Ain't no one trying to be true.
no more I'm hiding my blue.
just once, try someone's stew,
and you might get a clue.
these words are long overdue.

Stews simmer, hieroglyphs are forever.
Form them carefully together
because someone who's clever
will sever them forever.
Don't let your tongue become leather.

For awhile, for too long,
I tried to wake up
and smell her smile,
even after I walked,
a few miles, to get her
car out of a snow pile.
she told me she had me
fine, played another
style, only she had on file,
that left it all defiled.

These little lines formed,
to make familiar
symbols, so my brain
can recognize and not forget
to pick up the milk
from the store,
are the only things I can
handle now.

Winter's summer night is
Mother nature's one night
stand.
Just a tease, flashes
just a sparkle of the
light in her eyes, until she
lays vengeance.
Now, let's take the weights off.
No more talk of superstition,
no more pressure.  
There's no more strength
to bare anything, anymore,
anyway.
Just lay on the floor.
Let's just flip records.
Forget about before.
Hold my mind, close our eyes,
before no time
commits its crime.

Flip the record,
lay on the floor,
let's just forget
about before.
Hold my mind
close our eyes,
before no time
commits its crime.

There ain't no moon to
guide a tide, nothing my
flow can't ride.
It'll be fine if you call me
beautiful just once more or
even if you just said hello,
before it's time to go.
The sun will still
burn hydrogen and
I'll get through the night. 
I can't leave until the sun
is up and the beer is gone.
I puffed all my smoke,
you always have one more
with another tune or two
because we speak through
all of those songs to seize
our few moments together.

government trust,
they'll give you lead water to boil.
with a side of mad cow protein
extra super loaded meat
alternative facts,
political discussion,
oxymorons with huge repercussions

I guess the metal is
bound leaf like.
I'm the bubbles
of the rift, quickly formed
and quickly done.
Air inside happens only so long,
I can escape to the
chromium metal,
ask the snakes,
see if they are having
a time while pollution
is apartheid.
Apartheid is man made.
The earth isn't prejudice,
the earth don't judge,
while erasing all of this
from history.

It'll be fine if you call me
beautiful just once more or
even if you just said
hello. The sun will still
burn hydrogen and
I'll get through the night.
There ain't no moon to
guide a tide, nothing my
flow can't ride.

see yourself before someone else.
know some verses before you
dry your eyes. Before the
wind blows, allow all to be,
all to be as they want to see.

at least we talked then,
the last time the leaves
fell, I thought we'd too.

while we intertwined
in flight, for a minute
we vanished in sight

and then you did,
before I hit the ground
with a splat but I lived,

to see my brothers
and sisters fall, while
I tried to remember

which way the wind
blew before I fall
again in the prime

of fall. It'll be the
new year, I don't think
I'll live up to my

words of forgiving
and not loving you.

I can't get behind either
of these two crooks,
but it seems people are,
while the water's too
warm and the
great barrier reef
dies bleach in hope
someone notices
that no one cares
the bees and the
polar bears are through,
even though we still
have room for a pipeline
that only less than one
percent want anyway.

These words are all I have
to groove a rhythm to
even if rhythm is passed date
I'll throw a stab before my doom.

All at once, nothing at all
nothing at once or not once at all
trying to go out to get in
we met when you entered
to leave an emerging exit.

light foot, heavy chest
midnight stroll on that
dark alley path where
the moon flicked stronger
at our touch.

nothing like this can ever be
no matter the reality
it seems, even when only  
trees whisper to me. Flocks
give me their tweets

even when the distance
eats me alive like a comet
entering the atmosphere,
I'll still be too small being
bigger than earth itself.

Natural remedy

Maybe the sun will rise,
To dry, all I've made rain.
Maybe the wind will fly,
To sail us together again.

Maybe the leaves will mature,
To ensure, we look close,
At one another
And our nature's mother.

Maybe the rocks will hold,
Be bold, when we want to fold.
Maybe the tide will rise,
To try, wash the mind inside.

I hope our electric
Wasn't too much and
Didn't short circuit
The board.
The warmth from your cold feet
Might be the last and only
Anomaly that can
Conduct any sort of spark
As to why the light switch
Is on but the lights are off.

The distance is far too great, I fear.
It's eating me alive like a comet
entering our atmosphere .
I'm gonna be too small by the time I hit
even if I'm bigger than
earth itself.

the wind pulled as my
companion tonight. it ain't
blistering cold, either way,
I never fold,
no matter how old
I grow. I'm to be bold,
obstruct and hold.
All that's told, all is sold.
I even thought the moon
was full. Then I cried wool
that only a fool could
burn with coal.

around now
the soft monitor glow,
the vacant chair
ruins my flow,
hints of lipstick on
my chapstick, quarters
in candle lids, an
unsent letter and two
forgotten crescent
moons won't
give me in.

