If it weren't for the fear
Of hell
I'd be gone

It has been Seventeen
Months since I last wrote

The ink grew stale in the air
Of the outside world.

The prison bars become thicker
and the canvas is smeared

No rhyme, no reason
A simple etching

I think of the insipiration of
Insanity, like a falling rain

A drought has come
And dried this land

She kissed the trinkets pinned to the walls
Like memories which crawl inside my mind's halls

Delicately she took each one down
A pursing of lips and a little downward frown

A slip of a finger and the glass began to flow
Down her forearms as the puddles began to grow

And she stood *****, the shock filled her eyes
As the red liquid flowed like a river of dyes

I turned and walked along alone with myself as it fell
And neither of us has ever seemed to listen very well

But it's all well and good; I'll do as I should
And I'll say all the things I swore I never would

I could paint the walls behind my head
Red and grey shades of intellect

An abstract portrait of Picasso potential
The spaces between are the differential

The tachytelic nature of my mind
Seems to want my body to unwind

To fall away to the wind
A metanoia, I have sinned

I couldn't tell you
Just how many times
I've walked through the
Pitch black aisles of these
Woods and heard them
Whispering their secrets of
Eternity and of a life more
Grounded and roots that grow
Into the core, bending, some
Breaking, but most standing,
Glistening as they reach
Towards the soft autumn sun.

Suicidal tendencies, alleged attempt in 2011
(National Scholar-Athlete)
Bipolar with psychotic features, meds necessary
(President of student government)
Anti-social features, deceptive, manipulative, lying.
(Captain of varsity athletics)
Qualifies as a pickup. Forfeits all rights. Police involvement if necessary.
(President of an all-star rugby club)
Extreme aggression. Any homicidal idealization should be taken seriously.
(Trustee Scholarship to a renown private college)
Narcotics abuse. Marijuana, LSD, Klonopin, *******, Alcohol, Painkillers
(3.7 GPA)
Masks and shields intentions. Deceptive with professionals.
(Active volunteer)
I advise that he be admitted to a hospital immediately
(Participant in community)
Drug abuse counseling, medication, extensive therapy necessary
(Leader of peers)

Diagnoses fly like a panhandlers love affairs

Your inexact science is a disgrace to what I've created

A philosophy based on your experience

Ignoring the dynamic of the human condition

****** for feeling to much

****** for not feeling enough

I saw the woman again.
The one who looked as if she has
Lost a child.
(I grew to love a face who lost a child)
There's nothing quite like that look
Behind those hollowed out eyes.
Wilting instead of blinking. The tired,
Weighted expression where lips have been
Draw tight to teeth by years
Of choking back tears.

Have you ever stepped out in front of a moving car?
Have you ever nearly fell backwards down a flight of stairs?
Have you ever had gun metal pushed up against your skull?
Have you ever had a blade flash under a streetlight in front of you like the teeth of a rabid dog?
Have you ever climbed to the edge of a tall building?
Have you ever been cornered in a lie?
Have you been completely uncovered?
Entirely discovered?
Soul unearthed?

Die three times and I’ll show you life.

"Red Tailed Hawk"
Written in 2009 - 16 years of age

He sits on his perch
Nothing can touch him
Nothing can hurt him
Eyes like daggers
Eyes as cold as ice
Talons sharp like fire
Swift, keen, he waits

The parent blackbird
Shrieking in despair
Dives in again and again at him
Unscathed, he sits, waits, and watches
Without warning, he faints
Falling onto his prey
Talons and beak
Tearing into flesh
Stripping away the life

As I stood next to him
We talked about things
Gazing out into the lake
We were like lifelong friends
I asked him, "why are you fearless?"
The reply came from within his eyes
It was his domain, his territory, his life
A reply in simplest of terms
For the hawk, nothing is complex
After you have stripped away the flesh

Rewrite - Present Day. 20 years of age.

