what
greedy
soul
take
the
chance
to
sale
your soul
and
to
kiss
the
rotten
hands of
Satan
thus
give him
your soul
plus
everything
that you own
to rule the world

I am a first generation
Park bench blue-jay.
I have scoured every subway
And train station track crack
Pattering my little feet
A little foot closer
To every cold heart
In every concrete city
From here to
where ever the ****
Blue birds go.

In my travels,
I have seen
Floorboards mold to the
Shape of a man's feet
Around the place
He prays every
Morning

In a much less a house
than it is a home.

I want my life to be a series of coming home.
I want my front door to be as open
As a bottle on a bad day.
And hey..
I don't condone getting
Absolutely freaking plastered,
But I want to be constantly
Under the influence of love

I want to be so
Intoxicated with
The music of the universe
That Brian Greene
Will never go
To another book signing.

I want to feel the orchestra
Of atoms in my hand
Like every Eagle Scout
Who earned his
Carving badge
On the bathroom stall

Y'all,
"I was here."

---And not one of you
Can write that
Like I  just did.---

I was here.
And God knows
If I go somewhere
I'll always know
How to get back

So if anyone asks me
What I'm going to
Do with my life
I'm gonna tell them that.
Because I swear,
I'm not anything more than me.
Experiencing this moment momentarily.

And honestly,
I have spent more time
And more money looking for the
Right church, than I have
The right God

And I have spent more time
And way more money writing
The perfect eulogy
To the parts of you and me
That I just never really buried.

I'm convinced that
When people die,
Their spirit remains
In a rebounding wave
Of influence propagated
By those whose lives they
Have changed,

So for better or for worse,
I want to be a tsunami.
I want my waves
To travel like butterflies,
And I want to dream cocoon.

I wanna learn to love the world
The way it loves the moon.
And maybe one day
My heart will grow so big
For every bumble bee
And baseball mitt
That I'll pull a Saturn
And put a ring on it.

Or.. Lots of rings..
One for every
Level of my love:
A through F...U..

..See, maybe Jesus
Will write a book
About us,
Call it the little prince,
And I will spend all day
And all night
Trying to convince you
That snakes can eat elephants.

And I swear
I will spend every
Sunset and sunrise
Gnawing my calluses
On a porch swing
Convincing myself, I think,
That these hands
Are soft as
Thunder.

And maybe then I'll listen
To a back alley
Street lamp
In the middle of
A snow storm
At that exact moment
Where electricity
And felicity
Are one in the same.

I have spent years
Looking for the answer
To who I am,
Searching through
Every letter
Of every poem,
That has ever
Spoken to two
Birds in love.

When I should have
Been out writing it.

I'm really sorry for what I have done
I'm sorry for not being good enough
Man like me doesn't deserve a girl like you
But will prove to be the right one for you

The past will always be remained bitter
Don't use it with me as a barrier
Instead, let us just leave the past behind
Make new memories with a peace of mind

Let the Sunflower stand tall and sturdy
To find the light in your darkest journey
To be the source of joy in your sorrow
To be your hope in every tomorrow

My body is a cage.
My spirit is a bird.
I want to come out, but my mind is stopping me.
Everytime I get close to unlock the cage, I loose the key...
ANd I have to start over one more time.... in the dark.

cool, just call me , we are juggling our sanity and the days like paper lanterns on rivers being used as paper weights for a days wages never paid,

and the walking dogs have all their leashes in a knot, but do not fret, I got this thing on a bet and a prayer,

with some help from good friends and one heck of a pinch hitter,
who brings the cows home on the bases loaded and the football bat is all out of whack and did it with a whiffle balled mad  hatter.  

as we are all a tasted disquieted and alarmed silently outloud of the load of horse **** and bravado  of the slightly deranged considerations to any being ******* the dead for their secrets ,

so yeah. But with our werewoof feet , Mohawk eyebrows in the alias mode of method of obfuscation uni-brows and mustaches, cause lets face it, with such stage as to fain the rain of a stain,

we need to rewind the kine and uncage the page of line after line of sweet *** whine, wine and more time blaze all the rage when beards don't do the trick in landing the babe with the need for a tree of good root and a wild spine eyed fool all hillbilly and too schooled in the dark arts of **** knuckling bad ways and stays into a gifted consorted construct while she sigh the not so **** shy, yes dizzy and high, and say, oh ****, who whoulda thought,

,, still I thought you would have been bigger,, like road house in the dancing days of rolling thunder and pouring blames mane all to educate mine eyes and teeth as to what is real to eat and all that is plastic fruit looking all to bitter sweet,  

including all the critters of varied skill, poise and swinging lawn mower blades like, biscuits and mustard, pathfinder style, calculator not needed but ****** is optional, and never forget the nuts that bolt all us fools into a clustered fuckery all betty crocker and country **** legs spread , I can't believe it's not butter said in the voice of Otis Redding ,

Signs of that sweet smile and of **** some body going to get a ******* tonight look in them eyes as they tool away and hint to my silly day and keep me on point like the six tossing a bloodhound a big round steak of shhhh, we are hunting rabbits here,

never mine us six foot white rabbit all werewoofed and donnie darkoed in our get the show on gear, lol, but ****, all that in such awesome packages as the friends and things in my head, all keeping me fueled in the art of war on the undead.

now this my friend is a day in the life of the It Squad, and we hit the **** like you cant quit the **** sqaud, so have a coke and a smile, laugh a while, we got this ****. ;-)  

What, I'm just shakin a spear at a bad bacon boy all francis nancy like... so funk yo skunk up son.

oh, da boy got the lo hold on the roll Soul, ****, son, swing lo sweet chariot, commin for to carry me no mo alone and in a **** good tone with a nice private home to give the good dog a bone.

So, yeah, weak like a good weeks hard glazy nights, all sir and silly, but you cant call me a lil *** ***** with my good hillbilly goofy eyed and swilly, Mooooon Shine on me .

Say love son, Yah to the Jah , Alma. cause you got tha soul sols, and if ya don't get this, then you don't have it. but we workin on that, right?

I use to write alot when I was depressed, I guess the idea of putting my thoughts on paper made my sadness feel so much more real. At the time I liked it, I liked the feeling of being fragile. It made me feel vulnerable. But I started distancing myself from it. I didn't want to live in darkness any more. My happiness grew and I nurtured it as one would do taking care of a rose grown from a seed planted in your most needed time. My perspective of life changed, it was like I was reborn into the spiritual realm and my life was but a seedling sprouting from ashes. I looked to the sun for unconditional love and I found it in the flames of a thousand skies.I reached out towards it in the hopes of finding the answers that I needed,I loved ever moment of it even though I was burning on the way. In a sense you could say I burnt myself down but only so that I could rise again. I had the opportunity to mold myself and I choose to become the closest living embodiment of mother nature herself,  I haven't fully achieved that yet but I was created in the belly of a star and my veins run with blood infused with star dust. I am a magical being or atleast I'd like to think that I am, I don't want to be anything less, than a women whom someone could never forget.