I went to visit a cousin of mine
Who breaks beer bottles on Sunset and Vine;
He turns on the gas, in abandoned homes,
Says if they cared for them, why'd they roam?

Hock the stars and ration the sun;
Bleed the earth till it comes undone,
Sell everything that's not nailed down:
What we're looking for can't be found.

I was walking down some dead-end road
Found where someone had dumped a load
Of brand new shoes; still in their box;
You get paid now, to rob your own shop.

Let's sell the world to the highest bidder,
No one cares if you're a quitter;
We'll blow it all up, as we step on that rocket,
Try to find a space, out of God's pocket.

Rebel-mankind will never get in line,
Always thinks he's got lots more time;
If he saw that mushroom cloud go up-
He'd sell one-way tickets, till it blew up.

Hock the stars and ration the sun;
Bleed the earth till it comes undone,
Sell everything that's not nailed down:
What we're looking for can't be found.

Ancient are the eyes,
Ancient the tongue,
Ancient the battles
Bring the world undone.

There’s war, in our blood,
There’s blood, on our hands;
Blood in the rivers,
Blood on the land.

There's just one thing
Worth fighting for,
In the bloodied world
And the future gore;

A man and woman
Remake a world divine;
For around their loving
All futures twine.

A dinosaur keeps stomping through my head,
Giant rhythmic beats pound in my ears.
A coral snake hunts me nightly in my bed
In gloom, he flicks his forked tongue and stares.
Long white necks are peering around corners,
Their bodies never even have to bend;
The necks like flexible tubing find my shadow-
I wish these nightly nightmares would just end.

Floating voices speaking ambiguous English,
Convene to hold their meetings in the air.
I try to sleep but sleep is not forthcoming;
I wish they wouldn't have their meetings here.
The worst has got to be the shouting voices,
That awaken me when I am deep asleep,
They call my name as if a fire encroaches-
Where comes this awful crew that I now keep?

It's not your typical kind of date,
And he doesn't often date women;
But he's alone, and you're alone,
Though it feels so much like sinning.

You can't refuse his offer,
As he waits for you to dress,
Something casual’s best, he says;
It’s good enough for this.

The scenery floats by slowly,
For he doesn't drive too fast;
You're both old enough by now
You want the time to last.

He has a patient smile,
As he opens up the door;
You're alone now, far away-
Though you've been here before.

You eat dinner, watch a movie
While you sit together, close.
There's alcohol, but you don't drink;
Neither of you likes those.

You want to be clear headed,
To remember every thing.
And then it's late, and pretty soon
There's nothing on the screen.

So you go back to the bedrooms,
And you lie beneath the sheets,
And then he comes so silently,
That you can scarcely breathe.

He lies down full beside you,
So quiet, so strangely still;
And finally says, half-strangled,
We'll begin, whenever you will-

And so, you start to kiss him,
As you think of somewhere far;
The past he's tried to leave behind-
He only wants you to kiss his scars..

We men at best are only crimson kings
Who’re caught between the diadem and throne;
We wield the power, weep at what it means-
Miles to conquer, and none of it is home.

We laugh at jokes and toasts, as it's expected,
Reward well both the Jester and the Count
Though little things of kingdom get neglected,
While we the weary battle foils must mount.

But there's one crown of curls, upon one head,
That I'd go farther than the oldest tales;
She sleeps so near now, in her downy bed-
Most men stay free, inside their private hells.

Some night I'll bribe the Moon, in his far space
And build within my heart, a special place..

My moods drain me down
To some immoderate sluice-gate,
They run down the grainy windows,
Clog the sand in the top of the hour-glass
Like bat's tears, like misplaced rainstorms
Looking for a cloud to hang out under.

All my temperaments are accidental,
Wrongly placed; too early or too late
Miscarriages of intention,
Predicaments of inattention.

All the inconsequential moments I inhabit,
I'm wearing thin, from changing my mind too often-
Why is there no groove for thinking,
No energy-saving secret gear?

Sometimes I sit absolutely still
In an uncomfortable position,
Hoping the powers that be will notice me;
Will see that I'm going nowhere, so slowly
And they will send some tempest to help move me along.

