A tourist asked me directions.
He made these assumptions:
A man on park bench writing with a book next to him must be a Native.
Sitting there so at home must indicate that he is home.
I didn’t correct him, didn’t bother, just sent him in the right direction.
I find it odd that I can be so easily contented and comfortable in so many places
thousands of miles away from home.

I am a Falsehood
I am naive
I am humble
I am self-effacing
I am diligent
I am a narrow minded
I am an anarchist
I am scared
I am alone
I am docile
I am ignorant
I am a liar
This is not me.

Immortal spring trickle dry
flower blooming petals fall brown
a spry dog hops his last skip
or good leather falls apart
fresh pen run out
a pea wrinkles up
the hare finishes last
the loaf goes stale
solitary confinement wastes away
let the last breath pass
Will there be a soul to cry?

River
Flow over me
Anchor

Steady rock
Crustaceans roll by
Iron stood

"Come with me my friend
Explore the wild wet world
Stick no longer here."

Brother eel
Slither lithely by
I am scared

Strong rock
Weak spirit
Conjoin

It’s terrible to be alone

to be high
when you wish
to fall



It hurts
to search
and
not find


to see
and not know


to fill
and feel everything rush
like a sieve


to wake alone
       and eat alone

              and watch alone

                     and sleep alone

                            and think alone


and to be crippled

and to not know



It's terrible to be alone

The hustle and bustle is nature…
Ants swarming,
Birds soaring with majesty over
Sparkling blue water, over
Blinding reflections.
These birds and these ants
and this hustle and this bustle
revolve around
the Life Source of a nation, of a People…
So breathe deep; you may drink This water.
This is a pure land.

Late Night
Shared with you fright
Delight in terror lies
Ghost goul haunt the shadow lost time
Stay Close

I'm not yankin' your chain, pullin’ the wool over your eyes, or any of that ****.
This is the job man.
Fly a plane, build a bridge, climb a mountain- do it man. Don't limit yourself.
Unless you’re not that adventurous guy, I mean, that's cool. No inner drive to be outgoing: That's cool, that's cool, I get it, stay with us… work at the Laundromat. There are so many benefits to a Laundromat. Good… well decent money. Not much real work, we operate machines, so whatever really. But the chillest part is, we get to see the creepy stains people have on their clothing... and have a good laugh behind their backs.
These stains tell stories.
Pilots are sweaty under their arms. This tells me they are confined, cramped, caged, we are free in our own little Laundromat world.
Bridge builders have industrial stains; no regular old machine will get those out. We are chillin’ working for the same pay they are at a quarter of the effort. Hikers are even worse. They are soaked head-to-toe in sweat for a view from a postcard- idiots.
It may not be as stimulating as flying a plane; as as helpful as building a bridge; as monumental as hiking a mountain; but it’s the superiorly important.
We are doing the world a huge service. Without us, there would be no uniforms for pilots, no clothes for the bridge builder, and no hiking gear for the mountain man.
Buck up, life could be worse, you could be a more useless guy with creepy stains who flies a plane- builds a bridge- or hikes a mountain and then overpays us at the Laundromat to clean his clothes.

Leather
Soft Supple
Skinning Flaying Dipping
A luxury death
Skin

The stone is cold against my cheek
bring the glow closer
I can feel the heat
hear the spark
smell the fluid
see the flame

Slowly the rock glows through my skin
and burns
the sharp touch signals
a rising nether
where thoughts float free
and men don’t cry
and I don’t care

The fire burns low
and the stone grows cool
I am left
exhausted

Was I flying?
I never left the couch.

No one has picked up for weeks. They are home, but no one has picked up. Not an email returned, nor a text acknowledged. I ****** up. I know. But why won't anyone, anyone answer me...
I can only contemplate so long in a dark room. My sulking is repetitive. I'm guilty. I admit it, and freely so. She died at my house, my party, my birthday, my drink.
Accident's happen. Can't anyone see that? Can't anyone see I'm not a murderer? Can't anyone just UNDERSTAND? All I want is for them to understand. All I've wanted is for someone to say okay, I get it. Is it so hard? I asked god. I've asked every waking moment with every twitch of my being if anyone could understand. I guess I know his answer. I guess silence is another word for no. For you don't deserve it. For ******* for trying. For get off the ground. For move on.
But I can't move on. I can't see over the lip of my hole. I can't move I'm prostrated here bound and gagged… by chains. My words have all escaped me. I can't even speak. I try to splutter a word and nothing happens. I can only think now, and even that is becoming beyond my ability. The disjointedness is enclosing.
I wish i could apologize. Just answer for me to apologize.
No?
No.
Oh well.
Ignorance is bliss, knowledge is power, and insanity is safety
Insanity is my true shelter the true zenith of insight. So I'll slip and I'll fall through the hole into the disease. At least its touch is awaiting; at least I will have warmth.
good morning...?

