It is one fourth inch thick.
God must have granted you
An extra one fourth inch
At least.
Bullets may still have
The power to shatter
But those words spoken
Never had a living chance
To break through
That one fourth and
One extra one fourth inch
You have.
If words were a sledge hammer
I would have to crack your skull.

No light penetrates
The overwhelming warning
Of the Heavens,
A warning of brokenness
That cannot be avoided,
A cool quietness smothers the trees,
An eerie implication.
Halted are the simple treks for survival.
Forgotten holes of yesterday reopened.
As the clouds resurrect,
A thankful calm washes away
The fear of the unknown.
Fear comes before growth and
Preparedness need not be remembered.
With the rain comes baptism,
With the storm comes renewal.

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.

a foreign feeling migrates in.
in with the winter winds
it comes.
ready.
raw.
musters strength.
guiltily building up.
it move from the
core of being
outwards.
pulses like liquid heat
poisons the blood
swallows whole
its innocent host.
runs rampant
exposure in spurts.
unwanted attention.
shameful movements.
anger and hate.
anger and hate.
rage.

A havoc reeker has
The shameful power
To torment
An inflating infatuation
Until all that remains
Turns sour
And is an unrequited stain
Left precariously on
The collar of a
Crisp, white, dry-cleaned shirt.

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.

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.

here are some things you just can't shake....
there are little haunts inside your soul.
mine come in dreams,
and little things,
like shoes, and westerns, and rabbit holes.

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.

it was a movement.
one of a brother,
a mother,
a father.
but not a movement
of a lover.
the way your lips
so gently brushed mine
was not beautiful.
the delicacy was displaced.
in traveled the nonchalance.
they call it a peck.
It swayed like a shock wave.
such a minute movement.
shockingly appalling.
shockingly chaotic.
there was
no love.
no embrace.
no heat.
but rather the
indecisive movement.
of the cold
and the ashamed.

Cracked flesh,
No false-hope for momentary revival
Pained pink hills over blue-veined tributaries
Paths etched, crisscrossed trails over mountains,
Through dips of valleys,
Soot, jagged-tipped, hide-ripped peaks,
Dotted with sunlit imperfections,
Weary roads taken,
Indention of past bands
Imprinted on the fourth peak *****.
Ghostly shadows lie underneath the new alloy,
Shadows of a daunting apparition
That wont let go of its grasp.

Slowly
Revolutions
Loss of the momentary flickering
an inescapable fleeting of infeasibility
spun.
These beautiful colors
Become one beautiful web
Smashing into those hurt eyes
With every pulse, movement
Slow grey spin-spun twist-turn
familiarities modify
With every revolution.
Distortion in the most striking.
potential is no contest
confusion is adjustable when
the view falls
and sees all of those wonders
from the bottom up.
Haphazard,
Those blurs whisper that
The wind tells no lie
When it convinces a soul
To forgot what it feels like
To stand solid
Spun.

visions of you haunt me.
slide under my fingertips.
smother my insatiable hunger.
honey dripping through its sift,
caught by over-zealous hands.
scorned, you only want what
settles unrecognizable thirst.
it burns your eyes,
it dries the petals on your lips.

passionless eyes.
when was all the life smothered out?
was it when you were let go,
or when you chose to leave?
was it when that black shadow
crossed your eyes that
memorable night
or when that same night
was etched into your skin
forever.
was it the blood trickling out,
that took your passion with it,
or the tears that washed
that last glint of light away.
oh how I wish
I could have seen them
when they shone.

I am not a dog to be scolded and rewarded.
I do not bark when asked to speak.
I am not a dog.
therefore
I am not a *****.

It kills,
Grinding, smashing, twisting,
Kills.
To watch the convulsions
To watch your spine rise
And fall
With exasperated chasms
Desperate for some thing
To subdue the inescapable presence
Of something deemed typical.
Is it easier with your back turned?
Or does it hurt just as much?

contorted mentality
wrapped in something soft
left for dead
in that little
green dumpster out back.
growth stunted by
that gentle smothering.
smothered with a pleasure
that was needed but
not given out of mutuality.
you’re enjoyment went
no deeper
than a short-lived purge
and that happy
reintroduction.
nothing more,
nothing less.

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.

cold air is colder against bare flesh.
swept over with serenity.
alone.
these worldly things have lost their grasp.
cold air grasps.
cold burns.
that sound when iced wind hits the glass
sends a chill down a covered spine
cold in thought
cold against flesh
left alone in dark divine.
doubt is distant
but closely cold
a chill in warmth and desire.
a clouded bowl
of clouded ice
a frozen-over fire.
These things are cold
and cold they stay
no heat has found its home
lost in air
futilely grown
a never ceasing mire.

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.