Our chaotic time,
we still danced our
song in rhyme,
they tried to charge
us with crime,
it's just their hearts
are lime,
while we let go,
ride the wind

Hints of lipstick on
my chapstick, quarters
in candle lids, an
unsent letter and two
forgotten crescent
moons

we need another
retaliation in the
Luther King way
Fire for fire leads
to nowhere quick
Jesus wouldn't be
anything if his
fists went flying
after the lashings

Who knows what kind
of man I am? I've never
held a child of mine,
my first communion
wasn't official and
my back is dry. I
was in it for wafers
and body of wine.
I'm Stan with no plan
and a nothing
saved man who
only knows he
can but needs
to lay his hand.
Sand or solid land
I am everything
everything and need
no band or some
social media clan
no if buts or ands.

It's not even worth my time
anymore to try and track
where the Rose is going to
grow when the thorns are
all I can harvest even
in the midst of a kiss.

The wind used to blow
a certain swirl that
made you my world
that now just makes my
stomach curl even when

you're genuine but  
we know I'm Cyrano
and all he endured were
low blows and, oh my,
look at that nose,
even in the best pose

all i want to do is fill
your stein because
of the way you make
me feel inside.
These words, not
even Shakespeare's words
can describe how
I am falling for this vibe
and don't want to
get off the ride that's
invaded my mind
in every time

I cant hear your words
they're hiding with the rain clouds,
When they finally fall upon my head
However, hard the sun may shine,
I'll be standing in those shadows
until the end of nothing left.

it didnt matter to me that
you had itchy poison
under your arm, I still
would have held you close
while you say that we can never
be anything more than
what we already are.

It didnt matter to me that
I was on the outside looking
in while on the inside
you're looking up at pulsating
tree leaves while there is
lead socks in your shoes
as the peanut gallery wears
funky hats when you told
me you loved me insignificantly.

It didn't matter to me
you wanted other opportunity,
I knew you'd hang around and
I'd hear your vocal sounds
even if it rained during
shining sun, even if winter
had no spring, I'd linger
and be a singer of your lore.

I have memories here.
The purple flowers
and the "L" tree where I touched
your hair softly and you told
me to stop because I was
only supposed to give you
a heart murmur when there's
no one else left. Now, that the
clocks tick the time,
my arms are not that strong.
Grandfather needs to be
over wound so there might be
a chance somehow

she ties my shoestrings
together. so my feet don't go
independently. while I try to
waltz her musical score
of rests through a series of
misfires from an amygdala,
who thought it knew the
best way to handle
California droughts.
instead, arm hairs burned up
and only a melanoma
of false hope traveled.
skin to heart, to brain but you
nestled in a tender gluteal spot.

I like to sleep in my street
Clothes because it
Reminds me of when
You told you'd meet me
On the run but held me at
A choice that you knew
I would never make because
I love you too much to give
You turmoil but just enough
To tell you that being ignored
And lied to makes my
Arteries squirt some blood at you

when your plane gets lost
over Malaysia, don't come
running to me with your blood

and tears in your hands. I already
have a trunk full of it and
it's really hard to pawn because

I seem to be the only one
who knows how to lick your
wounds shut even if

it is after the New Year
when the winter strikes
again and makes us shiver.

There are usually dreary
days in  Erie but you,
my fathers parents,
never fail to make me smile though
our distance is marked in miles

There's sewage in the waters,
there's cancer in the stew,
we spin in our chairs like fools
and wait for the car to stop burning
happiness out of everything.

There's issues in the sandy caves,
There's civil unrest between unsettled
neighboring differences even though
we just let the LED light command
our gaze and let us think it's enough.

There's buried brave men whose
fights are left in vain. The lost
lessons of history are gone with
the victors and the flesh
filled cannon craters.

There's a team of building blocks
who surround the men
of business suites with business
suites so they're not uncomfortable
negotiating the end of the old.

There's unknown DNA swimming
in the oil and misled incentive
intentions gliding from Doric
to Corinthian pillars then back to
the Ionic style passing law.

Take your blankets off his floor
and let me sing songs of freedom
quietly through your drums.
We'll run so far out that
we will be closer in  
to the way through.
We both know once we
start burning up in the
atmosphere, the only hopes
of making it is to burn at a steady pace.

she melted when she shared
her heart and head with
all the beautiful people that
made the ground swirl, and
the trees brighten up

Upon arrival, it was instant
survival because of the
knick knack, tip tapped
circus rings that are on fire
being bare handled.
Welder's hands is what Uncle
John has. He always grills
the burgers. Medium is usually
the better of the other
two anyways. Old ways are
are gone with trees of England .

I'm going away,
down to the place where
they drum the circle
and put motors on
feet and hips.
Down to where the fire
is my jacket and love
hand in hand with harmony,
is my fleeced inside.
I'm going away to where
the glitter princess and her
fairies sprinkle us with happy
dust to lift the downs we have found.

We'd rather plug our
brains with ice and show
the world our hubris
without thinking twice
rather than pondering
afflicted voluntary
motions that have failed so many.