I wander
and question.

I may have been raised on the wrong language
or continent,
or culture…

The hubs of European culture
have me lost,
and fumbling with my own.

Lost in a park,
a canal,
a street,
architecture,
decadence and delicacy.

Chances
We meet here again
Slimmer than I’d care to admit

Odds
Of us ever intertwining hands
In love?

Knowledge
Of how to break through the veil of acquaintances
eludes me

Go
Take the leap with me
Don’t let me regret

Never
loving your body
open your window

On the top floor
I’ll climb mountains
to love you now

Heavy eyes
pins in my
sockets

Yearning for peace
finding birds, crickets, and creatures

Knit brow in aggravated
concentration

Deceived.

Earlier than preconceived
trapped against my will
by my over active mind

Efforts are
Futile

Sleep is
Elusive

Life is
Conniving

because

I am
Exhausted.

"If there was money in poetry,
I'd be a **** sight better at it."

- The Misguided Man

I soared through the clouds
felt their cold tickle my face,
nerves spiked,
freedom in my nose and my veins

I lay in the jungle
the sweat clung to me like Velcro
a grassy rug underneath
bugs clicked, ticked, tickled all around

On the beach
the water was too cold
and the sand too hot
but where were the sirens?

I walked onto the highway
for my first drive
attraction consumed me
coarse asphalt tripped me

The lights passing held allure like no other.

My clothing was too heavy
so we took it off

My roommate was too close
so he turned away

Our lust was too strong
so we let it burn

And it consumed us.

Money
Plastic Paper
Gold Silver Platinum
All the value is subjective
Pursuit

I need more therapy.
I have to stop getting so **** emotional over nothing
I have to stop closing myself off from every little annoyance
I have to stop being so attached to girls I barely know
I have to get my head on straight
I have to stop letting other people dictate my mood
I have to take control
I need more therapy.

My return trip,
feels like a new beginning

New sights and sounds,
to rediscover.

Judaism’s heart and soul
lies within the city.

Winding streets and twisting turns
lead to the Kotel, the Holy of Holies.

A religious center and
my core.

The cultural hub, tossed salad, or melting ***,
of the religious world.

Burqas and Tallit,
Tzitzis and Crosses,
try, oh they try…
to coexist.

Music is*

Pure exhilaration, inspiration, and ecstasy/
Uncontrollable drive and dedication

An uncontrollable but welcome smile/
A shot of adrenaline throuhg every vein/
The pulsation of an entire body

Every muscle fiber pulled taut by anticipation/
A crescendo of notes and chords fueling an emotional high

Butterflies, no- jetplanes in the listeners stomach/
Being headed from the lyrical content

Unification through the melting of souls

Rent apart by individual and intensely personal fetishes

Immortal...

Timeless.

My home
Earth, USA, Poconos, Camp Ramah, Boys Campus, Bunk 12, Third wooden step
There is a hornets nest underneath- harmlessly buzzing,
we are drunk on youth and invincible
Peace draws me back.

Leaning back on the fourth step, the wood digs into my elbows but
I don't care. I'm too content.
In front of me is a sprawling bright green hill of grass
plunging downward with a strip of gravel leading to the lake.

Feeling the aged, warm wood beneath my feet is
cozy. The gazebo is at the apex of the lush hill;
it's falling apart. Cobwebs cover it and the wood is flaking, but
no one said home was perfect.

I tilt my head upward briefly to feel the warmth of the sun and then scan
downward at the square pool surrounded by a romantic chain-link fence.
Past the pool is a run down boathouse.
My first kiss was there. I told her I had a "secret to tell her,” tilted her chin with my hand, and kissed her.

A serene manmade lake sits just below the boathouse.
The deep blue waters
and the bouncing "blob” own my attention.

A picturesque scene… the lake surrounded by a dense forest at the bottom
of a giant, beautiful hill which houses for just a brief period,
some of the best friends I’ve ever had,
is home to me.
It is serenity, it is comfort, it is love.

Home has no definition,
but the third wooden step, bunk 12, boys campus, Camp Ramah, USA, Earth, gazing in the hot summer sun over the most
beautiful piece of land I've ever laid my eyes upon
sure feels like home to me.

