You ask, "How are you?",
but rush past lest I answer,
and take of your time,
in your busy day,
as if you really care.
I want to talk,
to tell you how I am,
and ask for help,
but I'm not fast enough anymore,
and I have no other place
but here,
in the street,
with those who couldn't
care less
if they tried,
throwing questions on my life
like stones,
skipped on a pond,
as they run,
hurrying to oblivion,
plastic jobs,
plastic houses,
a cookie cutter life
soccer and a dog,
and me left behind.
"Hey, call me",
behind a smile as they run
away
of course.
I walk,
head down,
it's easier,
that way.

Sometimes, more often than not,
a poem slides beside me,
walks into the room,
places a hand on my shoulder,
and whispers its way to a page.
It travels to rooms in my heart,
built by those I love,
who dwell there all alone until..
..until its time to close and lock the door,
and slowly walk the stairs,
to somewhere else to cry.
A poem slides beside me,
and writes itself,
hand over hand it pours to the page,
and blurs my vision to right here,
right now,
and leads me where it does.
A song too sad to be sung
to another,
a song to be sung alone on a page,
a page of another’s devising.
Like the lives that are passing,
the pages turn,
added to another story,
on pages written long before.
A poem sits beside me,
and tells me a story
and places its hand in mine,
and sings its story softly,
the saddest song I know.
To those who I love,
To those who've left me,
To those who care.

I guess I won that stupid fight of "I love you more."

I think you've made a most fatal mistake,
you're in the ocean son, you up and left the lake!
These are deep waters where sharks eat shrimp for fun,
where peace and love and harmony are the only things we shun.
You're not ******* welcome here that you've probably guessed.
Picked a very poor direction *****, you should have went left.
We don't welcome the civilized in this place where mongrels roam,  
where wrath and hate and savagery have settled in our bones.
Yea you should've turned back friend,
did you miss the messages we sent?
****** signs and heads on pikes that marked our hollowed ground,
Now you're staring down the wolves, yea you should've turned around.

I lost my heart,
have you seen it?
I set it down so often it got easier to leave it.
If you find it,
would you keep it?
It's a hardy little ***** despite the minor leakage.
A bit of thread,
perhaps a needle?
Really I think a little love is all that's needed.

What are we ?
Just a flock of sheep,
steady standin in line for the lions to eat.
I don't mean to preach,
but it seems to me,
that we ceded control with weak critique.
And,
Who are you?
Another part of the group,
You will never be a predator you will always be food.
Don't be confused.
You were openly used,
you were never a partner you were always a tool.
So,
What path to pick?
Diplomacy's kicked,
it's time to hit the streets with switch blades and bricks.
The system's sick,
the cure for it,
be-head our politicians slip theirs skulls on sticks.