The ******* which bore the oyster
The meats, the cheese, the cider
It always seemed to annoy her
Deep within her mind's dark cloister
The cost of one was the cost of all
A pity to pick and choose
An oyster with no *******
(nor meat nor cheese nor cider)
And lights'd be on for rent.
Or meat and cheese and cider
(No oyster shucked over a golden cent)
And not just lights, but groceries too.

It was not kindness,
Nor was it some version of altruism
That stirred them to help me.
Looking back I am almost certain now
That all of their charity was brought together
By that guilty feeling they have in the pit of their stomach,
Whenever they catch themselves being self-centered
...
For just a second.

When you died, I was the last to know.
You lived on in my mind and soul.
You were a force that could not simply go.
Your memory was enough to keep me whole.

I grasp your casket,
Had all my eggs in one basket.
I didn't fear the fall,-
nor time stopping still
I could not hope to see over that hill|
To see that life without you is a slow crawl.

Your body rots with my soul.
You have died and left only no.
You were once all -- but now are a hole.
When I breathe again, your memory will go.

Wipe me away.
Come into my field of dandelions and blow your great wind.
Shake my earth and tear down my buildings.
It does not matter, I relish the thought
To build once more, anew and learn'ed.
To build with you, a life of wonder return'ed.

I wanna be all tangled in with you tonight.
All legs and arms and lips, tangled.
Heart strings, mirth and eyes locked.
Tangled.
Days unfolding and replayed in pillow talk.
Tangled-
Fingers into one another's,
in the hair,- hair tangled too, yet

In all these tangled knots
We twist and pull- tangled.
Gets tighter, closer and impossible.
Tangled,
We will never be undone.
Tangled.

The grains of sand
Sift through his hands
And we can only watch

Water trickles
The moon becomes a sickle
And all we do is watch

The hand is bored
Away   says the Lord
And he throws us to the side                 
I made some watchers in the sand
All they do is sit and stand and till the land
I'm sick to my core of these people in my hand!

To the hourglass we were thrown
To reap a punishment none of us had sown
Time had become simulation

An age of a simulated God was known.

As time, the grains of sand
Sift through the simulated hands
All we do is watch

We are man.

If it's raining for you
it's raining all the time for you
It's a storm and you're alone.

If it's summer for you
It's too hot
and the mugginess makes your sweat useless

If it's too much for you
you're knees are buckling
and you're climbing
the steepest hill is your route
It's gonna get better.

If the rain's gone
your shirt been dried by the sun
your friends are outdoors
and it's time to make fun

If it's late spring for you,
you're comfortable,
a moist air keeps you the same

If you've just let down your burden
You've no lead in your shoes
and the road is a gentle downward *****
It's gonna get worse.

Today is a stream on a still day.
The water moves, but only just.
No land eaten, and nothing rearranged.
Not stagnant, but nothing changed

Yesterday is a roaring torrent.
Landslide filth that washes out progress.
Inking pages to sepia tones-
with better days owned by the ghosts and bones.

Tomorrow is a shallow frog pond.
Stench overwhelming, and constantly avoided.
Build your cities downwind-
out of sight, and out of mind.
Come to your future ignorant,
and yearning still for yesterday.

From this perspective,
it's almost like I can see the future.
It's just one busy highway-
An infinite stretch of pavement.
It looks like my veins, and the traffic is your blood.

Side to side of me passes with a blur,
forests to hills, to forests on hills.
I spot the beach and smell that endless surf.
For just a moment, I leave the road
so I can touch the dirt.

With the sweat of groin
and aching head, I conquered.
An arching back like lightning struck
My head grows cloudy as we ****.

Muted palettes of rage and passion
fused *** and sin, wet kisses from below.
Your eyes stare into mine, looking for stars.
And I gaze down like god in your galaxy at scars
left behind by this jagged love of ours.

In these moments, it's never been so clear
that the quality of your *** is a chain leash
Tight around my neck, and choking
Electrified stimulation, you force me to keep poking
|
But you love me like a dog in a cage
imprisoned and belittled
You've got me as worse than a child
Just a brazen creature to be reviled
                       * * *
You love the ***, but you chase away the wild.

A man changes his wall paper.
Shortly afterwards, winter comes to an end.
He says to himself that he has changed the seasons with a single
                                                                                    deliberate action.

The seasons begin to change,
So slowly as they always have.
Midway, a man finally feels it-
He changes his wall paper.

The seasons say nothing.
Because the seasons do not feel.

Because they are felt.

Where a man goes
Often in repose,
Alone in candle light.-
Right. By his own designs...

