what goes on behind,
or in front, and besides
who really gives a
****?

daily, yesterday, today and
most likely, tomorrow
it seems

how to say this,
the turn-around is
just around the corner.

then I ran into you.

first,

last.

for once can I be honest?

a man or say a woman
can't, won't, shall not
sleep walk in this world
without
hitting
something
to wake them

no, but eggs for breakfast,
fine.
but for
dinner?
c'mon.

I, or she can't sleep with me
because of the gap
between
what is
and
what
is
not.

you say the universe is empty

that it did not choose us
not even once

you say the world is full

of empty hearts

but I too have a story of woe
though if it's in the Mayan language it's not composite,
or Corinthian,
or sequential,
or relevant

I'm just walking in circles here
devouring souls

like us,
our sister-worlds streak across a millennia
chasing her breath
heaving sighs,
leaving
interleaving trails of memory
waving goodbye

sure I get excited
about
love,
***,
and
violence.

sure there's a hell

but what's your feel about feeling
not so
good
about
your insides?

lonely,
LONELY
an      
only 

a drop in the bucket maybe
and who gives a **** anyway
you say
it's just intonation.

I will rise
I will fall
I would in fact
follow you.

(and just for context - the feeling of minor keys played on a outdated 70's moog, well, that sound would take anyone down).

we don't care
if you are a
moll
just come back!

because
I am still
in love
with
you.

describe your aura ana
ana roxanne is your aura
the color of the sound of
ah's

roxanne for strength

hapless and helpless we
will not fade in the eternal night
a nocturnal eternal says,

I see an immediate future for you,
I recall your arrival.

I just found my mother
who she is
what mother means
to her


her whole world is
her motherworld
and we are her children


and I
her son
though
I was never her son
at the beginning

55
years
of
pain


and now
I see her
finally
at 89
totally
dissembled

unearthed
to be
buried

under the earth

dear God
restore us
to regularity
without humiliations

the drain on 42nd street has
rats in the tunnel
rats on the tracks
roaches on the rail
for all the nations let them have

a beautiful life
underneath the sun
like a vagabond
who has no where else to go

I am empty now
below the street
people gather
some push
some saunter
some push there belongings before them
some stare

at humanity
with a smile
with a sad smile
with anger
with rage

some people help
other people

more than once I witnessed a person who
dropped a glove or a hat or a phone or umbrella

and someone said, mister is that yours, or ma'am your glove

we on 42nd stand aloof
regarded as nobody's
and regarded as kings and queens
as natives
as the original dreamers

the first drainers
upon the earth