I'm also afraid they will send change;
The paralytic not only can't move,
He knows he can never move,
And his biggest fear
Is being thought capable of movement.

In that rapid swirling down the drain,
He wants someone to snag him on a branch,
Save and reclaim his manhood;
Not sit in a tree and watch him spiraling,
While repeating over and over,
Why don't you save yourself?

He knows it's too late for words;
The tears only add to the swelling river.
And if once I thought there was a savior on every corner,
I guess I just got tired of waiting-
Because the ones in the mirror only close their eyes now.

Normalcy both appalls and comforts me-
Why does it all appear so average,
As you go sprawling head first over the falls:
You know nobody elses life will change one iota,
And you know you're just paying some bill
You never even saw.

I will feel nothing at all when you die,
Though the leaves will swirl in early Autumn's breath,
Failing to completely cover other now defunct greenery,
It is just nature's way; after all-
And so, I will feel nothing.

I will weep no tears after you are gone;
You didn't want my tears when you were alive,
And dead, would never know that they were for you.
My tears running down your own face, you would never feel-
There is nothing left to feel, for you.

We lived in the world at the same time,
Breathed and trembled and sighed, upon the same galaxy's arms.
Dreamed and fidgeted and awoke each day, to something brand new.
But I had nothing you wanted, and you had nothing to give-
And what I will feel is simply more nothing; nothing when you are dead.

Shall I go to where no breath is
Shall I go, emptied of fear and desire
Mindful that I am not the body
Shall I go within a blossoming white peace
On a cool, tranquil breeze
Shall go, never doubting my destination
Go unto rest and fullness of spirit
Completeness that was left behind
When I took my first breath
Home, only there, shall I be going.

I am the soul of gods own joy:
He clothed me tenderly, in flesh;
Gave the island satellite as home
Where sense and impression mesh.
From the life of my days he is weaving
Indestructible record of mind
The coin of the realm is eternal:
No fragment of me left behind.

It's a beggar's moon, for you and me,
A lunar ride, to the edge of dawn,
Clutching stardust in our hands
Where love lives on, forever free.

It's a beggar's moon, we see above,
It's phases glowing like an orb,
As fairies fly and wishes spiral
And lonely couples look for love.

It's a beggar's moon, will follow us
It's shadow haunting word and look,
And eyes that speak an older tongue,
And smiles that last, till we are dust.

I am love's Savant
Of perilous divining;
No simpering hierophant,
Of the desperately climbing.

For love arrives naked,
Sans cloak or cloche,
While love's finger beckons,
For me to come close.

I'm privy to his prophecy;
To the keyholes I tiptoe,
Where I see the aristocracy-
In flagrante delicto.

As his scribe, I'm resigned
To write impassioned words;
Still, desires will not rewind-
Even though they be absurd.

When I was just a child, they were just a married couple;
Older, middle-aged, nothing distinguishing about them at all.
I loved swimming in their swimming pool,
Until they upsized, to a glitzy neighborhood of rambling,
Ranch-style houses.
And they upscaled, to exotic, foreign vacations.
Brought me back a Hawaiian volcanic stone, with emerald flecks,
A salt and pepper shaker set from Israel.

She was a clothes horse, always kept her figure,
Dressed slinky but classy, for an old babe;
Visibly stood taller, if another woman
Ever complimented her clothing or style-
And they invariably did.

My dad said that when alone with her husband,
That man would brag about daily *******
From his office receptionist, at the end of the workday
Before going home. I was older then, tried to imagine
How the shared exchange could have furthered
Some ancient, nightly excavated ambition?

Alone with her once, my dad said he made an innuendo,
Some playful joke which he had since forgotten the point of,
Probably due to the more stunning reaction it caused.
He had always loved teasing with words,
But he said that she had dropped all suggestion of pretense,
And she had told him then, You couldn't handle it..
He still chuckled about it, long after the fact.

Funny how for all those years, what I remembered seeing
Was a mostly colorless couple
Who always drove large Cadillacs.
And how in the later years, he could only move
While tethered to his oxygen tank,
Though it never hindered his smoking.

