I'm a dancing old machine, with rust in my veins,
the ice of my eyes, and smoke of my words
Are a constant-
interludes between ourselves, as we play in part
As I'm searching in those eyes,
to try and find a fit and figure out what is my own part,

I'm just a towel drowned in a wash,
stranded on love; left high and dry
A text unread, no reply, my battery's out, and a flightless
bird, so mighty to my disguise, of when I was put on
flight mode,

As I drew my heart, painted in all of those memories,
so cryptic to my own self- who really knows me
But just the reasons to my existence, all to the knowledge
of a creator in the skies,

An overthinker in the general sense; though generally most
of my thoughts never make any sense
To write out all of my sins in the pen between
me starting to repent,

                             I'm as human as you are too
                               so natural to the wilds of my heart-
                                              it's all part of my human nature.

high buildings
prisons without barbed wire

down the street from the funeral home
across from the burnt down church
shadows scatter
like crazy crows
through streets that need no names

on the corner
illuminated by a streetlight
a heart is being spray painted on the wall
of an abandon building
a boy with a doubtful future
has a heart that is beating

we all start out that way
we start out innocent
we start out pure

i've had a few,
genuine and untainted

i've had a few PURE MOMENTS

when **** goes down
i imagine one of those
PURE MOMENTS

maybe you've had one?
maybe a few?

the boy is having one
and he doesn't
know it

it's only when
the **** goes down
that you need one
when **** goes down
and you are pacing around
the 4 corners
of that darkening room
you need one

i open the window

the boy turns
looks up at me
and smiles
and crystal clear like water in a brook

A PURE MOMENT

during a quiet, warm twilight
with angels whispering
in our ears

we ran around the dogwood tree
and collected lightening bugs
in a glass jar
that lit up our dark night
our small world

that tiny flickering
mortal fire

living lamps
floating
flashing
in a glass jar

and with angels whispering in our ears
all we knew was love.

a yellow rose winds to the skies,
blossoming, letting soft petals fall to
the cidery earth, blushing in
the caverns of the sweet-flowering day,

inspired like the greek
sun-god helios but
drawn out of rhododendron
and apple, drawn out of love.

a thousand years of summer,
the wolf, the thin mouth of sky,
a diamond bumble bee, the
gifts of a stolen sun,

shaken out like a rattle snake,
the broken angles of death,
the lost side of each word,
with all its intentions and promises -

fallen to the floor, like an apple,
or a blind mole loving
the soil, the dry earth,
the faded parchment sun,

or a rock of ice, in a tangy glass,
where the summer sun
grows roots and shoots,
shadow domes and leafy golden skies.