Sitting at a bus stop,
No reason but to people spy,
I pop a cough drop
Loosen my tie.

Then a man sits down,
I nod,
He has a frown,
What a clod.

“Never seen you here before.”
“Never been here before.”
“Waiting for the bus?”
“No, watching.”
“Why?”
“Because I can.”

Because I can do what I want,
Because I’m not you,
Because I can do it how I want,
Because I do.

Because I wear jeans,
Because I have a scar,
Because I have the means,
Because I don’t like that star.

Because that bird says so,
Because the sky is blue,
Because the wind is about to blow,
Because I do.

Because I’m young,
Because you’re old,
Because I have a tongue,
Because I’m bold.

Because I am,
Because you are,
Because I like spam,
Because I have a cigar.

Because because,
Because I buzz,
Because I have withdraws,
Because I does.

i tried to write a poem today about how you make me feel,
and i  couldn't put it into words

- it was unwordable -

my absolute lack of verbosity and eloquence left no solace - just a sticky shimmering mess of words splattered, scattered with horrible verbs and even worse poeticness...
needless to say you give me such inspiration that my mind just veers left when directed right, all because you

- you make me melt -

and fall apart.

and with a touch i make your body tremor and mind falter - together we make the universe twirl, i can feel it, the breakdown of words is my mind spinning around your universe, your works, you're everything the barriers broken, my words fly and float in the pace of our romance, lost...

**- and my brain just broke -

Wind whistling Dixie
Through the door,
Singing the same ol’ tune of old,
And the whistling is cold

Music measures four for time,
A beat each second,
It can turn on a dime,
But a missed beat, I reckon,
Is nothing shy of a crime.

A tediously perfect,
Machine tinkered to tick,
Yet it's imperfect,
Because sometimes it will stick...
And that missed beat is a crime.

Call it an ***** or movement,
A heart, brain or gear,
But let's make an improvement,
And don't miss a beat my dear,
It's a crime in any event.

Don't measure your music - it's time spent,
There is no point watching,
Your watch or winding your movement,
The gears, springs, sprockets, and teeth,
Will wear and there is no cent,
That can be spent,
To stop. The slow-
-ing,
Or
Creep-
-ing,
Of your movement, measured music, or
Your time...
Because it's a crime,
To miss a beat.

Bubble gum, bubble gum, in a dish
i
un-wrap
the tightly wrapped satiny
Paper Package
-- and savor
every sweet taste
Of juicy fruit- and bubbly deliciousness
Wetting my mouth and
AWakening my
wanting tastebuds.

Roll it on my tongue,
blow gently, and
pop, there's that bubbly bubble
gum on my face.

the wilds - my eyes focus on a fragmented figment a magnificent magnification of my dreams, it’s enigmatic, electrifying, enchanting - bogged in a dismal murky muck of lost hope, worn splendor, a broken down, lonely deserted caboose waiting for a jolt, i watch my happiness, & my fulfillment steam away as i grow rusty and dilapidated - forgotten about - but as this fragmented figment magnifies magnificently, i feel the warmth, melting my heart of rusted metal, and loosening the hinges on the doors, as the figment enters the doors, i feel fear and terror, but blissfulness and amorous, i will be rebuilt again, and you’re the one, rebuilding my heart, my soul, and this dilapidated metal frame. Shape me and break the smoldering mold for me to be yours, so i am just that, yours.

i wither...
                                                       ­         ~away
i float from my consciousness, watching myself listen
to endless dribble of the ignorant pro-tagonist of life.

the limitless waves of gray faberic framing the brown bald
and blonde hedgehogs poking their heads up to electrify their
deaf ears and blind eyes – blind eyes
to the world of a real mind.

-they cant see as i see – this life (of theirs) means as much as the DIRT holding the ground of the ghosts in wooden boxes under the rocks
mouths moving words flying
silly tongues flapping – saying nothing – begging for nothing while across the gray,
dull words of hip-hop and pop don’t stop…
contradicting the history of blood and turmoil

ridiculing the bowtie wrapped around the neck of authority – maneuvering the black and white pieces of a chess board  - an antiquated system crumbling – the backbone of an elephant standing tall while ignoring the memory of those dishonored by them – they forget – the ever-forgetting elephant no!
the ignorant elephants whose eyes have been gutted by its own tail – these elephants don’t wail
i wail, scream, howl and groan I weep (inwardly) as I stand cold, engulfed in smoke and smog. I scoff, scowl, and scorn openly inwardly at the treachery and horror that life brings

forgetful is that elephant that kindness is not weakness warmth is not love and a smile is not always real – gripping clawing scratching grabbing clutching to a life that means nothing – than recycled water in the perpetual flow of a ****** river
theyweep theycry theybeg theydie

and they are faded...
…into memories – and the gray infinite abyss of the blue collar drone.