First there is the prep.
The roommate.
Wearing salmon colored pants.  
He has Shaggy from ****** Doo
On his left thigh.
The alcoholic.
She has a drinking problem.
She is in denial of her drinking problem.
She hangs out with the loners.
The loners.
Unkempt, unattractive and fat in all the wrong places.
The blond looks like Tom Petty.
The one with dark hair, glasses and braces
They live next door.
Living together but segregated. 
Wild cards.
All of us.

©Gambit '13

Running in the moon's shadow
I catch your glimpse,
Your eyes wear a burning glow
A cruel smile is on your lips.
I know what's in your mind,
Revenge for all the wrong,
The slavery, the perpetual grind,
The suppression borne so long!
You walked the fire with patience
Stretching limits of your endurance,
But my might, my blinded sense
Felt no remorse, no penitence!
I'm fleeing from the moon's shadow,
From the wrath your heart drips,
Your eyes wear a deadly glow,
A monstrous smile is on your lips!

On the mangrove bank of the tidal river
lie embedded the mollusks,
they appear mournfully motionless,
deceiving you to believe
they’re too passive to be alive,
are just displays of dead shells
in their muddy graveyard,
though the truth is
they are mystic monks
silently enduring their estuarine transience,
bidding in meditation the time
the return tides carry them to their marine abode.

Does the poet live his own words
Measures up to what his verses promise
Strives for the heights his thoughts reach
Plays the part his writings reflect
Goes to any length to be good
Rids himself of all meanness
Is generous kind faithful trustworthy in his personal life
A lover a friend an aide a benefactor,
Or at the end of the day
Just a preacher
Who never is as tall as his sermons
But remains a run-o-mill guy
Who endowed with poetic skill
Spins in self-deceit webs of lies!

Does a poet ever endeavor
To become a poetry in motion?

Maybe if I paint my lips red
I’ll forget I’m hallow
And maybe if I put on
My favorite skinny jeans
I’ll know what it means to feel
pretty
I’ll remember that
I have tomorrow
And the clinching in my chest
Meant to jest at my own demise
And the way I despise myself
Won’t always show in sad blue water eyes
I can’t hide at the back of the shelf.
I can’t  be stifled by my own sorrow,
Let me borrow your sunshine,
I’ll bring mine tomorrow.

Soulless,
We quenched our dreams with thirst;

bought the heavens,
Waving a country of radio love

As fee,

United under one Internet
Two Chocolate paper ******* announcements
And $6 New York Halal meat.

The mortal man always drinks his sea--
So ask your doctor about Nixon
And lift the verbs off your skirt
For Nemo
who replaced Icarus
And now twerks at synods
With ******* oven oil glued
To his left fin;

The same one God used to bet Satan over the soul of man.