early morning
and the same sun rises over distant lands
and close-by skyscrapers
searing rusting infrastructure
with its harsh orange glow
spreading westward,
stretching over asphalt pathways
that connect, divide, structure, and destroy
alighting wearied faces of automobile drivers
careening through their morning commutes,
consuming caffeine like *******
while they deftly maneuver their 2,000 pounds of steel behind,
along, aside, and ahead of their neighbors
this,
is New Jersey,
where all roads lead to Newark
and there is nothing left but roads

approaching the colossus,
the cars cram and crawl into curb-side cases
narrowly avoiding calamitous collisions and condescending traffic cops
doors, fly open
and a mad flurry of arms and legs,
boxes and backpacks
come whirl-winding out onto the entryway
rushed goodbyes and abrupt adieus
color the palette of the doorway
dripping inside,
bleeding into the harshness of late businessmen
and screaming families.
Shoes Off.
Laptops Out.
and pray dearly that the TSA
doesn't shove their fingers inside of you
today.
arms up, legs spread
exposed to the imperceptible energy of American exceptionalism
the magnetic arm swings,
impregnating its subjects with the Joy of Fear
and the awe of empire
swings again,
and releases the hapless passenger from its total control
Through.
Checked.
Complete.
Pass Go, collect $200.
and into the international installation itself.
Enjoy your flight.

when you hear politics
you usually think
poli-tricks
as in
the man in the suit
who stands up on stage
speaking false words and
reaping false prais
or the election promises
to End the War, Save the Children, Create More Jobs
Pony's for Everyone.

or the media pundits
who bicker and argue and flaunt
their superiority, their cynicism
over the public nightly
in Prime Time and technicolor lighting
you think of the pyramids
of the gods and the masters
imploring and coercing and driving
us,
faster, faster

of all the wars and drilling just beyond your control
of a separation and distance
from the actions this very instance
which are taken in your name
and worst of all, for most of us
politics, is Out There.
beyond your domain
or beyond your care

but politics is more than
an anonymous ballot drop
in an anonymous ballet box
politics is in the way
you step out your door
and follow that yearning
for something More

politics is in the way
you treat the Other
be it your next door neighbor, the stranger on the street,
or your lifelong brother

politics isn't being politically correct
but it's about having a level of respect
deep enough to accept
that your Words,
shape your World

politics is in connecting the
Me to the We
so that together we might
Be
something more than the sum of our parts

politics is in the conversation you had with
the person behind the cardboard sign
and whether you let them remind
you that God Loves You
and I don't mean God Above
sending you love letters on the wings of a dove
but the God in you and in me
the God we can all feel and see
the God of perfect unity

politics is in the linking of our arms
because although
we may have retreated
the People, United
Will Never Be Defeated

politics isn't in ivory towers behind closed doors
or strictly for super-powers
politics isn't in the oval office
any more than a sarcophagus
because politics isn't a photo op,
kissing babies, or a meet and greet
politics is You and I, together
in the streets
and in the parks
before, during, and after dark

politics is reclamation and restoration
regrowth and renewal
it's in the invisible fibers
which bind and align us
in how we redesign Us
to encompass that which must
become part of our moral compass

because it seems to me
that hierarchy
is a bunch of malarkey
a system of oppression and exploitation
compounded over millenia
of violent suppression and spiritual stagnation
until, Today
where we stand divided
by color class creed
****** preference
and gender id
enframed and maimed by bureaucracy
each of us, alone
doubting our own efficacy
so I tell you,
stand up, and smash your TV

because you won't find revolution
inside of a box
or get it from attending
inflammatory talks
because revolution is more
than overthrowing capital or the state
revolution is in the relationships that we create
within the rotting shell of this system of hate
revolution is in discourse and public debate
in neighborhood assemblies
and Occupations of late
because power, true power
isn't where they told us
power is, and always will be
with us in the polis, the people, el pueblo, rejoice!
and as we begin to awaken,
to this most true realization
remember,
We,
Are Unstoppable
Another World is Possible

I live my life
for the jolts and tingles
the prickling of skin
and the involuntary wrinkles
I live my life
for instances of bliss and euphoria
the experiences that floor ya
for the moments of clarity
when I make plans with sincerity
whether or not accomplishment,
may indeed be a rarity
I live my life
for the sensular shudder
of the feminine other
for the flashing and thrashing
and skin-tingling flutter
for those shots to be made
without use of a putter
I live my life
for new connections and epiphanies
for misdirections and the mysteries
for all the questions without answers
like, why does life give you cancer?
according to the state of california.
I live my life
through a miasma of sidewalks
and ticking clocks
through drunken walks
and forgotten talks
for the chance of a Win
and the inevitable balks
I live my life
sometimes for him or for her
in sin or while pure
and without hope of a cure
for the human condition
"the human condition?"
you know, when the world says,
"assume the position!"
and your teacher says
"are you even listenin'?"
I live my life
for zoning out and finding Rules to flout
for the workings of my mind
the ability to rewind
analyze the times
and uncover the blinds
I live my life

poetry comes and goes
opens and flows
spills into streams of prose
amidst the musical rows of my thoughts.

forms and rhythms
which melt and morph and sing into being
the abstractions of synaptic connections,
write into existence
the chemical signals of neurotransmitter gossip,
and transfer to the Symbolic
the electrical impulses of the Real

scratch and peel the caulk
from the edges of The Faucet,
turn and wind the wheeled handles open,
open, open.
Past lefty loosey and into
the outpouring of pent up pressure;
raw, and juicy.