The sharp eyes pierce the veil of the day
Sitting on his perch, he silently waits
The singing trees grow quiet at his presence

The target in sight- the nest cradled
In the boughs of naked limbs is the victim
Of his narrowed gaze; silence is deafening

Unsheathed talons slice the air, death
In their grasp as the screams of the
Victims erupt from the noiseless space

Diving to and fro, the mother's desperate
Attempts to salvage the lives are useless in
The winged fury of the red-brown beast

The dagger-like beak tears away the
Life from the little ones. Feathers float
Gently to the ground- the silence returns

The fearlessness resonates in the air
Between the great beast and I. Earth,
Air, Trees. The great domain of the hawk

I walked to where the bones lay and
Find little chalk outlines. The flesh is gone.
Remaining only the simplest form of things.

And what have we left when our flesh has
Been devoured and dried up? The structures of
Our forms, the purest and most exemplary.

I've seen it before
The silent shift behind your
Eyes, or behind your words.
In one beautiful moment, the heart is
Spilling over with passion. Then,
You don the new face, the new
Character; a change not so careful,
Not so elegant as that of the autumn
Leaves. A drastic change, like a car
Crash or an avalanche. As the face
Of the mountain changes, so does the
Face of your love.

It has always perplexed me
The unspoken laws of nature
The fowls swiftly follow their
Undeviating migrant patterns
Like long highways- better than man
Will ever hope to build.
The wolf never leaves the
Woodland heights. An invisible
Boundary is laid between the creatures
Of the desert and the creatures
Of the forest. The ones who live in the
Dark, dank ponds and the woodland
Shallows are never seen roaming
The grassy plains. What is it about man?
Is it his sense for adventure?
Or his passion for destruction?

In that moment, a flash, an instance
I chased Orion's heels across the sky
Swiftly moving a light-year's distance
Nebulous flash, a star prepared to die

Life is such a beautiful mystery

Last night you taught me
To relinquish control
My arms tied to your bed posts

This morning my therapist
Tied the animal in my mind
To a giant oak tree

If there is one thing that I have learned
From the up and down
Is that there is no such thing
As wholly bad
Or wholly good

Even with the pristine white smile
The suave collar and neck hugging tie
The professional demeanor
And the bullet proof attitude
The devil is in the details

That creeping rage that beats itself
Against the steering wheel as the
Moon stares at you through the
Passenger side window

I've fooled you
And this I know for sure
Because I'm good enough
To fool myself.

Entwined in this seemingly
Endless dance. We stare at
Each other, neither daring to
Make the first move. The
Tension is tangible. The
Smells of unspoken restraints and
Inner conflict sift through the
Air that lies between us.
It is a dance performed
Without motion. An action
Without movement.

Even the star of our solar system
Is blocked out by mere vapors

Even the clouds
Can hide the rays of the sun

I stand here on the
Edge.
The soft breeze carries
Your scent
Through my nostrils and into
My lungs.
The mountainside is
Steep.
If you let me hit the
Jagged rocks
At the bottom,
I will surely
Die.

So don't let
Me down now,
love. Make sure to
Catch my
Fall.
Make me a nest with
The sweet honey
Words of your
Shockingly red-violet
Mouth.
Give me a parachute of
Kisses to catch the
Air with on my
Descent.

The moon pulls on the earth
And the earth pulls back
Yet, for now
They are so far away

The beautiful thing
however,
Is that the moon is the remnant
Of a devastating impact
Wrought from the earth

Let that be a lesson for you
My love
That as the earth suffers in orbit
The moon silently whispers back
"I carry you with me."

I saw you in a Dream.
I was lying in the grass,
The panic filled my lungs
With a silent scream and my
Eyes with tectonic tremor.
You sat across from me.
I had never seen you before,
A gentle touch to my temples.
Perhaps it was the uncorrupted love
Of a beautiful stranger that
Made me ache for you when
I awoke. I know that I will
Never see you again.

Grey moons, two of
them. Directing the ebb and
flow of my desire. Pulling my
heart forward where it turns
back to recede on the
horizon of my restraint.
The shorelines of my soul are
littered with washed-up
experiences, left by the
vessels who have been
destroyed in the stormy seas of
my tumultuous love.

I think about how my feet have never
Touched the soft moss in that distant forest
Or how my hands have not felt the tear-like vines
Of the weeping trees in the foreign jungle
My legs have never strained to carry
My body up the side of the snow kissed
Mountainside. These places are all so
Familiar to me and yet I have not
Breathed in the sweet smell of the moss
Nor felt the rough skin of the vine
Nor tasted the pure snow of the mountain.
Yet I possess such a clear picture, such a
Beautiful image in my mind; with all the
Familiarity of my mother's soft face.

