A strange time to be.
A strange way to think.
Strange noises,
no on explains.
Strange news,
no one to blame.
Strange fish in Alaska,
Fukushima still leaking?
False flags,
toe tags,
dog tag stories
to pluck the heart strings.
I saw it in my dreams,
among other things.
For all the good it does me.
Still lost,
keep moving,
but it always finds me.
Still dream,
still wake,
walk through it
obliviously.
It's okay.
It was all going to happen
eventually,
anyway..

Seagulls pacing dark skies.
Walking circles below,
with a cigarette, in the snow.
Thinking of reuniting with you.

I went back to the past,
exhausted by everything new,
estranged by my time with strangers.
Dreaming of reveries untrue.

I went back to the future,
but all it showed me was you.
Nothing of what would become,
nothing of what we would do.

I wanted to break that portal,
to cut myself off,
to be free of prophetic visions.
I was afraid to be alone.

So I let it sit,
like a canker,
like a cyst,
until I would be brave enough.

Brave enough to step through it.

In the beginning it was already the end.
That distant apocalypse was here all along,
Riding freight trains and eating the "trash"
There when they boarded up the Slavic village. There when the fresh prince gentrified Philly. So much apocalypse has been swept under the rug that the middle class can't keep their balance with the weight of the rich on their backs.
Stepping around the smoldering hell holes of Centralia, while the earth quakes from underground fracking. The ash and smog hides the glitter of aluminum in the air. The water laced with fluoride, lead, arsenic, cancer. The seas run black with greed. Designer labels sit passed by on goodwill shelves.

By the time it began, it was already over. Anyone who didn't notice yet, just had to go hungry first. Bread and circuses, just like Rome.

I never thought I'd hear me scream
“I'm tired of this same old scene!”
Everything's more than it seems,
it's all worse than this.

I never thought I'd have to dream,
to take control of my destiny.
Brighter pastures and darker days,
it's all up to me.

So before I even hear you say,
that God is great and he loves me.
That everything's exactly as
it's supposed to be.

Just shut your mouth.

You're full of ****
and we both know it.
God himself if he did exist,
would **** your kids.

Get over it.

All your anger all your pain.
All the suffering and shame.
All the black marks on your name,
there's no one else to blame.

Just take control.

Pack your bags
and forget your debt.
There's a life
you ain't lived yet.

So get on with it.

Let's go on living like nothing ever happened.
Let's press on, push through, with one eye and all 9 fingers.
Let's give up our crutches, and take up all new habits.
Let's make good on all those past resolutions.
Let's be somebody, Let's make something of ourselves.
Let's dream and talk about ideas.
Let's move on. Let's keep living.

I used to write poems about nature.
Nothing in particular,
just clouds,
and wind,
and sounds.

Of brief encounters
with other living things
of various species,
none more mysterious than my own.

I remember once,
this bird landed on a thistle.
He was colorful and bright,
offset against the waning light.

Suddenly, sharply,
as if awaiting the tap of a maestro,
as if stricken like a note itself,
he sang his heart out.

It was brilliantly composed,
masterfully performed,
a truly inspired work.
A silence followed.

Looking briefly from side to side,
hoping someone noticed.
He reluctantly flew,
bobbing on gray skies, into the autumnal horizon.