Earth, USA, Poconos, Camp Ramah, Boys Campus, Bunk 12, Third wooden step/
a hornets nest underneath- harmlessly buzzing,/
we are invincible/
peace draws
me back./

Leaning back on the fourth step, the wood digs into my elbows but/
I'm too content/
a sprawling bright green hill of grass/
plunges downward with a strip of gravel leading to the lake./

Feeling the aged, warm wood beneath my feet is/
cozy/
A gazebo is at the apex of the lush hill/
falling apart with cobwebs and flaking wood/
no one said home was perfect.

I tilt my head upward briefly to feel the warmth of the sun/
downward a square pool surrounded by a romantic chain-link fence./
a run down boathouse./
My first kiss./
I had a "secret to tell her."

A serene manmade lake sits just below the boathouse./
deep blue waters/
and the "blob” capture my attention.

The picturesque scene… the lake surrounded by a dense forest at the bottom/
the giant beautiful hill which houses for just a brief period,/
some of the best friends I’ve ever had/
is home to me./
It is serenity, it is comfort, it is love.

Home has no definition,/
but the third wooden step, bunk 12, boys campus, Camp Ramah, USA, Earth,/
gazing in the hot summer sun/
 over the most beautiful piece of land/
I've ever laid eyes upon/
sure feels like home to me.

Near or far,
I'll be there.

It matter not where you are.



Think of me in the flutter of your hair;

leave not my memory behind.

For here lies my soul bare.



Memories and years intertwined,

A bond we do form,

Perfection I do find.



We have weathered many a tremendous storm;

you are as mesmerizing as a rose-

unbreakable, beyond the norm.



Our book does not close.

A new-separate chapter,
enter the future with dignified repose.


I wish you full bellied laughter;

for we will meet again after.

Do I care?

How was it?
Why didn’t you call?
Why didn’t you come?
Why didn’t you go?

**** her.  *******. **** me.

No.
Stop.

Drink, drink, stop, don’t, stop, stop.
Why?
Just let me-
No- I want this.
Fine.

Get out.

I’m sorry?

A castle with millions of doors
And long corridors ghosted by
Thirsty alien creatures.

Each door led to horrifying monsters
with visages of stone and grime.

Some doors, red, titanic doors,
led home.

Time flowed out of sync.

I returned to an infirmary fiilled with my friends and family.
Few hours passed in my castle of terrors
yet years would fly by in the real world.
They aged
These visits
broke my heart…

Every door was a possible portal back,
I'd inch the door open slowly for fear of falling and losing my family.

I'd end up in the castle again.

Because a fair maiden lay in waiting.
How did I know?
I never saw her,
only a feeling.

This was just a dream,
just a torturous dream in which
I was torn away from my family
and drawn to a mysterious woman through a castle filled with
vile beasts
as I stayed
Immortal.

I can't write a love poem
I'm missing a muse
I'm also afraid of cheapening the art,
of being generic.

I can't write a love poem,
but I'd love to…
why am I afraid to try?

Not heartless, heartbroken
not manipulative, not terroristic

Not heartless, heartbroken
the fields of grass sway bright blue and green
under a red sky weeping
horseless, loveless, alone.

It’s not an unerring path
it’s a wounded warrior pierced by stalactites
huddled cold in the winter
a man searching, and hurting, and crying

Better to have loved
to have splintered
to have shattered
to have hurt
than to remain
the King
of Pluto.

Over the ocean
we rail and scream

Timbers shiver timbers quiver
Groans grate our ears
with the wind whipping and wailing

Not the cold nor the rain
nor icicles on our backs
nor hammers on our limbs

A rusty machine
we churn butter
and churn
our wheels and togs and clogs and gears
turn

So the ship rolls over the ocean
leaps and bounds in between
like a gazelle at home
we the tics, the leeches, and the virus's
who cling to the host
for dear life

Don’t quit a book until you’ve read the first 50 pages

Because she is not a ****…
Rather an opportunist

And she is not easy…
Rather extremely open

And lastly, she is not a *****…
Rather a budding entrepreneur

Life is about perspective.
Reserve judgment until the end of the book
Because page 51 just might change your life.

Paper
Flutter by
Ruled lined blank
Limitless Possibilities and Destinations
Life

The Overpass
Boys get high

and pass the warmth

vivid and bright.

Living surfaces surround them-

 spray paint
 history
under the overpass.



They were nigh new members

a nation of addicts.

Here recruitment was rampant

where friends went to try

and they broke-

chemically chained

under that overpass.



In the summer

strange souls pressed together

to ****, to love, to grow,

a maiden voyage

hailed by the night
inhaling the night

under that overpass.



If ever you get high

and look for something more

it’s right there

under that overpass.



Behind the weedy grass and paint

a blue door waits.

Bones litter the escape-

to a new world.

Pass out of  this lif
e
and lay before it.
Release yourself,

enter paradise

under that overpass.