He doesn't have to answer,
Can drop the role of dancer
And take just whatever.-
Endeavours he has on his mind

As fully as the coming breeze
Breathing in how it frees
His thoughts and ambitions.-
Intuitions resparked because of this...

Where a man goes
To lay down his axe, he knows.-
That in the moment when his body quiets.-
Riots cease and he can dream.|
That no one or thing,
Regardless of the news or excitement it would bring,
Cannot shake him, wake him or.-
Roar so loud as to be noticed.

This is where a man goes in fear.
Where when poverty and idle living, and beer.-
Cloud body and mind.-
Grind hope to crumbs.|
And stand on the perch of desperation,
Alone in fear and perspiration,
Dying for something to do,
Viewing savings turn to dried flies.

Returning always to where a man goes,
Delaying what he knows
To be all too true.
Do or die, or start anew.-

I stepped outside in the evening
To sip the cool draught of air.
You waited in the car all night
For me to finish my beer.

I did not take to standing 'round.
No, not then and there.
In this drunken state I wandered
Blind in the dark without fear.

I heard you honk the horn one time,
When you saw I was not near.
I waited and strained my ear to hear,
a second, to guide and steer-
|
So that I would easily return to you,
Before the twilight cleared.
But I heard no sound at all,
And morning had started its gears.

Stranded in a foreign place,
A man returns to fear.
|-Oh how we miss the kinder things
   Long after they've been near.

And the wind did shake the dust
In preparation for the rain
To wash away the dirt.
No one asked any questions,
And no one stared at the Earth-
As everything they stood on
Throughout their entire lives
Was blown away.
  By the wind.
        The Wind. of Change.

Tip your glass o' worry down the drain.
Watch it siphon out,
Leaving emptiness behind.

It's time to do your dishes,
And try a different wine.

If I could but see
Through the eyes of a lover,
Cause the world is sickening,
Thoughts cloud my mind.
She sits there smilin'
Cause I love her

Cause some how It's fine.
In her eyes, not mine,
The problems in the world, and after.

While I sit confused,
She sits amused
And near to laughter,
But holds, to plainly say,
"Is it sadness you're after?"

It strikes me silent,
Though the thoughts do not relent-
Until my last breath/regret.
And it's finally clear-
                                     It didn't matter.

Stand at my door,
Young succubus.
Give me the passion of a *****.
Drench me in your bliss.
Addle my silly mind,
Make me feel this-
Confusion flooding over,
Struck by your kiss.
Take me to grow old, succubus
So nothing will feel amiss.

Have you got a knife?
Hell yeah I've got a knife
Give it here-
Need to cut me a slice of strife.
Everlasting, have at-
My strife,
As I Strike. Strike. Strike.

Another day has gone.
Churned into dust,
Living out life
Like the milling of hours.

Slow, monotonous work
Of wasting potential
Desperately clinging to our lazy comforts,
Like lice to a hair disturbed.

Once we were challenged
To make something for ourselves-
To make something of ourselves.
The new-age view
Makes being you
Look just like
          Being everyone else.

Sing me a song
         For I love the sound of your voice
A crisp-gold
                 Notes, a string of memories
Blinding flashings back-,
To whens and wheres
Scents, words and people.
Sing me a song
For in your voice I remember
These ways in which I love you.

Dial tones|
Electric clicks|
That inaudible crackling
I'm listening to chase the ends
Of every end of your words.

I love when our ends both go silent.
Our minds rush back and forth
Chasing, always chasing (this)
Whatever it is that we should say next.
But nothing.
Five minutes of just breathing
Into the receiver.

Somehow, happy-
Understanding that this is,
              Although nothing,
Exactly what we'd been needing.
At the end of this terribly long day,
Lying in bed, wrapped in the soft fabric
Stillness, and smiling
But never hanging up the phone.

It lies beneath the sands
That glide across the
      Glass that we call time.-
                                 Transparent, yet there.

This is for the rainy days.
The heavy days,
Blanketed under a dark silver sky.

This is an image of
Timeless days.
Where both dawn and dusk
Fail to exist,
Because the gray never went away.

This is the light drizzle
Painting your glasses
With tiny cloudy droplets
That blur-out your vision

And makes the next step a mystery,,
As you pray
                  For a chance of sunshine.

This is for the helpless days.
Lonely days.
Where with every battle
Pits you against the world.
     And should you lose,
     Or should you win,
     Your victory is heard
            by only two ears.