I want to disappear now, into the smell of books, old ink,
Moldy columns and perfumes of dried flowers.
What keeps us alive, bundled into these bodies,
Are incoherent strings of dna the gods of our existence,
Do they determine if our days are mostly carefree
Or slipstreams of inchoate agony?
Does the loveliness of life arise from its randomness,
Or the randomness from incalculable beauty?

Why do some pay the ultimate price,
And some never seem to pay anything at all?

Is my breathing my tithe, a piece of each day that's unwound,
Tribute paid to the universe, itself but one hallowed out-breath
From the sphincter of time and inconceivable distance?

I can wrap myself up in pages of words, in folds of paper
Trying to cover myself in understanding,
Yet no man holds the keys of what we are,
Or what we are yet to become; faith is all we inherit
In the orbiting chaos of time, we find once-living shreds of it
Always in free fall, floating forever through the continuum,
A whispered message from the secret heart of being,
To never forget, that the smallest mercies can save a soul.

In the greater oyster world
All the children eventually grew old
The windmills ran down
The fields went back to clover
The stones kept all their secrets
Waterways forgot their courses
The sundials were covered with moss
And time eventually stretched out
To touch the edge of infinity.

Lost in the blue, trying to winnow the way to you:
Swift flies the sickle; the aim be sharp and true;
The thresher dividing the wheat from the dross,
The clearing, it gleams where the golden rows close.
The day may be long but with scarce a complaint
So long as the grain is kept free of all taint.
With long winter shadows returning again,
The laid up fall stores soon turn sour and thin
Again will I dream of toil spent in the sun
I'll count all the hours till winter's undone.

Troubles fade away
In the far moonlight
All the cares of day
In the far moonlight
Slow and peaceful breathing
As the weary thoughts are leaving
In the far moonlight.

Peace comes unfurled
In the far moonlight
Brows lie unfurrowed
In the far moonlight
Serene faces all I see
As I look around me
In the far moonlight.

If days were not so long
In the far moonlight
We'd not dread the coming dawn
In the far moonlight
If the hours were less hurried
Then we'd never want to worry
In the far moonlight.

My pathway of desire
Seeks the way of least resistance;
Come warm me at your fires
And answer my insistence.

The stars drop flaming names,
Which fall upon the skies;
Their embers burning up
Until the evening dies.

An angel flew too close,
Once upon a sun;
And all his godly aims
And actions came undone.

He waits for darkness now,
Morning Star’s his name:
For the fire in his two eyes
Put the burning sun to shame.

He said that he had a dream..

But living was getting to be awfully heavy
And constantly on guard’s not really alive
But we were all too busy going nowhere,
Knowing here's where we've got to stay,
Here where the earth, the air and water is
Our species gets one chance to find its way.

Mind the fallen, pray to god
That your burden not outweigh the sod;
Who said we've got to eke out the bare years
When yesteryear's one more forgotten day,
One chance to fail or miss your aim,
Watching one by one, as they each betrayed.

Never mind the slaughter and the bleeding,
The way it's rigged so we can never win-
Shots ringing out, as he grabs that railing
Falling on stony ground, he’s falling again,
Always the same sad story repeating,
His eyes grow fixed, and still we keep on calling
Him..

I'd like to see some other measurements-
The ones where humans don't ***** away
Toward the floor; where teeth and skull plates
Aren't widened and flattened into floorboards,
And where the secret grottoes of abbeys
Aren't made silent, by kneeling on cushioned flesh

Where we stretched our eardrums out
To become acoustic ceilings
We left in the smooth, pebbly gossip
As points of interest
To direct the secular gaze upward
Leaving our agoraphobic thoughts
Stranded out there,
Trying to cross that vast expanse
Of white nothingness

The problem of forever
Is that it always ends
Just one octave
Past a plaintive heartbeat

I put on the clothing of monotonous atmospheres
Because there wasn't anything else to wear
And because I like the nice familiarity
Of warm sun, and cooling moon-
All the twilight seasons of sensation,
Of when you could fall eternally,
Knowing that a temperamental universe
Still owned every atom of your being

And Time's scarred fingers endlessly screeching
On the blackboard
Of all your faded significance

The steak tartare had painted toenails
And manicured hands of polished silk;
Mouth with apple, daintily wedged,
Floating in a bath of milk.

