A prayer is just a cry of becoming human
A cry is just a scream
Of a frightening belief.
And how do we remember how to speak in tongues,
And to flow through moving tunnels
While molding the body to fit something else-
A pattern not yet seen?

Being silent doesn't stop
Others from knowing your unquiet thoughts;
We are more alike
Than we will ever be different.
Just save the last breath for god,
Who pardons all your conscious confusion.

That last, most brilliant light you'll never see
Is only a brain being consumed
By the entrophy of existence.

The stars are well-lit cemeteries
Of illumined souls, that went forgotten once
In the unevenness between the boundaries
Of time, space and heaven.

Once I noticed a great writer, and he had no comments.
To remedy this occluded justice,
I left a colorful comment upon one of his best.
Immediately a scathing message appeared from him,
Though he had never messaged me before;
I had an instant moment of understanding
Of why he had no comments; it was just too obvious
For my childlike mind to have avoided the trap.
A few more condescending messages,
And I deleted the comment; nothing more needed saying.
I had trespassed on hallowed ground,
I had merely to retrace my steps
And all should be forgiven.

I intruded upon your life, which I could never really see,
Through a series of locks and channels
It remained invisible to me.
And again I invaded privacy, caused consternation.
Compliant, I withdrew all my excursions to your door
And with an effort, I mitigated any unhappy
Emotions remaining there.
I do this to spare everyone more pain.
But it comes at a price.

Did you ever wonder how all the people
Who go to the grocery store on Sunday mornings
Could have such well-defined niche lives?
They think they are defined by what they do,
By a synthetic order that's tacked over the hours of freedom.
There is an affliction, in which every single hour
Must be made to account for itself.

But what if they woke up some day
Before the grocery shopping was done,
Would they feel they had missed out on something
Inestimable and uncommon; worth sleeping in for-
And replaced it merely with something
Utilitarian and predictable?
Be careful what you trade your Sunday mornings for.

All poets have to write one day
A poem about a fly they knew;
And there's no escaping it,
So with no more adieu
I introduce the fly, one night
Who bit my leg till I saw daylight:
He bit deep and he bit long,
My vital fluids began to seep.
He bit a bite for every fly
Who at the hand of man, must die;
He bit a bite for every woe
And curse on flies, by human foe;
He put his species pain on me
Without so much as a thank you; please,
And without a word, I squashed his guts
And stomped his itty, bitty nuts;
If he had some, they're surely flat;
If he didn't- that's the end of that.

The shortest distance isn't the one
We find waiting under mid-day sun;
It's the one winds through the street,
At the lowest point, then goes beneath;

Or the one who calls at three a.m.
Needing coffee, or tonic and gin;
Needing a ride, to anywhere
Some place that’s dim, and never clear.

It's arms that wrap around our own,
While knowing, it's an unsafe trek-
But still a journey, we know too well-
The paradise-encumbered road to hell.

Beggarman thief, who took my heart:
Do you think that you can use it?
Where will you hide it, and what will they say-
That you had audacity, to choose it?

Beggarman thief, it's a useless heart,
And won't further your aims or plans;
You see, it's already been used up-
Wrung dry by another's hands.

Beggarman thief, it's an empty choice
You've fastened your wiles upon;
For all you'll find are some children's jacks-
And some dreams, once in a song.

Evil takes its sanguine bite
Out of the ****** dark,
And the soulless stumble
Beneath Earth’s apocalypse
Trying to outrun the smoke of shotguns;
The hunger of dead dreams-
Down here, we can curse with a single kiss.

I can find faults anywhere;
Underneath the couch,
In that secret vent cover
That leads to nowhere,
Only to hide the stash
Of error and discrepancy-
Hide and Seek is the oldest game.

Once I hid my heart
Between a man’s legs
But he forgot it was there,
And crushed it thoughtlessly;
And though people shouted
At him; Be careful!
There’s an ***** dangling there

He shoved the whole thing
Back into his pants;
Thinking it was all him.
So now I play games
Only half-heartedly,
And I remember
That what you think you see
May not belong to the one
That’s carrying the weight.