These are the words for the
Mouse-like people.
The great number of quiet strugglers
Who say yes to the fat cat
                                  By Instinct!
So they won't be the meat
Of someone else's meal.
          \    \     \
But this is not to cast you down.
Not a giant- making pinching gestures
With people sized fingers.

This is a challenge!
A day to reach up into
Your oppressive heavens.
Cast aside the disciplinary
Blockade and- Breathe.

Breathe in the tastes
Of a life worth living.
Of the courage to be on your own feet.

And this is an urgency.
This is an urging that
All the doormat people
Sweep out from the heavy feet,
The ones you welcome for trampling.
Because|
               -You know exactly what you're
                 *Missing

Out the window
(Speckled glass)
Lives being lived
(I'm sitting on my ***)

On the kitchen clock
(When will I paint these beige walls?)
Time being ticked.
(So it goes, after all)

And even on the street,
That kitchen clock does tick,
Madly, furiously ticking-too fast
As a life quickly fades
(But not mine this time)

We (and I) don't care
'Cause we weren't there
We(I)'ve no idea
How to feel.

One life's a tragedy
Two lives are jaw dropping.
A sports team is urban terror.
Fifty lives, a massacre,
And at one hundred it doesn't matter anymore

Rest in peace,
Dear lives seen
(On speckled glass)
I'm not afraid to die|
           Because humans are bad at counting.

One of us will never see,
        True light by essence of purity,
        Ever once more
The contamination of one of us,
Has taken, has blinded
The original vision.
        One of us has let it spread,
        To the other, filling dread,
        Infecting and destroying purity,
       Crystallizing something important
       That wasn't to be forgotten
                        Preserving righteousness
                        Through Arrogance
                I must curse you.
                I must thank you.
                            You.

Insanity roars upon both ears
My sanity is in this book.
I must read in sanity
Or I cannot quell my fears.
Of the fool, whose senses took
...Ease and lack of care.
Of the jester's twisted visage
All the children, it does scare.
But inside all these pages,
A sanctuary: here

Edgeless days are the hardest
to let pass you by
as you stare at all the pretty things
Just out of sight.

There sits, heavy in atmosphere,
On these days of no ends,
A timelessness
in the most tragic way.

All your toiling
begins to feel useless,
and errors make a mess of this.
Your anger - Instantly boiling

Futile barking.
Damning non-existent gods,,
And then a mocking laughing-
Since you are alone.

Because, of course,
You are alone,
Chained to the room
They're paying you to
|
When the crushing
Endlessness to your day
Could be so easily been remedied
with conversation or, some play

And now those gods
are laughing.
And you wish to be alone
                     From yourself.

We met on the crosswalk
and headed for the shelters.

We stood opposite of one another
waiting for the bus to
take us away from each other.
That's friends-
                         In the city.

This is for the rainy days.
The heavy days,
Blanketed under a dark silver sky.

This is an image of
Timeless days.
Where both dawn and dusk
Fail to exist,
Because the gray never went away.

This is the light drizzle
Painting your glasses
With tiny cloudy droplets
That blur-out your vision

And makes the next step a mystery,,
As you pray
                  For a chance of sunshine.

Can you catch a dream?
Can you grasp what impossible is to seem?
If you run all the roads of imagination
Can you really reach their ends?

Reality is to dreams
                      as daytime is to night
When the first passes,
                       awaited desires come and delight
Time is a dream
                       Dreams are never ending

It all starts with a chance
It takes patience,
and open mind|  
        a paradigm

Set to the right glance
Leave it to the lighting around us
to remind us how to dance.

       So I'll chase what has come out of my dream.
       Turn off the golden day and run through night.
       I want to grasp what is impossible to seem
                 If the end is waiting  
                 Then I'm still running
Then I'm chasing my dreams.

                    Orderly is not how I remember passion.

Hourglass.

They all cheer
In their Circular motion
Round about in all their faces
Swinging so back and forth
Watch out,
She'll steal your purse
And if not the purse
She'll steal a look
To get what she wants,
She must take
And we despise
That she needs.
Too much of a bother to release our
Abundance we so waste on ourselves.

It's Blue
      But so are you.
Not that sad Blue/
                                Reflecting from T.V.
But that happy Blue/
                                    That with you I see.

All my life I've dreamed of Pink.
Never written/
                          I don't dream in ink.
But it was happy/
                               I always said
I wanted to be Pink when I was dead.

To see life.

To get away from it;
A bold attempt to change
     ourselves.
Or to simply start anew.

When we take up that
           brave title-
Traveler|
         when we give up home
     to live on out feet...
We call ourselves free.
              It is true,
as freedom goes,
         It is truest on the road.

