the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.

there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.

nobody ever finds
the one.

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill

nothing else
fills.

"                        "
      !            :                  ,                .
              ,            ,            ,                .
      ,              ;                              !
                    ,

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

I cant sleep,
I'm afraid that I might dream..

For most,
dreaming's common, some even have themes,
Some even foresee the future, some even have schemes,
Some have a plot and ******, even opening scenes,
Some even might get frisky, have you opening jeans..

but my dreams differ.
my dreams, are dreams, of the Tigris river.
my dreams, are visions of an old poor giver.
Old, forgiver.
walking along the side of the Euphrates with Hades,
go figure.

my dreams differ.
at times i hear the angels in the heavens as they bicker.
At times i see the time of my own death on a ticker.
click click....

I always try to slow it down. Its become a regular thing..
But the Fates are constantly pulling my string.
using it as a guitar, Such a harmonious scene.
Especially for a man, not destined to dream.

My mind wonders, but more so it wanders,
Its plausible that lack of sleep will be my demise...
But till that day comes, i'll continue to daydream, because my only nightmare is closing my eyes...

-afj

dad left
for his second tour of duty
on my third birthday

mom kept
a jar full of jelly beans
on the living room coffee table

every night
she gave me one to eat, saying
"when these jelly beans
are all eaten up,
dad will come back home"

sometimes
i would sneak another,
to help dad come home sooner

one night
the phone rang
and i watched mom
wipe away a tear
as she filled
the jar
back
up

Here it goes again.
Another poem to describe how useless I am.
How tattered my soul is.
How my brain resembles my hands,
callused, numb, and broken dry skin.
I'm a terrible person.
Self indulgent and full of sin.

And here it goes again.
In the mirror I see nothing.
A big steaming pile of nothing.
Full of wasted dreams, 'what ifs' and 'one days.'
The **** that I write never comes out right.
The **** that I dream is just that:
a big steaming pile of nothing.

Here it goes again.
As if I am something.
But I can't get past how useless I am.
A speck in this cosmic dust cloud.
And here I go again, thinking I am a tornado.
How I will crush your dream home
and leave behind a big steaming pile of debris.

Here I go again,
thinking I am nothing.
When really, I am something.
I am a speck in this cosmic cloud,
without me that tornado wouldn't be.

Men don't cry
But maybe these tears are the past,
Waiting to be let out
Or fear of the future,
Afraid I might follow those footsteps
Men don't cry
But these tears are very real
These lips are trembling
I cannot speak
My nose is a stuffed torrent
My eyes are flooding
My vision is clouding
Men don't cry
But I'm sobbing into my pillow
Men don't cry
But I keep on falling apart
Men don't cry
But I lost it
MEN.
DON'T.
CRY.
...But I've broken today

the house next door makes me
sad.
both man and wife rise early and
go to work.
they arrive home in early evening.
they have a young boy and a girl.
by 9 p.m. all the lights in the house
are out.
the next morning both man and
wife rise early again and go to
work.
they return in early evening.
By 9 p.m. all the lights are
out.

the house next door makes me
sad.
the people are nice people, I
like them.

but I feel them drowning.
and I can't save them.

they are surviving.
they are not
homeless.

but the price is
terrible.

sometimes during the day
I will look at the house
and the house will look at
me
and the house will
weep, yes, it does, I
feel it.