The man on the moon
Speaks in muffled tones
And speaks of that star
That wasn’t a star at all
The one that moved only when
We walked in one big circle,
That day that smoke rose
When you lit those leaves on fire
When the snow made a mud
More glorious then the spring
Could ever bring.
That star was too bright to be a star
But not bright enough to bring us
Down to our knees.
The spaceman wouldn’t tell us
What that light was
And maybe we were
Never really looking for an answer,
But more for a reason.
Because an answer is never cemented in truth
And that star that wasn’t really a star
Was never really cemented in the sky.
And that look underneath those trees that you gave me,
Was never cemented in a reality I could understand.

It wasn’t consensual.
That’s what was said
But things said
Are not always
Things believed.
And here’s to
Those little brown
Impermanent scars
Etching either
The truth
Or a lie
Or both all at once.
Whichever it be
There it sits, etched
For everyone to
See
The things left
Unsaid
Are not left
Unquestioned.
And the things that aren’t
Said
Are the most dangerous of all.

Sweet dreams until we meet again.

Sweet dreams while your heart slumbers.

Sweet dreams from this cold world we fend,
Sweet dreams, sweet dreams again.


A lullaby, A broken dream. 
A memory not remembered.

Do no be afraid of end,

Sweet dreams, sweet dreams again. 


No tears shed, No light granted

Just peaceful, silent bliss,

No wars fought, no blood bled,

Sweet dreams, sweet dreams again.


A broken heart can mend itself,

If not completely whole,

A broken smile can still shine full,

Sweet dreams, sweet dreams again.


A pain so deep, one can’t confess,

A daring tongue in cheek,

A gaze so strong, that can transfix,
.
Sweet dreams, sweet dreams again.


You’ll be held near, so close your eyes,

Let everything unfold,

Throw out your harm, let it all die.

Be sweet. Sweet dreams to you.

Some people say they don’t believe in ghosts
But there is one sitting right under your nose
It is the ghost of your father’s father
Asking you what the hell you are doing
You accomplishments are meager but your
Trivial cheek would describe otherwise.
Hornets swallow your ever-changing eyes,
And come pouring out at me with a glance.
But even with those mad hornets swarming,
Even with the maggots dropping out of
Your contemptuous mouth, light still shines on
the cocoons encasing your hushed breath.

Smoke rings around my face.
Rolled smooth,
Thirteen dollar-a-pound taste.
Stench in my hair,
On his breath,
The one thing tonight we share.
Pushed across the booth,
Awkward glances
Easier said then done when hiding the truth.
Cheap tobacco blown,
Faces penetrated with exhales and thoughts,
A squeeze of the hand the only thing shown.
Smoke as thick as a fresh rain’s mud.
No more breathe
Just smoke running through my blood.

wring your brains out
for your thoughts and opinions mean nothing.

wring them out and watch them drip, slowly inching towards the sewer drain
the masses want you compliant so wring them out.
your friends want you loyal, so wring them out.
your lovers want you subservient so squeeze and twist
until all of your notions, your antics, your opinions, your character
lay where the rest of the filth goes.