Poetry is ***, death and magic.
The art of training the mind's faucets
elastic.

the only ones for me are the Lost Ones
the one's who wander through life
hearts heavy with strife
who tiptoe along
on the edge of a knife
between bliss and the abyss

the only ones for me are the Bad Ones
the ones who rise and set
like Sad Suns
over and above mountaintops
of the young

the only ones for me are the Crazies
for whom the path ahead is ever hazy
but who still find the time to be lazy
sitting around, making chains of daisy

the only ones for me are the Fallen
who drift on the wind
like specks of pollen
floating on and on
in search of their calling

the only ones for me have Loved and Lost
for only they know the true cost
of allowing your emotions to be your sole boss

the only ones for me conceal
so very much of what they Feel
afraid that intimacy may reveal
what lies beneath their thick outer peel

the only ones for me need time to reflect
and often times, they also deflect
the advances
and the chances
which might allow them to connect

Freedom
or Free Doom?
we're under the same sun
but live by a different moon;
"America, my America
why have you gone away?"
a common thing to say
in this strange and dark new day
"America, my America
where do you lie today?"
in the memories of those
who've come and passed away
"America, my America
why have you gone astray?"
because I only exist in stories
of those who Rule the day,
textbook tales recount great men
and quill pens
but ignore the larger story
of illiterate Farmer Ben
"America, my America
what have you got to say?"
only that I'm sorry
that my symbol striped and starry
has held far too much sway
what if our "democracy"
has always been a plutocracy
and the "genius" Founding Fathers
were just a new aristocracy
wouldn't that be
the most awful hypocrisy?
if the story of my birth
is just as much a lie
as the tale of creation
by an old man in the sky
then why, oh why
do they continue to cry
"America, my America
my country tis of thee"
when in fact I never was
the place they want to be
Americans, my Americans
why do you ask of me?
the things you've always done yourselves
in spite of powers that be
Americans, my Americans
arise, awake, remember
that they never gave you anything
that they willfully surrendered
Americans, my Americans
never forget your past
though the years may pass you by
like sand in an hourglass
Americans, my Americans
I am just a dream
that in your hearts and minds
you do choose to believe
Americans, my Americans
arise, awake, remember!
and Tomorrow we will forge
a World of peace and splendor

I watch
as they crumble
some only for a moment,
a flash of the inner turmoil
a glimpse, a blink, and it's gone
others, like staring into an open wound
a gaping hole,
still throbbing, still pulsing
bleeding, slowly

I sit
head in hands
trapped in the cycle of disbelief
and fooling myself into relief
I feel the passive observer
unable to act, or speak, or move
just sit

I stare
the panels above my head
offer a temporary distraction
this time, it wasn't just a dream
yet it feels more like that
than ever before

the Reality
rolls under my door
and drifts through my window panes
like a noxious fog
curling in wisps along the blue tiled floor
defying thermodynamics,
cold rises, heat sinks
seeping into my pores
filling my lungs, running through my veins.
I Know.

yet I still imagine,
fantasize, dramatize
a cruel joke, a terrible mistake
a diagnosis totally amiss

the phone Rings
a tremor of relief begins to quake inside of me
soon to be dashed
by the words transmitted across that line

I run
outside into the morning sun
the greenery astounds and amazes
the thirst of the Earth,
quenched at last

as a child I always looked up to the sky
to the clouds
as the End, the finality
high above, unreachable, untouchable
and yet, here I am,
Earthbound, temporal,
running through the gentle misting drops
of a cloud

I remember a Time
when 4 am meant the night was just beginning
and a half pack of cigarettes meant I was almost out

when a green box with four wheels spelled
F-R-E-E-D-O-M
and those hours inside
were like eons

when the Right Song
at the Right Moment
would leave me quaking

that first Drop
out of my mind and into that pool
and how amazing those camel turkish jades looked
and felt
as the smoke curled in my lungs

when all I wanted,
was to EXPLODE
to burst from all the tension and frustration
the confusion
to lose myself in the midst

I remember the disgust
with It and with Me
burnt out on the great hypocrisies
of the life I'd been given
and all I could do was
Run
Flee
dream of faraway places

the weakness
the overly analytical sensibilities
that brought me to my knees
that led me to tear myself to shreds

and, of course,
always chasing Her
that timeless, ephemeral Her
who would wipe it all away

I remember the betrayal
the way I needed to scream and yell
to make them understand
so I screamed and I yelled
alone, cruising through empty lanes of highway
at night.

the birds
those damnable birds!
always so bright and cheery
as I would come tumbling down
from my fleeting bliss
always wanting to just
keep chasing that peak
that moment, that Feeling
the all encompassing Knowing that
You Are Here Now,
however elusive it may be.

