I might grow
might get up and go to face
what the future has in store.
But what if it's not more than what I desire?
what if that future fire is cold and I get old before it's lit
what if bit by bit I dissolve
revolving around my own axis
and as far as I know you don't get to practice
growing up.

I might not grow but again as far as I know I won't get a choice, it's written in ink upon the list of wishes and dreams but somebody missed off my surname and gave a lame excuse that I'd be no use as a man.
can you believe it?
As if I'm already evolving into another bit bit bit
but I sit in the bedroom or lay on my bed with the thoughts of growing up going around in my head
and it scares me.
that which cannot be seen,already dreamt of in a forgotten dream and I feel as if I've been there before
but that can't possibly be because I cannot see any more than today where I sit or I lay and I think.
In the blink of an eye and as time rushes on by
I have asked myself over and over again the same question ,why?

When the dew of the morning has cried out of the sky and the birds are all chirping and go about working the fields for their food
and I, semi **** decide to get dressed.
I am always impressed with the way life goes on
whenever I feel something's wrong it is right
I might grow up some day or tonight
and if something just is
then just might
is another thing wrong
but it's right.

I

We sit on a tailgate pointed toward
the hills, where life ripples down the slopes
gathers in pools of the creek and begins again
to climb up the peaks and tree trunks on the
other side. It colors the breaths we take
green.
Children run here, learn their legs, as stalks
graze their shoulders and block their
view. They get dizzy as rows rush by.
We rein in our bovine friends here, watch
them jump and kick, see them call in
spring

II

We walk between rows of highly stacked cement and exhale smog that drifts
upwards to
join the cloud of soot.
We walk among so many abrasive shoulders. We get
hung up on abrasive personalities.
A gray wave in a black sea we’re vapidly
drifting. Legs move quickly to stay afloat.
swimming. Swimming always. Swimming further.

III

We sit for pictures with clogged eyes and stuffed chests
We coo at portraits of masks and dummies
We write books for laughs and money and friends
We read a little to find the romance and sorrow
and lay cold on the slab while our own pages turn.

IV

We pass out of porcelain faces with their tightly
drawn eyes that cast gazes over shoulders, homes
of last night’s kisses. We pass out of the electrical
current of youth
numbed and still alive
with eyes that look like stained glass windows of the
Church of Holy Suffering.


V

We wait for Sunday night to turn the dial to the Blues. We keep throwing something for an animal to pick up and return.  We string beads and sell them for redemption.

VI

We think of our friends. They’re draped in a future,
warmed with hot blood rushing through their veins,
slamming fists to tables, pronouncing their minds.
ripping off dresses, sharing their madness.
tossing paint to canvas, showing their hearts.
asking questions to startle, proving their love.

VII

We think of our parents.
dead and gone, dead to us, dead by self-proclamation -
Is their blood cold and still in their withered veins?
Have they their fill of slamming fists and ripped dresses and tossed paint and startling questions?

VIII

We are sad.

Electrodes to nodes
and nothing bodes well
electrickery and it trickles into me
revolting and jolting
and Frankensteinlike bolting me
to the bed.

The head
this head will no longer be as free
as the thought imagining in me
while hot electrotomoty
burns me to
anonymity
and it's a pity I can't be
a less condusive entity
but the powers that be seem to have it in for me
and I am strapped to non lucidity
in the name of all humanity
don't put a shilling in the meter

Later I meet myself
in a shell of who I used to be in a picture
painted hastily
on a background
which I cannot see
and what was once no longer is or was it ever and did I once was clever too or were the words electricked through the nodes that boded ill?
Will it stay or will it go
somewhere out there
do you know
or are you waiting for the leads that lead you to electric feeds?
Can someone bring me bread and water
call my Mother
call my daughter
or like the lamb led to the slaughter
will I bleed to death?

“do you love me?”
What does it mean when you ask me? How can you not tell?
If you can’t tell that I love you then maybe that’s just as well.
You see I’ve never felt love before, just lust, pain or adoration,
But I know it shouldn’t lie so easy with constant hesitation.
“Do You Love Me!?”
The question pierces my ear but my lips are not sincere
The words don’t roll off my tongue as easy does my eye.
My heart doesn’t beat in rhythm until the time we say goodbye.
I need to breathe, let me breathe. But all I do is sigh.
“DO YOU LOVE ME?!!”
How can you spit wasps at me when all I want to speak is butterflies?
Do you know what love is or is just easier to be cruel than to be kind?
How can I tell you, with tears, with yells, with infidelity? How do I tell you I love you? With lies, broken promises and charity?
“I’ll ASK YOU ONE LAST TIME, IF YOU DON’T ANSWER ME THEN IT’S FINAL.”
Cocked gun at my head, pale blue vision turning scarlet red
“DO.”
It’s small led shaft pointed at my brain, no warmth left.
No time to say I’m sorry just forced words to relieve me of my breath.
“YOU”
Tie a noose to the yew tree and kiss me on the cheek.
It’ll bow down it’s branches and grow new roots. I’ll be ok, escaped to love another day.
“LOVE”
Pull the trigger, I won’t tell. You’ll never know, you can go to hell.
“ME?”**
Yes, of course I do. Why do you even have to ask?

So I met this ***** that was lerkin like a cool,
chic head up angled like she was aiming for a fool *****,
                       Looked like a ratchet who da hell would snatchet unless ya faith is sappy
cause that girl hella *****,.
        Bend down to light a halfy,
                            Cut shorts **** snorts wreak smoke
           Might choke Taahaaa she broke no joke,.
                             Brain tied Boy lied Needa hero,.
                             On time,**** lime,she know she be a zero.
Ghett heals wet meals not real done deal,.


(sais the white girl that want's to be a rapper :)

What is your fear—that you are not
beautiful?
The valley's are jealous, my true.

The story is truer than you will
not know,
trailing roots in the rivers of snow.

The patterns of sand the Sahara
makes by hand
can't grasp your vexing shape.

And it is your heart I so found in
the dark,
nestled stark in the moss of a cave.

What is your fear—that they will not
love you?
Be patient once more, my sky.

The moon will deceive you to thinking
that so,
but—listen, my love—not I.