I don't have a pit in my stomach
my stomach is a pit

Poem to a Friend
Dear Friend,
I'm lost. No I’m not, but I’m clueless and facing huge decisions. My heart is in one direction by common sense tells me another. Does money outweigh artistic freedom? What defines happiness? Where am I going? Do I need to decide now?
I'm not looking for guidance, merely an ear. Life is staring at me. I want to ask for help but I know I'm a hell of a lot better than that. I know I'm stronger than that.
But I like to think back and reflect, it's cool man, thinking of my childhood. When I was younger it didn't matter. None of that **** mattered and that made life so easy. A job meant dressing up as a fireman and laughing- not a 9-5. What is a 9-5? Am I ready?
Time will tell.
I'm going away soon. Life matters. Life is hard.
I'm not depressed. I'm not dying. I have just been hit in the face by reality.
The best part is, I'm man enough to have a strong right hook to throw back.
Look out world, look out strangers, look out mystery, I'm here; and I'm excited.
  
Yours Truly.

I don't understand why I'm confined
this **** hotel room
I want to be out
only 24 hours in a day...
eight hours of sleep?
let's try four.
I've done it!
I need to break out
I've learned not to sleep.
To make the most of my time... I guess that means poetry
Poetry in Paris...
I'm sure I'm not the first one who has had this idea....

Poetry is not a joke
Wanna get metaphysical?
Wanna express yourself?
Wanna be real?
Wanna let the world know your pain?
Wanna let the world feel your happiness?
Wanna share your triumphs and tribulations?
Do it.
Live, love, feel, share.
Poetry is a joke; the punchline is, that it's the most important joke ever told.

The Queen went up the hill
with her gaggle of boys in tow

She sat in her carriage
and she had four men below

Up they went to find the gift
of knowledge only the Oracle bestows

At the top balanced a rock
with a goat to push it right down

The goats might and her strong horns
sent the boulder toward the procession

Down went the queen
as her men ran away

Not one slave left
no one tried to stay

Flattened she became
The Pancake Queen

Why did they run some query
Because she was so very mean

If you need a reason to dress up
If you get out of bed without a purpose
If you are plugged-in until the lights are out
If you have anxiety
If you resist every temptation
If you don't smell the roses
If you don't pick your head up and enjoy every moment
If you don't express
If you don't live fully
If you miss it

You're living wrong.

So look beautifully
Stride purposefully
Shut it down
Live stress-free
Indulge
Enjoy nature
Bask in your surroundings
Speak freely
Live completely
Don't waste your time

And you may be lucky enough to die regret-free.

Remember home?
You could shed and fall to the ground.

The sun shone then
On clear skin
not stained black
by slow
full
tears.

You didn’t live for the chill.
Cold nights did not hold such a romance.
You sought warmth-
then.

Blooming lives wither
without sun
dreams die on fat-lips
and the broken feeling
wasn’t
so
familiar.

I rolled in Michigan
strapped to a kayak in the namesake lake
vision obscured by freshwater

I plunged under the blue surface
out of my element
panicking as a fish out of water- in water

I reached for the release and
missed
but grasped swelling panic

Dread thoughts of
the end...
my family…
last words…

Still submerged- somehow a semblance of sensibility surfaced,
unlike myself
frightening fantasies flitted-
shot like skeets in the sky and
peace prevailed.

I stretched through the moist blindness,
found the release- my sweet release.

Gasp air.
Freedom from death's clutches

I see
my unpreparedness for death,
ability to survive

Fifteen seconds to find my inner calm, my inner panicked strength, the depth of my composure
fifteen seconds for reevaluation

Fifteen seconds
submarine style
to find who I really was and am

Arguments are made
that safety and tranquility are the best mindsets for
education

But,
safety lacks motivation,
tranquility lacks demand,
Life's trials breed introspection.

Addiction's innocent cousin ***** needling into my veins
infected me seasons ago
the ache I once felt still strong as mast's girth

From wind to wind sea to sea we internally roamed
in my mind the map was a treasure trove for exploration
i never was bound to lake shore
wind whipping tide tussling rousing mornings and dusky
nights

My mistresses my pleasure gliding goddess
drift lazily and let me sing praise with shouts "Boom"
but coy or not I coil spry
aged not with time
but lessons learned

The youngest have yet to grow
knowledge of the mystery fables tell
of beautiful passings

Land's unreachable without proper direction
rudderless a hair's breadth magnified out of reach
cool autumn leaves fall on my skiff

She tugs at my heart and at your golden hemp locks
they have all my love stolen from your deck your bow
your stern your timber your core
but let us sail evermore