I helped myself to a silky ****,
Sliced across it's still-pink grain,
Seasoned with a squirt of lemon
And coarse ground pepper, for a tang.

The seasoned broth was the finest gravy
To moisten the neat cuts of meat,
And sweetened fat, in a frothy pie
Ended the repast, with a treat.

Barnacle-Sam was one hell of a man;
He broke wild horses on the Rio Grande,
He had a skin texture like broken glass,
He caught the horses cause he was fast-
The crustiest cowboy in all of the land.

Circle ****:
A benzene ring of the most powerful
Viral assortment of the worst kind
Accountable to no one,
Secrecy rules this cabal.
Only fire can extinguish this conspiracy-
Burn the rich.

The poor don’t need middle men,
Lawyers or intermediaries
When there’s an obvious infestation
To be dealt with quickly-
Before they change all the rules, again.

Some days the canned laughter gets to be a bit much;
Is there any authentic laughter left, in this post modern Rome?
Even the real sounds artificial now-
Perhaps we’ve stayed at the gladiator games too long?

The sun’s already burnt us, we're tired and thirsty,
While the entertainments keep playing on and on,
Growing ever thinner, transparent, predictable;
With each dreary season, the same debacle song.

At night we dream, that we’re the newest slaughter,
They're readying to come for; that banging on the door:
No longer far away, swords drawn and at the ready,
The four horsemen are coming;  the apocalyptic four.

It doesn’t matter if you’ve never had religion,
For famine and scourge don’t belong to one creed-
But we're still too busy now, gorging ourselves
On endless dreams of supremacy and need.

Wind down my sun, my distant flame,
The solar wind has caught my pain.
On altars rare, of beaten gold,
I dare the goal, a coffer bold.

Burn not my eyes, my hapless face,
When at your smoking visage, gaze.
No sun spot mar your perfect shape;
Your withheld fury, theory's ****.

It's but your patience, keeps us breathing;
To ice we turn, at your slight leaving,
Though devils dance upon your gas,
A noble field, you'll be at last.

Just lonely nomads;
we're each others heroes,
for no other hero could there be,
travelling paths so ordinary.

Your name my siren call,
come heathered dawn or sultry dusk,
dim footprints only, left to show
where you shed your human husk.

Dead or dying; we're all the same,
intrepid explorers of rusting earth;
just hoping in some distant future
they'll remember our death or birth.

We own the sky, you and I,
And all the stars that sit therein;
Galaxies and nebulae,
Cosmic bodies with no end.

To what avail, I cannot tell
We inherit such a sum;
Although the world is still in braille;
Creation never will be done.

Our actions are the prayer, unceasing,
Of love’s creation which is sought-
New things arising every moment,
From the past and future wrought.

Midst all those, in good and evil,
We must avoid being caught-
Imprisoned by our own mind’s children,
All our strivings come to naught.

When our attention sharp and true is,
Unwavering hours of peace are bought-
Be careful when you once un-sheathe it,
The terrible, swift sword of thought.

Seas twinkle and there is a trace
Of diamonds in the sun's bright face
Day comes again; there is no death
Inside the garland of your breath.

In the temples praises sung
From dawn to dusk, Padme Hung
Gods and demons and their ilk
All churn the sea of milk.

The sun in splendor
Gives off light,
And she has not
One fear for night.

By a candle's flame,
I dipped my pen
In day's cold light,
To begin again.

The moon in purple
Hides his face,
His lacy silver
The barest grace.

By a candle's flame,
I dipped my pen
In night's starred sky,
To begin again.

The Earth in green
And blue's, arrayed
And far time, at her door
Has lain.

By a candle's flame,
I dipped my pen-
But where time's going
No man has been.

The flame has softer fingers,
Than petals from a flower,
And it's memory is less
For every hour that it burns,
And the flower isn't jealous,
Of whomever enjoys it's beauty;
While the fire consumes most anything,
And none of it is spurned.