In this dream I cannot
even read my own decrees
that have become the wrinkles
of my brain in actuality because
the steamroll of life is comin'
to try and smooth them out but
it ain't big and yellow with
no flashing lights. It's not thoughtful
enough to tell their labor fee.
When night paints black on the moon
a dig toward the tunnel below
the rock and the hard place will be
my way out like how leaves wave
hello in the wind during fall while
they try and remember
the branches from which the fell.
It's their last descent
as the sun walks them home.

Leaves blowing in the wind are just waving hello
as they try and remember which branch
they fell from even though they know
it's their last descent as the sun walks them home.

Princess

Chances are slim because
she's in another world where
She rides her unicorns high in
the rainbow fields to find
her *** of gold that's been stashed
secretly inside the blue devil
that trolls the interstate
highways, north and south
east and west beneath her.
Puffy clouds and angels
serving you, your own heart's desire,
She turns empty drinks
into liquidation for
everyone and can walk mangled in
six inch heels and tell you
the small fork is for the shrimp.

My alphabet has grown
and torn grown and torn and grown
into a celestial vortex of melting letters,
words, phrases, and lame
euphemisms that sputter out
and capture the essence
of America the Blue, America the black
and blue, with band-aids on her
knees and elbows. Her porcelain
body is chipped and her hair is
the wig in the hat she wears.
Her natural fingernails are
now  plastic with worn paint
while her hands are wrinkled
and dry from neglect. Where the
measurements of data are scoffed by
the word of God and stories of
fear, retribution, and revenge travel
with the breeze no matter how  
many think the old winds are gone.
Where engaging is done in the
far reaches of cyberspace and
face to face is day by day.
Where the focus is on old highways
to old solutions instead of how  
the new problems allow us to roam.
Where there's no Neosporin behind
the band-aids only making
them so capable.

Words tangle and turn to
mismanaged beliefs
that has paperwork flowing
out the mouths of those
trying to make sense of gibberish
that they fell asleep to while
hungover in their last year of schooling
while they spill the beans
silently with their eyes
because it is Chinese water
torture for the windshield even though  
its not uttering a sound besides
soft steady ticks.

My heart promised me I'd
run away sooner or later but
I never thought it'd end with you
sewing my heart to your hip.
Even though blood got on your leather
seats because of the hole
in my left atrium. You cleaned,
***** and span, with a bendy straw
even though it was our last one
and none more ever came to save you
when you spilled the last cup of
our touching hands.

How can I write when everything
wants to jump off my tongue
all at once in a never ending loop
of promising lines, **** ups, and give ups?

Money keeps the world going round
while it straps us down.

money gets us what we want and when
but loses the mother we need

money makes us buy beer and hold hands
but it made Jesus flip ****

money is what we go and earn while
fathers cry because the

money could buy them bread but
not their lovers back.

money can buy lust and ***
and along with that a STD

money is earned but only
burned on sports and dvds

money can be lucky if
money is the only way out

money creates and destroys,
monopolizes and liberates.

money says things the
same way twice even though

money reads in "God We Trust" but
it should declare "trust in you".

My life is mixed up in dreams
and my dreams are lost in fantasies.
I'd rather have it this way,
I keep my cast in open ocean
So my hook avoids being
caught on the rocks
where opinions are all I got
to yank myself free but dreams
and fantasy are only mine.

I'll stand around with a sign
that says, "free the rights"
when America turns to
the United States of America Corporation:
Where the trees, mountains,
and even coral morph into dollar signs.

As supplies last morality is quantified
into algorithms and sold in vacuum sealed
plastic while the president rules
all cellphones must be attached  
to the brain because it's affordable for
taxpayers. Direct connect,  instant
success, calls to any mind, anywhere, even
up on the cloud. mother and the pope are
on line two while  politicians will only
be 5 minutes away with the 100 percent
satisfaction guaranteed customer
service team, on the clock
24 hours and seven days a week,
while the black suites and white hair
earn credit for troubleshooting and calling
everyone unpatriotic because no one wants
to be outsourced to the next course of war.

Meanwhile, being a scientist is
secular progressive and doesn't meet
requirements for the 3 year warranty
but guarantees rush delivery, overnight twenty-four
hour shipping right into hell because
the business of women created from
mens' ribs didn't seem like viable coverage.

The angels' dandruff fell with no prints
disturbing, while the world froze outside
us, as we lay inches from
one another with a pounding
heart and electricity
that could melt the ice stone
branches now creaking in pain.

Riding away, the words I wanted to
say, are now just heartfelt ruses
that turn melancholic
as the miles of distance
between us grows but this distance
can't keep me far even
if my car does 360s when it snows.

sour tongues spit out decrees to
the other leather sun bound  
twisted skins who try to reminisce
of the days of words, written and spoken
from a non-uniform refuge of thinkers.
heel-less sneakers won't keep them
from the last skirmish
even if the fireworks are skimpy
and with only one brother left
they'll still carry the ****** Mary
in the helmet they might wear for the last time

She is like the orange
tree that fades into the mist
when it goes away I got no
doubts her leaves will remain
the same, next time around.  
Forgetting the sound of her name
is hearing the mime comment because
he knows that's the only way
she can know the sound of my heart
when I lay down beside her.