the surging force of unbridled passion and immature love
which consistently left me a burnt out husk
wondering why I'd ever let myself
get so far into that Hole
keep digging, keep digging,
it's got to be down here somewhere.

the elation of extending your ******* to the world
for just a little bit longer,
just a few more songs,
just one more cigarette.
that's all we ever needed to Figure It Out,
whatever It was or may Be.

the realization that 11:00 is the best time of all
never too late, nor too early
more time to play, or to sleep
but we never really slept much at all.

most of all, the Thinking
and thinking
the running round and round in endless circles
here and there, glimpsing a Truth
a fact or flaw,
a philosophy or prophecy
too much, too much.
I shattered.

broke myself into pieces
for Her and for Them
and mostly, for Me

I remember how the drinks
might not have put it back together
but they'd **** well make me forget
that it was broken in the first place

and especially that Bed Rock I hit
where even moving seemed incomprehensible
where nothing made sense
and all the glittering pieces were laid bare

but
The Climb
The Climb!
not without it's trips and stumbles
not without it's regressions;
for every two steps forward,
take one step back.

an ascension, nonetheless
even now, from my vantage point
I can see that hard place
but I still can't see the peak

and I am glad to have crashed
to have broken myself on the crags and the ridges
to carry the gravel in my skin and in my bones

extra weight for my climb;
strength training for the mind.
and now I know I
in a way that can't be learned from simply skating by
eventually,
the ice will break.

I feel a vibration, deep in my bones
as if my being was composed
of coiled metal springs;
pushed down,
and down,
and down,
compressed to an unnatural flatness
an undesirable rigidity
an unhealthy madness
and a post-poned delivery
but, under all the pressure
all the weight
under all the stressors;
I still vibrate.
a buzzing, whirring, and building imbalance
is this because of caffeine?
or time spent as an E fiend?
I must ask myself,
what does this buzzing mean?
is it hyperactivity,
a blocked chakra, or three
did I choose this energy
or did it choose me?
so I write to release,
to find inner peace
this pen my therapist
this page the couch
with each stroke I care less
and let go that inner grouch

they go shuffling by
heads down
gazes locked on the ground
some even wear a frown,
as they go shuffling by.
rain or shine
they trudge through the daily grind
just like me and mine,
they go shuffling by.
plugged in
turned on
and copping out,
they go shuffling by.
this mental enslavement
to lines of pavement
leaves me wondering
why?
why do they go shuffling by?
not a glance at the sky,
or a friendly passerby
who might stop to say,
"HI."
while they go shuffling by.

I'm a conceptual being
I tend to view the world in shades
that most people have only ever seen
while in a dream
and when I try to explain these thoughts that stream
nobody ever seems to fully grasp what i mean

when I take that deep breath
and dive into the depths of my mind
often times, I'm afraid of what I might find
in those dark recesses,
those thoughts of that girl in her summer dresses
I'm still searching for that touch and those sweet caresses
for someone who I can help clean up their messes
that broken winged bird
that i could fix with a word

but this desire to save
to halt the crashing wave
can I really pretend
that it's not me I'm trying to mend?

raised in a way
not to savor the day
not to lay in the hay
or just play
but to
pay
pay
pay
caught in the gears
of these soul crushing years,
I feel Helpless
and so I turn to that sweet kiss
of chemical bliss
to experience some
of what this cage makes me miss.
I can't remember a time
where I wasn't in Line
rank and file,
won't you stand and wait for a while?
Do this.
Get that.
Do that.
Get this.
cause and effect,
a lifestyle that leaves
very little time to reflect
on what you're actually doing
every day,
this pattern cannot stay.
Apathy invades the hearts and minds
of our kind,
brought on by an inability to change
or even rearrange
this world that's become
so Strange.
Despair,
in the face of such a menacing machination.
Fear,
in the face of such an unfeeling application.
Behold the Beast of progress,
never to rest,
created by man,
driven by our hand,
fed by our compliance,
sustained by our reliance.

my mind feels like it's cast out to sea on a line,
bobbing back and forth over the waves,
I resign myself to ride the tide,
these churning crests
do little to caress the stress inside
anticipating the Bite,
the moment to actually put up a Fight,
I hold tight.
My knuckles clenched,
the smell of my own fear an overpowering stench,
coupled with the realization
that there's nothing I can do to wrench
myself from this course,
of looking over and over these pages
that look more and more like Morse

I know where i am
But I am not where i am

Instead, I am just outside
just above, just beyond
tugging at the edges of my vision,
my hearing,
I am There.

My eyes are hewn of rough stone,
lumbering back and forth, swiveling unevenly
in the sockets of my face.

I perceive, but I do not feel
other than momentary flashes and
fleeting shudders

where is it?
where is the surge
the approaching wall
the careening onslaught
the overriding and all encompassing ****

the absence frightens me;
and so I push and shove
and tense the muscles of my soul
Feel!
Something!
Now!

a hardened callous surrounds me
a numbing sensation permeates my being
accompanied by the dread,
the calm before the storm;
It is Coming.
Get ready.