they found him walking along the freeway
all red in
front
he had taken a rusty tin can
and cut off his ******
machinery
as if to say --
see what you've done to
me? you might as well have the
rest.

and he put part of him
in one pocket and
part of him in
another
and that's how they found him,
walking
along.

they gave him over to the
doctors
who tried to sew the parts
back
on
but the parts were
quite contented
the way they
were.

I think sometimes of all of the good
***
turned over to the
monsters of the
world.

maybe it was his protest against
this or
his protest
against
everything.

a one man
Freedom March
that never squeezed in
between
the concert reviews and the
baseball
scores.

God, or somebody,
bless
him.

Think no more, lad; laugh, be jolly:
Why should men make haste to die?
Empty heads and tongues a-talking
Make the rough road easy walking,
And the feather pate of folly
Bears the falling sky.

Oh, 'tis jesting, dancing, drinking
Spins the heavy world around.
If young hearts were not so clever,
Oh, they would be young for ever:
Think no more; 'tis only thinking
Lays lads underground.

The summer sun ray
shifts through a suspicious tree.
though I walk through the valley of the shadow
It ***** the air
and looks around for me.

The grass speaks.
I hear green chanting all day.
I will fear no evil, fear no evil
The blades extend
and reach my way.

The sky breaks.
It sags and breathes upon my face.
In the presence of mine enemies, mine enemies
The world is full of enemies.
There is no safe place.

1205

Immortal is an ample word
When what we need is by
But when it leaves us for a time
’Tis a necessity.

Of Heaven above the firmest proof
We fundamental know
Except for its marauding Hand
It had been Heaven below.

Holding my arms around my knees I gaze out the window toward a horizon interrupted by buildings
I look out at them, as they face me in an un-assuming posture, ambivalent to my existence
On either side are people, scurrying in the glimmering afternoon sunlight. They gather possessions to hide in their closets. And every parcel is an amount of pollution. What if there were fewer of us? Unnecessary ones, incompetent ones.
I suppose there’d be fewer yard sales

Drunken guides pour
Through the crowd
Like hunters to prey.
Their eyes are bloodshot,
but narrowed from the haze.
There is no smirk here,
Just a grin to hide the lies.
Walk with her through the desert,
and knowingly be demised.

She touches you with
Sweet lips.
Her stain evident on the cusp
of your tongue.
Temptation stopping
to linger,
Her smoke coursing
through your lungs.

I walk with her through
the desert,
her fire being my sun.
She guides me with green eyes
and open lips,
without her,
I would be shun.

Have pity on the poor old human
tired and warn and broken.
I do not envy such a man
to whom not a word is spoken.
Fallen from the mount
fanned by palms nevermore
his back is bent
his back is sore.
He will not rise to heaven;
it is not there,
so do not pity the false prophet
whose lies were made aware,
and though we let him walk the earth
we **** him with despair.