they wrote a good poem,
they were acknowledged, approved, SEEN-
** my lonely, broke heart;
you yet have me.
ah and the other me too--
This one, that spites and spews and vitriols as lovers often
are wont to do.
ah my love,
yes, come,
CLOSE (
and no that was a whisper not
A SHOUT! (THAT WAS THOUGH!))
so close,
that -
drop, drop,
sssssssss,
the whistle
wouldnt budge
and it is time,
to find love ANEW now,
and begin
this new life of ours.

Last night-
wailing. Sobbing so deep,

It was dry, after a while.

(bah!) - Poetry,
oh gosh **** it-
BAH!-
how you in-
toxic-
ATE!-
me.
drunk on rhythm,
flirting with rhyme;
the logic beyond one plas one
to-
all sounds,
all beats,
all feelings,
all time-
all, all in tune!
that each and Every-
that is E-V-E!-
beat in tune with the sound of feeling, felt time.
BAH!-
poetry...

matter, mud, mother, mutter-
feces.
Anyways,
we keep getting reborn
'vryday we wake up,
and get bogged by
DREAM-
then by time
we
SLEEP-
we forget
forgetting
we fly-
well some of us anyways;
just-a-dream or something!-
and then,
awake,
brush,
coffee,
sit,
eat,
sit,
and on & on
till
(AD-)
nausea
or
(perhaps(!) sadder-) infinity.

One left that way,
another tried - in vain.

All, always, in fact,
tragedies- after the fact.

not when it was happening.
never- no.

When the world turns the blind eye,
and further, lacks competence to care;

How is any one really,
to blame- that is how,

it must be said,
that is how this culture fell asleep nights.

Tears after they leave,
and while here-

and simply trying to not
bomb the world,

bomb another bed,
bomb another baby,

bomb another forest,
progress! - that is what

this culture sacrificed it's children for.
so as I-

all but given up the
Courageous loving that

life itself requires
in times of crisis;

as I tried to keep quiet,
the final nail struck the coffin.

finally, it is clear to see-
how hope, love, peace, trust

is bombed from the hearts
of those who truly

wish none but to live life
true to themselves,

true to life itself-
not a mask,

not another rigmarole.
not this, either.

so as the hammer struck the nail final,
the tears too dry now to drop

any more, I touched the heart and soul,
of each fallen kin, taken by

all these nobody's-
"nobody asked you to work there!",

"nobody asked you to attend college there!",
"nobody asked you to put up a pride flag at work!",

"nobody asked you to do drugs!",
"nobody asked you to go crazy!",

"nobody asked you to sit late with him-
it is your fault you were *****.".

ah. a lot of nobody's
in my company.

and as my mind ran circles over circles,
and I contemplate

the pill, the rope,
the wrist, or the fall-

it occurs to me.
No.

I shall not.
no, no, no- not for myself-

that you've taken from me,
at the age of eight.

no-
this one, for the ones who said yes.

all my friends and family-
pushed into corners- what for?

for
nobody.

of This World, Not a single mote of dust exists, neither the peaks of Kilimanjaro - not this moment, not this breath, Not the beat of a drum, nor even eternity, and neither blood.

Our Mother
Whose name is of Art,
praise to thy beauty,
that drives the Beat of our Hearts.
give us
Our nights
of Divine Passion,
& bless us - so that
we may never shy
from the
Absolute comfort of
Solitude.
Lead us
to the persistence
of Folly &
the Destruction
of Slavery.
For thine
is the love, &
    the mercy, &
    the grace
and the Wild yearning.
Forever,
And Ever More.

Ah no money
and the bill has come - roosting.  

I contemplate suicide,
and other deluded pains;

much rather that than
sell my art for money;

how does one even begin-
to ask for money for a gift;

from all Nature unbidding,
for Art that is Art is

Not made by you - we
forget that this is all a chance,

luck fits better - perhaps -
and yet the morrow begins,

and i ope my eyes again;
the world - Still Burning.

and my heart - full;
not if only I could figure something out for the wallet!