But flowers know almost nothing,
Of how a flame gets started;
And a fire knows even less
Of how a flower grew
Still, they have a slight respect,
In regarding, each the other;
As if each had certain knowledge
Flames and flowers are too few.

So there's a lesson for us,
If we care to pay attention
To living forests forming
Their own funeral pyres:
As the flame hates not rare beauty.
And the flower's not faint-hearted;
If you've never yet been burned:
You don't have to fear the fire.

Waltz me across the universe
Dance me through time-
Ring the bells: I’m alive
By accident or design.

The offspring of broken symmetry
Or a miracle, sight unseen-
Not the same world would it be
If I had never been.

Waltz me across the universe
Dance me through time-
Once I lived in a star’s eyes
But now my own light shines.

Welcome, to your long dying-
Unsaid words, empty gestures
The substance you always searched for
Was never real, and you discover
We will all be dying alone
Of grief, of the faux, negligible existence
Everything taken away at the end
Dark holocaust swallow us whole
And strangle the last sound we make
Welcome, to nights of tremulous tears
Inside the winding cloth you've made:
The teeming brain's multiforme emotions
The day you were born, an empty place was created also
You were never too rare or special to die
The train whistle announces you've been left behind
To contemplate your impersonal end
We are clothed of the same dust
All arrows point in the same direction
Both the high and low road are a mobius strip
Eternal life, but a dream of dimensional matter
Held for a short time in *******-
Time on any scale is nearly invisible to us
Welcome, to your long dying
Which is but the first breath of non-existence.

Graveyard cherubs look so cold,
Immune to cries of sadness; fear,
But there are reliquary angels,
And old paintings, that wept real tears.

You plant your loved one
Like a tree, and never look back ever again;
But sing the songs and fight the battles,
Unearthly wars, of virtue; sin.

You do your time until it's done,
And then they'll come, to bare your bones,
Unto that crypt, with impassive angels;
And say with grief, that you are home.

We all come in naked, alone
Kicking our cherub feet
Eyes taking it all in
We seem to fall so far from heaven
Like solitary stars
One by one
As we grow up into our own fledgling orbits.

Life lived like paupers
Straining for food, and liberty
Each of us limited by aloofness,
Chains we face, every direction
Innocence fled farther away
As the heavens nightly blaze
In their eternal dance,
Invisible beyond self-enclosing walls.

We leave all alone
Still naked beneath the sheets
Eyes frozen in their last frame
We hope to be arriving soon at heaven's door
Like smoking incense must go upward
But nobody can make us any promises
From the chaos here.

Every man, on his own trajectory
Each his own hard-bitten tragedy
Nothing promised, nothing gained
Till we circle untold worlds, again.

Your trailing starlight woven with silver needles
Enters the mundane life of human days;
And magical tongue recounts miracles uncounted,
In magnitudes of unexpected ways.

Your vision never balks at walls or ceilings;
An artist's heart is not like other things,
The words like hope in slowly burning censors
Take to the sky, once given freedom's wings.

Silent are the rocks;
Silent the alleys and stone walls,
Cracked foundations and fountains.
No voices speak now, except through the wind
Twisting and turning, on its way through the gorges.
The weather has beaten out every surface,
Stamped it's stalagmite of time upon the faces.
The last rags of clothing hung out to dry
Are a sifting, unrecognizable ash of piled up molecules,
Indiscernible from the storm-strewn cadavers
Of wood, straw and leaves,
Leaves which can laugh at the ferocity of sudden gales
And chatter annoying, behind lifting fingers of twig,
Themselves tumbled shamelessly, into ancient doorways
That once were closed against all intruders.

The cipher of their blood has marked, defined this place,
Pressed it down, with the missing weight of forgotten culture,
Though their language is still indistinguishable from others,
But that their slivered bones have stopped up the pilfering,
The plundering of tombs by wild running waters,
Trickling down to the lowest graveled catacombs
Of a once vibrant village;
It is all running spaces of tomb now,
And the few visitors that happen to wander in
Find themselves holding their breath,
Wary of their modern dissonance
Disturbing the invisible residents of past days.

