I am a cereal killer
Devouring Life is a thriller

Snap, crackle, and pop
I make the flakes drop

Stalking salubrious crunch
Murdered for breakfast and lunch

My appetite for Trix is voracious
For my Lucky Charms, I am gracious

Mud & Bugs haunt my soul
Desecrating Grape-Nuts whole

Yea, I'm Nut n' Honey and Cocoa Hoots
Krispy Kritter Krave Fruit Loops

I'm a cereal killer
Yet a community pillar

Can't comprehend why it's a crime
Unrepentant, I'll massacre cereal every time

When I was 9,
I stopped fearing the monster under my bed.
So he shrank down in size.

He climbed up my bed
and crawled in an ear
now he lives within me
renamed ‘things I fear’.

The two-thirty train
Sweeps beside the river
I spent this moment in silent meditation
So many nights
So much of Spring
So much of Summer

This train is beautiful ambient noise
accompanying every thought filling this room
a soundtrack of clarity
I thought of laying awake with you
from a distance
I thought of laying awake alone somewhere else
missing the two-thirty train

It's starting to smell like Spring
It's starting to smell like Summer
It makes me think closeness
It makes me think of distance
Its a sick sweetness
I fondly remember moments far from fond

We stayed up talking on a school night
Youthful indiscretion
Half asleep giving anything to stay up
Wanting to see inside of what you thought you were
Wanting to hush your mind
What you thought you should be but weren't

Some nights I vividly recall shallow breathing right beside me
Inside my ears
You were as much here as you were there
I fall asleep with your breath tucked away in my brain
If I close my eyes you're beside me
But unable to embraced

Some nights I wouldn't dare sleep
Busy big hands with a little screen
Clicking touch-pad letters
Giving you a thousand reasons to stick around
A thousand resolutions
A thousand promises
And my thousands hours at your disposal

It's noon the next morning
You've yet to wake
I questioned if you would
In my mind we stayed up till dawn
Nursing you with what I have at my disposal
Sweet words
Every one true

The night before, I had heard the train
I was slumped into my pillow
Observing you from a distance
Asking that anything salvage you
Asking to carry your burdens
I begin to bargin
That you stick around longer with me

I lay here
Where I laid then
The train is beautiful ambient noise
I slip away from these memories
In time to hear the train depart
Its been a year and I think about that night
You woke up
I always want to make sure you do

he is a robotic man
clad in a suit or iron
which is the only thing
anchoring him to this place
foot steps leave dents in the ground
huge heaving strides
a step with a purpose
cold to the touch
filled with dangerous mechanisms
only vulnerable on the inside
but nobody can crack the plating
pulled by magnetic fields
He is lifeless
tight like a nerve
charging up passionate energy
which comes out in laser beam explosions
a sentinel
less human with every sunset
he puts mankind
in his cross hairs
and opens fire
an Iron man
who was once
simply,
just a man

John Keats
John Keats
John
Please put your scarf on.

An old man is sprawled
across my steps, in the night,
shouting for cigarettes,
crying out—as he does—
Lord, have mercy on a poor man’s soul.

**** or be killed.
That’s how it was
in North Vietnam.
He’d said that and pulled out London dry gin
to wash away only God knows what thought that got in--
I do not understand him
but I understand him
better than I used to.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst to do right.
Have you ever collapsed the bridge under which you slept?
Leapt from your bed when the earthquake hit
or lay awake in it when the kids came to school
with black eyes and suicide eyes?

Blessed are the poor in spirit
but the kingdom hasn’t come yet
and the children are too beautiful for their own good
and I am not good enough.

I am on Your steps, crying
Lord have mercy
on Your poor kingdom

Hey.

I'm sitting here writing poetry
Because I can't stop thinking
About you, and only you.

The way you walk, your shy
Smile, your complete assurance
With your friends, your gaze.

I don't understand how we can
Be so different, and yet the same.
You're such a gentleman.

You're good at writing, but not
As I am. You write poor poetry,
But I can't stop writing poems.

I can't stop writing poems about
You, even if no one but me will
Ever read them. It's strange.

Lately, you're always in my head,
And there's nothing I can do
That will ever change that focus.

You're kind to every girl, but I
Hope you act different towards
Me. It's probably a foolish dream.

You are a bright spot in every day,
But I wonder if I am more than a
Meaningless, hazy face in the crowd.

Today, I confessed to more friends
My feelings for you. But I still turned
That blasted shade of red and stuttered.

I need to get over this insecurity and
Timidity. I rationalize with myself that
What I feel isn't as deep as it really is.

My heart blazes with sheltered emotions,
Of pathways thought just out of reach, but
May not always be unreachable, I hope.

Well, I don't think you'll ever read this,
And you probably won't hear this, but
To you I still say tender, forbidden words:

I love you.


© 3/25/13

A lot of the kids I went to school
were so **** sure of themselves
they would prattle on about
how macro economics was their passion
or how a major in accounting
is their dream
and there's nothing wrong with that
but would your would be passion
be your passion if you were homeless?
if you were terminal
I'm talking like
one year left on the clock
is your passion what you'd still be pursuing?
so you have a passion?
then go out and get it

Who am I
this runs though my head
haunts my every thought
maybe it just haunts me
am I real
am I fake
am I that person who others want around
or am I that person no one likes

am I letting this fear, control me
or is it just haunting me
waiting for me to snap
or to crack under pressure
to summit to it

I try to fight back
but all I see are the cracks
the cracks around me, just waiting to snap
so I'll fall down
so I'll relapse
and crawl back
to that insecurity
to that question
that I always ask
Who am I

I wish I believed
Sheer loneliness
Was a sham

Created by
Screenwriters
To play with

Our emotions
As we await
A romantic reunion

But I don't
Because
I know

A woman
Who is utterly
Alone.