Concerns concern us not,
Suddenly everything is purposed,
And all objects are charged with meaning.

In the wake of morning I am dying,
My child screaming,Happy Birthday, Dad.
I need my fire to stop the crying,
Purse my lips, the last cigarette I had.
She clambers into my smoke-gray walled room,
Innocence is a baby's white smile,
This contagious cancer is my gloom.
I am her murderer, still she would smile.
I often swore I would quit this **** thing,
For my daughter's sake, not my own **** life;
And always failed, this poison is my king.
It is her lungs that goes the smokey knife.
This selfish ****** turns my whole world gray.
Stupid. By my side, my daughter does stay.

A generation of watching movies,
                      of standing still
                          studying film.
Staring still images into dust,
              appreciating what they could have seen
                  themselves.
What class of people
          are those who would sit,
                 couch-stricken?
Suddenly they are risen - - socially-
                  Because they think.
A generation of praising emotions
        over hard work
                          and sweat.
         Why do we not value
                   the lifestyle
              of the living stone?

Death told her
           her life should end
and he was her friend

Calmly, she stole my gun
     she walked outside in the sun
pulled the trigger, set the mood
barrel to her head to conclude

I saw her head come undone
,,, Reached down, for my gun
Eyed the chunks in her hair
Now to my head |
                               |I draw a rose there.

In the night,
back when, (you remember)
the days were alright,
and we'd sat around,
in the dark, out of sight,
just the two of us silhouettes,
in the night,
awaiting the morning's cherry light.

Our footsteps sound on ancient ground
Look around   Look around
I see you see me
But I know who you are
You are what no one wants to be
A murderer you are
As am I
We wouldn't dare admit it
But we know it's true
It's undeniable
We **** and eat other ****
We rest
Only later to **** again
Strange is the way of nature's call
Every year it's dead by fall
Strange is the way of ******'s call
Until we're satisfied, we'll **** them all
How silly of us murderers
Lock up our own like tiny birds
Not for ******, it is innocent and pure
But for bringing traitorous death to our own so near
And then to waste the meat you've slain,
You refuse to eat it, what a shame
You aren't like us
We proud murderers
You are a killer, a thief
To steal a life, you deserve your grief

.I remember the way you looked
.You looked to me with blushing eyes and extended smiles
-And I remember when you took my hand.
.You held it in your own as we stood on linoleum tiles

-I remember the way you felt-
.Like a refreshing cool wind on a hot summer's day
And I remember how you surrounded me with love
.But like the wind, was so quick to blow away

I remember how you left-
Sort of short and in a rush.
And I remember how you lied to me so much.
You kept your sadness quiet like a hush.

I want to sleep with the living,
To tell them it's alright.
It's scary – death,
But I make for good company.

When I sleep, you are safe.
So you should hold me close.
Rest easy as you pray
That morning stays away|

This time I shouldn't wake
And the night will be so long
Vampires in every sense
Begging just to be|

Alive
Living
In fear
           Is all that's left
             DEAR

It is not the sun that lights my path.
It never will and never has.
And as age slowly cripples me
I realize, without the sun I'll ever be.

In this time of plastic body parts,
A culture with no concept of art,
Lit by the fake and fluorescent suns,
Where the only language heard comes from the mouth
                                                    ­                               of a gun

I am not alone in this dark and natural dankness.
We are children who grow|and are thankless.
We cannot even dream of open spaces.
The television reflects a bleak reality on our faces.

It's a time of war|the enemy is everyone.
Time has stopped in this world void of sun.
All that's left is the intent to ****.
And our only way out is to simply stand still.

Look in on his
                          Loneliness
                   ­                      As he – in|
          The rugged determination of
                                               The very rock
                                                Under his feet:
Stares into the storm of our dreams.
The whiteness of our innocent and
                               Unguarded
                                            Emotions|
­ Are a storm that blew the sea of rationality
          From the strange crags of the floors
            Of unconscious spiritual awakening
                         To unknown
                                        Undesired
     ­                                                                 ­    
                                                            ­ And neverending-
                        -Short. Love.
                     And sweet comforting familiarity.
                                 It’s all useless,
                                   Every bit meaningless.
The deepest
Sadness being|
He
Knows
None of it.

What is the hardest part
                    Of being alone?
It's the quietness,
A stillness making
What ought have been a home-
a house.
It's filled with beds,
But those lover's nests
Are             Empty.
And the thought is
As occupying as a dream.
A dream you cannot feel
Because the loneliness is keeping you awake

With no one to hold down your fears
         And keep you safe.