Im hooked on you and I
but I want to say goodbye
to this thought now memory
to your lows and highs
to the taste of your savory
lips and I cant
I cant
so I sigh

Theres too much for us to experience
You can ground my firey trance
and Ill burn your memories that ever last

My heart will forever burn
Your heart will forever yearn
for the past
You and I will last
in dreams of our enpass

I meet him a few nights a week
My friend and I
we chase him
There is a me that I don't know
Till I meet this man
Like a genie in a bottle
what a luxury to know him
dark and handsome..
A side of me is exposed
more open and witty
and revealing than I could ever want
But it's Me
Bubbly and Awkward
Giggly and Forward
For sure and full of Heart
My girl and I
We chase Jack with Jack
He warms us
and fills us
with a certainty
with a clarity
He is just in a bottle
But when he is released
We are released.

Big bada Boom

Naked bodies are meant for each other
To hold and to touch and to bother
I've spent some time not caring
but my anticipation is blaring

I left a good soul in good torment
He had video games on his mind
It was easy to see, we let love ferment
I was no one but a ***** bind
I said, enough.

Twenty five years
I've grown
I've slipped
I've been torn apart

Three years
I've wasted
Uninspired
Aching for
Inspiration

He came to me from the mines
His hard, rough hands
used to be so soft, when he was a boy
Boy has he grown
He holds me with a grip
As if I've slipped before

He came to me in the night,
unable to sleep
I heard his plight
My heart was buried deep
But I let him touch me
and look at me
and want me

These are not empowering feelings
A woman was meant for a man
A man, with primeval notions
A woman, with cultured devotions
We succumb to our basic human desires
It either feeds us
Or destroys us

Everyone wants to be the object
of the other's deviant subject
We look for distractions
something for attraction
Life is not a reality
It is a fiction
With every step
a new direction

I am free now
to love
to play
to dance

It gives me immense pleasure
to go back to previous measure
I don't care if I'm alone
I can choose to be used

I asked if he missed this
"Yes."

(the city had fought the fortnight before)
fire burned through the little skirts
and plastic lunch boxes
carrying the nourishment of our future
doctors and worldshakers—

                                 Future
tax paying Americans
And beacon of the nation.

Wide awake, in the thoughts of a light bulb,
(Where sidewalk stairs politic with the devil,)
A raindrop fell and whispered to the asphalt,
“Tell me what you know about happiness…”
And somewhere, in the middle of a pineapple parade,
A Pepsi can smiled and danced the night away with Nyquil labels.

We sipped boulder rock from refrigerators doors
and watched the heavens hand out food stamps with IBM logos.
“ode to Mehmet” we sang, and licked the Mossberg—
fixating on the blue collar philosophy that lived in our empty wallets.

Trash cans filled with water bottles stared at us to find our essence—
the one we had lost while being fed quintessential American idioms
in state-of-the-art classrooms sponsored by slaves and Popol Vuh blood.

Six million years of human existence trivialized down to a single sentence—
* Man loved God, man wrote, man conquered God, and now man loves science* —
scribbled on SmartBoards afforded by fire burning from Prometheus’ female liver.

Trees sing with oxygen no more for the sake of making paper,
and eyes soak in the words on paper for the sake of making paper.
Trees make the avenue but the future holds an Avenue of no trees—
… for in the land of the free, anything but freedom ain’t free.

The unorthodox are the true prophets
for their ways are those of the future,
so in the now, most kings get their head cut off.

But as death is the greatest prophet,
for it never fails to come true,
their martyrdom proves their ways truer than the footsteps of their fathers,
so in the face of adversities;
never be afraid to be a lonely Jesus on the Cross.

Vivid visions of the past lurk me,
I’m walking on the avenues of once a quick man’s vision,
driving in car models a dead man thought
and voting with rights dead men and women fought—
for, we’re all living life through dead men’s visions—
books of laws and morals woven by dead men’s *****—
subconscious slaves to dead ways.
So ask me about “life” and I’ll reply,
*I’m still waiting to live like my master
for everyone that lives dies
but everyone that dies lives.