Bleed a bit
See the rubble
At ones feet
The blood is heavy
Running naked
In
The streets

Out here
The guns are ammo-less
We're stranded here
Like wicked bandits
Our hands are bound
On the front
I hear a sound

Can it be
That my dear Leslie
Is off
With a patsy?
I've taken my vows
And seen
The melted snow
Spring is here
Creating
Make-believe

There is nothing
A man
Cannot do
If there is will
If there is courage
If there is a reconciliation
With death with a steady hand
Then let yourself be
To watch the clouds
The setting sun
The absolute view
Let God
Take his cue

I'm allowed to see
Myself
In the mirror
Once a day:
My eyes are puckered.
My skin is dry.
My lips are red and wide.
My hair is the lapping waves
Of a pulled out tide.

I smile and see
A secret beyond me.
Frothing ocean.
Bitter sea.
Everything in life
After death
Turns into
Make-believe.

The bitter priest
Speaks His
Shallow
Words.

Everything
We've got to give
Is on a contractual
Lease.

At least I've got
My soul, though
I hear it's also known as
Intelligence.
The children, their joy
Emanating like a supernova,
They play
Behind the fence.

Keats was cold when he died.
Plath was thirty.
Hands awash in sin
Are always
*****.
I'd rather be taken by death,
But that's just because
I'm lazy.

We choose our way.
We choose our hand.
Oh' can I say, and
Stop me
If it is too much,
But I have to say
I'm just so happy
To see you
Again.

In the trenches
Of ideal purgatory
The lines
Come to me like butterflies
Through my window.

If you're without a net,
Fall in love.
If you're without a net,
Look above.

No one will smile upon you

If
You don't
Smile
First.

Bottles broken
A fresh breath
Kindred souls
Awake in themselves
***** books
Upon dismantled shelves

Find focus
Explain the method
See the puddle on the ground
Align with the angel in the sky
All is forgotten until
It is
Remembered

All of us are brothers
Until the ember
Extinguishes
In
September.

Shame rests
On fallen Fall leaves.
Grins in passing from
Former lovers lovers.

I've made my promise.
I've aligned
All of my
Compasses.

What made sense to me before,
Is now askew.
We are the forgotten heroes,
Wandering the road
Without
A
Code.
Ask a person
If they believe
To know - it doesn't
Matter
What.

If they tell you
Yes - walk away.
If they reveal to you
No - have a stay and
See
What
They have to
Say.

Every man
Was born
To obey their own
Reasons while
Not committing
Moral treason.

Exhaustion
The final sleep
Ticking clock
All seems fake
Though all is
Very
Real.

It's a matter of perception,
Snickered the white hare,
Take yourself too seriously
And all will fall into despair.