The concave curvature
Of her crescent cheeks carried
Me back to the beginning
Of time, to the ground where
Love laid the very first pieces
Of her infinite foundation
To where the rock met the sea
At the distant shorelines of desire
Where the mighty waves of passion
Crash on the bedrock of solidarity

I, the small being, coupled with you,
Tapped into the endless well, throwing
Ourselves into eternity. The sky stretches
And is covered with the burning stars
Whose distant screams are the sonata
Of the oscillating sound waves of
The song we both share. You and I-
I was your ocean and you were my
Moon. Though your brilliant reflection
Undulated on the face of my violent waves
We could not touch, separated by light
Years through which time stretches and
Retracts and ultimately sums to zero

And yet here you are, my gentle breath
Is the soft wind in your valley, gently
Bending the stems of the magnificent flowers
That abound in your lush fields. Your vines
Wrap around my trunk as my heart pants
For you like the fawn after the cool brook
And is filled with the cool refreshment
That fills my veins. Your rivers flow into my
Seas and my seas empty into your streams
And we find ourselves here, in this cycle,
Realizing that the separation would
Be the sudden death of the both of us.

Caught up in the appearance of it,
The inner movement means nothing.

It does not matter the bending of the tree,
Only the color of its autumn leaves.

The glow, the sparkle, the flash, the color only,
The darkness within, the silent movement is nothing.

Pretty to the eye, soft to the touch,
These tactile stimuli are sought after.

Astounded by the beauty on the outside
Terrified of what lies beneath. The unknown.

The summer sun is so beautiful,
What then of the snow? The dark clouds?

Is not every silent movement of nature,
Beautiful in its own form and nature?

The appearance, my friend. Pluck and pull,
Tighten and pin. Paint your face on.

What lies beneath? But the echo and rustle,
Of the dead, sullen, dried husks. Dead souls.

They moved in back in 1956
New lovers, New breath, New life
A New house. Yellow and white shutters,
The lake in plain view, sloped lawn.
Children came forth, grew, left
Dandelion seeds on a wind's ride.
They planted a tree in the back
It grew as they shrunk. The wife died.
Dad can't stay on his own, we must
Find him a home. We're too busy, Susan
and Bill just had a baby. Put him on a shelf
In the closet. For sale sign comes up.
Old money young couple in a Black SUV.
The white shutters should be blue. The yellow
Is an off color. This tree in the back simply
Won't do. It blocks the view. It must come down.
Memories rot and rust and are painted over
The stain in the carpet where she spilled her wine
That one night when they had a little too
Much to drink, they fell into each others
Arms. Rip out the carpet.
The tree must come down.

I saw her in the window again
Nothing special about the window
The focus is on her

Old, grey, weary
Eyes like caves, holes with no end
Skin sags like old curtains

She stares out the window
Any window
Nothing special about the window

I almost went up to breath
My fog on the windowpane
Some ghosts are better left unspoken to.

Sweetie,
you're throwing your dimes in a wishing well
that pays no dividends.

In strength I am strong
In weakness I am weak

Cinema, you have it all wrong!
Insanity is not the man who
Shouts at people in the streets nor
The man who digs the imaginary
Bugs out from under his skin.
That is the abuse of drugs-
The effects of long term deprivation
Of reality. No, this is not insanity-
Merely flashy, fabricated shock.

Insanity is subtle. The slight smile when
A frown should be worn. The uncontrollable
Giggles that occur when you watch the
Stoplight turn from red to green.
The patterns, the visions of things that
Are inexplicable, unable to be described with
Language. No, no drugs here, these things
Are my mind's free form madness. A creation
Wrought from the deep trenches in my mind's
Winding alleyways. You have it all wrong.

You don't spit
After dragging a fine cigar

You don't throw up
After drinking a fine scotch

You only purge
When you've been with a fine woman

Nothing will get you like
Mail.
Bills, spam, bills.
A bank statement, some
Numbers. An overdraft.
That's okay,
You filled the car with your voice
Last night.
Just some of that radio *******,
But I liked it when it came
Out of your mouth.
I guess that is what will
Keep me alive today.