We must not be sad
Under an ancient moon
Where the glistening waterways move
And the owl and the night hawk listen

Trees that reach out with strong branches
Caressed by a tender breeze
And loons flying over the thatch
And eyes that are darker than these

In the hollow beside the copse
Waits a figure, in the tangled deep
Praying for another chance
While the priest and the laborer sleep.

Ancient, invisible God of the Hebrews,
Some have renamed You, and crowned You
Their Christian god; but for the discerning person
We just need a little more proof.

Here are some forms and paper work,
You need to fill out;
And of course we'll need a certified note,
Declaring just when and where and how
You came into Being, and listing
All next of kin- yes Your Son absolutely should qualify for that-

And we'll need His death certificate on file,
For future referencing, and any dependents-
What's this about Three Persons in One?
Do You have a psychiatric doctor You see?
We should probably have his information too, just in case.

Immaculate conception?
I'm sorry, that just isn't acceptable in any court of law.
Every woman seems to believe it at first, of course,
But that doesn't make it hold water-
****** birth? hmm, very interesting.
Perhaps an examination is in order,
Something surely doesn't seem right here?

Martyred for our sins? What an interesting idea.
Resurrection? Is there a record of that anywhere?
I suppose it's possible You could have had
a colorful near death experience,
If You were really resuscitated- oh it was Your Son?
Oh, You Yourself accomplished this Re-Animation-
Oh oh oh! I've got to get that call.
Hold on; be right back, dear.

"Get the guys in white coats down here in room
311 right away. I've got a hot one.."

I am the universal signal mixer
On frequency h-u-m-a-n
Intaking and excreting vibrations
Decoding and synthesizing inputs
Receivers attuned and continuously engaged
Transposing matter and energy
Into light patterns of thought
Touching all waveforms
As a lover touches himself and others
Energy frozen into matter
Love frozen into form
Stretched to the very limits
On the blueprint of time, eternity
As dreamed by, yours truly

Where shall a hungry mermaid dine
When she hankers, for something fine?
Spiny oysters make a nice cocktail;
And octopus tentacles; and grey narwhal.

And where should she sit, and what shall she use
To stab her undersea feast, infuse
Her goblet, filled up with sparkling sea water,
Awaiting her course, of fresh sea-otter.

And should she tip, at the end of the meal
The dolphin who served her so much krill,
In his scrutable suit, of skin-tight rubber-
(The respectable mermaid never eats blubber).

You lit my life; my fuse was done,
While I swam deep waters all abuzz;
In fathoms deep, I sought your dream-
No one cares about dust on a submarine.

The mysteries were all right there,
The sky cracked open, to show new air,
And the whole world, with your presence rang-
No one cares about dust on a submarine.

Now I haunt the deepness of the void,
And my hope is no more buoyed.
In nameless twilight worlds, I'll sing;
No one cares about dust on a submarine.

I go to sleep again, eventually
After hours of fitful tossing,
Unwilling to surrender
To the nightly unknowing.

Some nights bring forgetting of everything;
Self, days, events, time, life itself.
Others fill themselves up
With a sort of coin, of wavering moonlight
Seen through the haze of obfuscating dewfall.

Reflections broken free from the sea of self
Raise unobstructed to float,
Hanging in the cooling ether of dreamscapes
Where in the fog nameless dogs bark
And dark landscapes prevaricate.

Where clocks do not follow rules,
Where gravity sometimes suspends
Or history rewrites itself.
Judgments come down and are executed
Beyond the dignity of reason.

Nights pass slowly through a watery realm
Where nothing is concrete,
As we wade clumsily through clumps of time,
Skip through a children's maze of nonsense riddles.

And when the knowledge of being in a dream
Pierces sporadically, through the body's paralysis
We awaken, amazed to find
That we are simply ourselves again,

Then we stretch back out, into the other dimension,
Ready to dream some more lines;
Sample some more realities
Till morning awakens us with hands
Of impatient brightness.

And abstraction slinks away
To wait for the next evenings
Entertainment of amnesia.

Heterodyning, between word and thought-
Entraining the brain;
The voice dictating,
The fingers scrabbling.

I am only the burnt toast
Of this universe,
That has a craving
To recognize itself
Through temporal eyes.

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.