The sparks that glow, around your head,
radiating your poise.
All the commotion you create in me,
but still we hear no noise...

This Tangerine Dream
is not what it seems.
Frolicking colors
turn to menacing screams.
The walls start to tear
bugs crawl in your hair
and the answers you seek
are not quite so clear.

Straight up your spine
and right down your back
sweat drops in beads
to the tip of your crack.
Is it all in your head or a heart attack? Oh
how I hope this ends soon
because I cannot take this spinning room
or this devilish goon
who told me that soon
my head would be higher than a hot air balloon.

When it's all over I sure do hope that
my body will be here with my head still intact.
If not for the better than then for the worse,
line up the cars behind my great shiny hearse.

And if in the end this scene busts at the seams
just tell them
                           it was a Tangerine Dream.

Lone Eli was a boy
who was awfully coy
and knew few who
were like him too.
Whilst searching for aid,
poor Lone Eli paid
the price of being
lonely and blue.

His heart grew weary,
building with fury,
for the friends that he
would never know.
Gathering his strength,
measuring the length,
off to the cliff
he would go.

With one last thought
for the decision he bought,
his fear would
certainly trump.
Feet on the ledge,
pushed to the edge,
Lone Eli decided
to jump.

As he made his peace
with all of his grief,
he drew in one last
breath of fresh air.
With a final gasp,
his mind could grasp
that, probably,
no one would care.

Lone Eli began
to lean forward and
off in the
distance and fog,
in his time of need
his valiant steed,
came running.
It was Buddy, his dog.

“Buddy! Hey pup!”
He said standing straight up,
“I thought I told
you to stay home?
Buddy, I swear… Wait,
what you got there?”
and at his feet,
Buddy set down his bone.

As Lone Eli stared
at his companion who cared,
he knew that he
could never pay
back his best friend,
who in the end,
helped Eli to fight
another day.

Worlds apart,
we are still looking at the same blue sky,
the same green grass,
the same summer scene that seduces the heat of the most beautiful past,
the same birds that chirp their merry chimes, you know,
the same ones we've heard thousands of times,
the same bugs that crawl up your leg and down mine
and the same whispering wind that speaks like a mime.
Over the rolling hills and the calm still of the black water,
the same sentimental thoughts, like the heat, grow hotter
with the same wispy, white clouds that conceal the sun
as he turns to escape and takes off and runs.
And although the same sun that sits over us sets,
the same fire that burns still beats in both of our chests.

She said to him,
"The stars,
can you see them?"

He replied,
"I do."

She said to him,
"The ocean,
can you hear it?"

He replied,
"I can."

She said to him,
"My heart,
will you hold it?"

He replied,
"I will."

I owe you nothing.
You don't owe me ****.
The times I needed you.
You couldn't cut it.

I needed you...
...there everyday.
But callous and stern,
You turned away.

Sensitive, I am.
Every aspect of life.
Cater to my emotions.
The words will be right.

Now you want me.
...isn't that a shame?
The tables have turned,
And I play your game.

I owe you nothing.
You don't owe me ****.
Two people in this world.
Struggling to get over it.

deep-rooted
sentiments
       permeate
a sun-leathered
  surface
calloused
    and
        raw
mourning
th­e frozen tears
   of a
crestfallen
night

1907 in Louisiana,
Once lived a women in fear.
Spending her days, in a haze,
The inevitable creeping near.

Now Norma L. Kein was a cocky lass,
Taught that by her mother,
Who died when she was five,
And now resides above her.

With a head of steel and a heart of coal,
Norma had few friends.
Pushing them away at every chance,
While winding through life's bends.

She seemed to be waiting,
For the day that change would come.
Yet she just sat idly by,
Twiddling her thumbs.

Of all the people Norma knew,
She and her mother were closest.
Although she died when Norma was five,
She can still smell her mother's roses.

"Norma!" her mother would scream,
Telling her to play kinder.
"The other boys and girls don't like that."
As they all talked trash behind her.

Being held hostage,
A hostage of her own mind.
Norma begins to wonder,
If it she will find.

Searching for forever,
It's all just out of reach.
Friendship, love, and laughter,
Like a bruising to a peach.

Tragic, woeful sorrows,
Drifting all about her head.
Feeling so rejected,
She weeps inside her bed.

Darkness and the demons,
Creeping in all around.
There is no use fighting,
It is she that they have found.

Impasses from existentiality
tend to note a lack of traction
that stem from the over-indulgence of reality
and leave no room for satisfaction.

Impervious to legality,
a man’s thoughts bear no restrictions
and they retain their vitality
in the hallows of his diction.

For the undeniable veracity
of a man’s veiled civilization
can be shadowed by the farcicality
of his pursuit of ostentation.

------------------------------------------

However­, in all actuality,
the ever-looming devastation
that’s caused by man's functionality
is paint on a canvas.

Money is a catastrophe
nothing but pure blasphemy.
People of the world
living in a state of atrophy.

Pardon all my apathy
for those who live too happily
but where are all the consequences
for their rude audacity?

We don’t need the pageantry
of all our fancy gadgetry.
Find it down in yourself
the reasons to dispatch of thee.

You want to sit and laugh at me
cause I live by frugality?
Money shouldn’t make us tick
and that’s the harsh reality.

Why must it be
this way? I asked her.
Have you forgotten?

I haven’t forgotten, she
said, I have just moved
on. Why can’t you?

Moving on is not
so simple, I said,
when there is so much
to forget.

The sinewy thoughts
that glaze over the fragile crust
of what was once my mind,
track not a trace of what I've left behind.

The sharp angles of this early morning’s sun
shade the horizon like a night just begun.

Let’s teach one another
all the algorithms
of love.
We can balance
the chemistry
and learn each other’s
foreign languages.
We can walk down the hallways
of each other’s minds
and I can carry your literature.
I will learn the beat
to your music
and you can jot down notes
about the anatomy
of my heart.
Let’s meet in the
solitude of the library
so I can study your history
and
when the time is right,
we can explore the geography
of one another.

It can't be wrong to be neither here nor there.
Standing two foot tall life may seem unfair.
Because I'm not better than you,
and you're not better than me.
Not everyone but anyone can one day see.
And once the confusion has passed,
you find there's a person hiding there.
Caving the love that you need,
somewhere somewhere...
Holding on for one day,
a day when you'll be free.
Waiting for forever.
What will be,
will be,
will be.