The valiant leaves who held on
Through the strongest winter breeze
Defiantly clung to the
Brown weathered trees

And one must read close to
Gather the story of time
hidden in the wrinkled trunks
Of the tall evergreen pines

And I thought of how Aurelius
Challenged the
Justness of God. Well the
Justice of man may not be the
Just course for all.

My shirt hangs off your *******
Like a flag on a conquered citadel

I will pay hell for this
But not in this life

What is it about these tired, melancholy streets
That has you all hidden in your little houses?

My feet tread one over another and yet the only
Sound is the echo of my footsteps. Where are the other bodies?

I see no lovers holding tightly, hands in hands and arms
Intertwined as if the cold wind could pull them apart.

I saw you peek from the beat up little house, I was
Enjoying a conversation with your father. Loud laughs resonate.

I saw you peering through the trails of cigarette smoke and
Tattered blankets which keep you hidden in the shack.

Those blankets, much like when I saw you. Tattered and
Not so sightly. Worn by age and smoke. Sickly and stained.

Alas, my dog runs up the field and there is not a soul in sight;
The osprey have left their perch on the cellular tower.

Where are your huddled little bodies, little town?
The winter has not reached its age to have created anxiety.

The anxiety that forces them from their homes
In an earnest search for the sun's warm rays.

It was one of those
Mornings
Where everything seemed
Farther away than
it actually
was.

I always get your middle name wrong.
The first time I laid eyes upon you,
My heart thought you were a flower.
You could say the drunken stupor
Filled your veins and veiled your eyes.
You weren't there, a possession, a warm
Body left cold by the absence of a soul.
But your inscription is written upon every
Cell, every fiber of my being. Your heart
Beats alongside my heart. A quiet yet
Powerful cadence. The sounds move the seas.
My body could not transgress. My lips would
Recede, a low-tide effect, a shirking from sin.
My hands would shrivel to ash, my eyes would
Drop from their branches. I've felt the bite of the
Needle's tooth, I've left dust on ***** tissues.
But never will my lips graze another.

Tethered in cement fields
By steel clocks
Nothing is real.

We only harden ourselves
When we are truly threatened

Until then, we love
And we love viciously

We both know how addicting
It is to lose your humanity.

It's the kind of voice that comes creeping
Much like the drenched leaves flattened
Leaving silent silhouettes on wet pavement
I've only felt the silent sickness from an intimate distance
I don't know who I will hear this time
But I can assure you,
The message will be
Poetic
In nature.

It's the optimists that I can't bear
Chinese skin farms torture for a
Collection of innocent flesh and hair
Look on the brighter side of it, bud!
As your lie writhing in a stinking pile
Of naked muscle and pooling blood

The little girl whose teeth are smashed
Whose daddy has relapsed
And sold her as a piece of ***
To be ****** over and over for some cash
So that he can buy his ****** crack
And bleed his veins for a dwindled stash

The starving owl-eyed boy who
Believes himself evil for the thought of
Turning his little brother into his next meal
And not even a little left to steal
As ribcages tell a thousand tales
Along lines of skin and bone so frail

So **** your rhyme schemes
And your bleeding heart activists
Who scream in college courts
And completely lack the knack of it
Skin them alive and burn them as well
And maybe they'd have given their
Very souls to the fires of hell

Smoke trails that never left the room
A soft sunlight through the two windows
So many memories crammed into that little room
The tiny kitchen where you cooked breakfast
With your tiny little shorts
You called me with your tiny little voice
Dorian Grey open on the bed
A cocktail of emotion on the counter

I was going to write something
But then I lost it.
****.

She dances so very softly.
Slender feet carry her across the
Infinite expanse of my mind.
Gliding, she's striding over pains and
Apprehensions as she brings me in
Closer, holding me tightly to her chest.
The heartbeat is soft, so very steady.
The eyes, like two beautiful stars.
Choicest of the heavens, none like them
Exist. They glisten, penetrating my soul.
Casting pure gazes upon me; so very beautiful.
I open mine, and alas, she is gone.
Yet I still hear that little pitter patter
The sound of her feet tapping inside
So very quietly.