I think I might be too tired
To be outraged.
I want to stand on my head and
Hands in front of the moon just
Clearing the horizon, and make
Myself into a peace-sign.

The only flag I wish to paste
Over my facebook profile picture
Is a huge, white one.
No more. Please.
Peace.
But all I can do is waste whispers

Underneath the raging roars of
Bloodthirst, revenge and hearts
Vocalizing the pain of their lost
Limbs.
Too tired to be angry.
Too dry to cry.

Victims. Aren't we all?
I draw November air
And exhale something like a
Prayer, as my loved ones walk to
And from work and school like
Potential bulls-eyes in the

Eyes of pure, ******* evil.
I'd cover a grenade
For any one of them. But for now
I stand against the rising moon
Like a capital "I", then
Put my dot of a heart

On the ground directly
Before me, looking
To the skies.
Furiously fatigued; a tired
Human exclamation
Mark.

Wind booms around every wall of the house
hitching up her skirts she grows bolder
and her feet kick the windows as the sky grows darker
a mad witch intent on destruction she whistles spells
while a thunderous noise comes from deep in her belly
we all cower at her incantations and murderous temper
waiting for the wildness to wane as the witches madness passes.

I've jotted the oblique
Scribbled the sublime
Communed with Mother Nature
While holding hands with Father Time

Dipped my toes in the poetic pool
Swam in the extreme
Question is does this make me out a fool
Or genius with a dream

I've taken my pen to absurd heights
And to the very depths of low
I've written what I fantasize
And that which I do not know

I've peeked around some corners
That set my minds eye free
Taking up the meaning
Of treasures hidden in the means

I've placed my writers kiss on all of this
As I've moved slowly through the rhyme
Tasting tiny morsels of oddity
In the words I've wined and dined

What this all boils down to
Is I've about covered it all
But before it is I give up on this
Think I'll squeeze out a couple more