
no sparks
or embers
can relight
December’s
fire that has died.

A corpse is just
potential dust
but in the end
we all go that way.

The road may bend,
curve out and in
but the traffic
won’t let us
drive back
to the exact
same place and time again.

When you read this
if you do,
once or twice
or more times
if you like,
I will not be
the same me
I am while I am
writing,
and tomorrow
you will be
different to.

It never ends,
it will not change,

I watch my friends
in so much pain.

I watch the world
were men
struggle in vain,
but still get
gunned down,
by the cops
that run their town.

Wanna see them
with their heads up,
wanna watch the
whole country
get fed up
and stand up
for those who are
suffering right now.

Yesterday,
a man with little kids
took multiple shots
from some *******
bully cop
who would not stop,

and sadly
it will not surprise me
if when I turn on
my computer or tv
I hear pundits
or youtube dudes
demonizes
the victim
cause that is what
they always do.

Little boy blasting,
out on the streets rapping,
while other children keep clapping.

It’s as beautiful site.

Living amidst destruction
but trying to construct
an art form from love
because adults
in power haven't stepped up.

Little girl marching,
rigidly standing against
environmental destruction
another young leader of the people.

It’s as beautiful site.

But this shouldn't have to be
the fight of their young lives.
Why are they out there
trying to save our lives
when we had so many
generations to stand up
and do what’s right?

One grown *** idiot
is barely living up
to the ideals he believes in,
leaves the struggle
to the children
who seem to have more
heart instead of him.

While he writes celebrating
their success and greatness,
he settles in to accept this mess
because he doesn't really believe
it will get any better than this.

I’ve seen
life **** the
marrow and steam,
from the hearts
that screams
waking to nightmares
from other bad dreams.

I’ve seen sorrow
spin and spill
the bottle
that makes
them feel ill.

I’ve seen chunks
come up
as fools pay the
the steep price
for late night
gotta get a life
fun time
gone wrong.

I’ve seen the road
that consumes
a broken body,
a choking
toking
player
spending his last chip
just to spit nasty bits
and end it.

I’ve seen horror,
but being blessed,
I got to wake up
less depressed then when
I fell asleep crying.
I lived while
others were dying.
I got knack for surviving.
despite all the crap I have seen.

It’s a chilling feeling
seeing that sic glass ceiling
crash and cut one of us,
watching a vital man
go from do to try
then try to die,
cause he can’t get by.

I do fine,
killing time
cause I can afford to
waste it and still make do.

But it is strange when
I see other men, women,
and children suffering,
got a tinge of guilt
from the cushion I built
cause it’s not paradise,
but still a pretty comfy life.

What a ****** in this summer
to see single moms struggling,
juggling two jobs and terror
cause the virus out there
will **** them faster
than the poverty in here.

So, what if I pass a ten
to a stranger on the corner
every now and then.
No big deal
that I try to make people feel
a little more joy
and a lot less ill.

It’s just a little friction,
not even a fraction of the resistance
needed to slow the sad decline
of these troubling times.

Do not imagine that you are good,
when you lie and distort
deceitfully report
misinformation as facts,

when the evidence lacks
any real facts
that supports your side
but you decide
to demonize the guys.

When you run your mouth,
spewing hate and deception
to cloud the perception
on Americans,

when you let hate reign
ruling over those in pain
with a boot on their neck
to keep keeping them and check
and do not let them breath.

Do not make light of the plight
claim that you the right are right.

Be careful because we good hearted
pacifists are tired of the terror you insist
on enforcing on others.

Rage runs both ways
and if you are unwilling to change
if you continue to succumb
to the thumb of the derange,

this experiment can change,
countries are not eternal
cultures and ideas fade,

if you refuse to use
your power for good
then mother nature
of our good natured brotherhood
will change the world for you.

Plastic faces
line these places
pale figures
with thin skin
masks hiding
everything.

Lace this life
with a little
strychnine,

draw the line
snort it
just to kick
it up
a notch.

Blow out
all the doubt
let it go,
let your
whole body
stop
drop
and flop.

**** the minute
****** time
till you find

truth is a lie.

No joy last
forever,
not even
the clever
get out of this
*****
alive.

The brown mound of earth
slightly elevated
to support the tree
the children played with
but our parents hated.

The big old gnarly thing
outer skin
always barking
rough against
my young flesh,
but I still climbed it.

The thick branch
that hung out
and let me lay back
to read a book
in privacy,
despite the threat
of gravity.

The way I relaxed
free from all below
an unobtrusive
lonely ******
who was outside
to escape
the black hole
of a home
where darkness reigned.

The pleasant wooden memory
like a ship at sea
which carried me
to my present
where all those
childhood dreams
are obscured
by time’s
unalterable course.

Sweep the dust up off the floor
pull all the snacks from the cupboard.
Close the closets, lock the doors
cause no one lives here anymore.

Board up the windows when you go,
lay your stuff down on the ground,
pour kerosene on all of your things
and light up the whole ******* town.

Take the pills and go to sleep,
close your eyes and let it be
as the flames come rushing in
to burn from without
like you were from within.

If they ever find your corpse
or the ashes that float away,
don’t worry about a death note
cause they don’t deserve
to read your last gasp gasoline
pink and pained poetic words.

The greatest form of wisdom
is external and internal compassion,
knowing that though others
need forgiving
some of that blessing
should be invested
in oneself.

To be present in the moment
feeling the sweet enjoyment
of how we live,
not fretting over the past
or dreading what is coming next.

So, I smile and stand polite,
enjoy the quiet night,
cause anything can go wrong
just as anything can go right.

Better angels than me,
left their marks
on the hearts
of our society,

but the demons and beasts
left their broken teeth
embedded in my dense skin.

Fairies and ghost
played fairytale hosts
to hopeful fantasies,

but werewolves and vampires
left pierced flesh
slashed and bleeding,
feeding what they were needing
to keep existing
in a world without
magic or doubt.

There is no Superman waiting
to swoop in a save me,
but real villains are out there
stealing my feelings of hope,
killing the ways that I cope,
cause I can’t go deep
enough in sleep
to keep real monsters from
haunting me in my final
reckoning.

People are dying,
screaming and crying,
searching for justice
while others are lying.
People are striving
struggling, and trying
to make others see
the value of their being.

But if we can’t learn to
live with love,
then we will all
die apart in pain.

We can’t seem to agree
on the distance between
what we think
and what is reality;

Cause this isn’t united
these states come
prepackaged and divided,
as corporate playthings
that thrive on people hating.

So, if we can’t learn to
live with love,
then we will all
die apart in pain.

It doesn’t matter the color.
I see sisters and brothers
on every street corner.

That gun that you pull
doesn’t make you cool.
That red liquid isn’t a pool
we can swim in when,
we are already choking
and drowning.

That was somebody’s son.
He was somebody’s father.
She was somebody’s daughter.
Now they are grief embodied.
There will be tears in the wind
from another slaughter.
So, when they bleed on the ground
with sick sobbing sounds,
that’s not just another stranger,
that’s a family member in danger.

If we can’t learn to
live with love,
then we will all
die apart in pain.