the earth is curved - sure y’all knew that.  
but to get to the Northwest,
Interstate 84
ain’t le route plus directe

nope curve north to Ontario,
wave to Bex as I cross over
London and Toronto, also can’t recall
which poet from Rochester hails,
or did they shuffle off to Buffalo?

Crossing Erie, Huron, and Michigan Great Lakes all,
brings to mind
my mother’s birthplace,
Last of the Mohicans,
and the three years I did in the Cleveland Penitentiary,
where sun was illegal and baseball was a pretend play
of cowboys and Indians
but by god, it made me
the penitent fella I am today

Look skyward to Montreal,
yes, there he is, the Leo Priest,
the baffled king,
blessing this poetic meet ‘n greet trip
with a smiling unsurprising
hallelujah

Apparently some US citizens still can traverse O Canada,
even if one forgot their passports,
and are not PNG’s (Persons Not so GREAT)

over Minneapolis shed a tear for Diane,
a poet- gone-missing, and wonder if you reader come from
St. Cloud, Fargo or Duluth, Bismarck or Aberdeen,
surely they still speak poetic English there
in a twangy metering methodology  - well, message me asap

wow there really is a Saskatoon!

the pilot asks us to lean left in our seats
to help turn the plane
so we go to Portland and not to Vancouver...
me thinks he might be a touch Rockie Mountain High,
considering we are at 30 thousand something Imperial,
as he walks the main cabin with an oxygen mask and a
huuuuuge grin

see the distant Cascades
through a crack in the shuttered windows,
must be close to “the coast”
(as if, harrumph, there were but one)

ah, words in the clouds, ripe for the plucking
must be getting close to Oregon,
where poets grow on trees, woody words like ****,
and log-float poems down the Columbia to the sea

gonna drink me some poets
under the table cause this
trip I ain’t no driving and I am already
“flying” ‘n scribing and arriving
on a high tide and a good wind

The drums' pounding sounds
echo deep in my chest
rattling my rib cage
a new heart beat is found.
I surge with the crowd
dealing with the push and pull
like it was the ocean.
Well we were on Ocean Avenue
So it sort of was.
People are being held above the surging waters
like boats floating on treacherous seas.
One boat emerges from the depths behind me
One that I did not see.
The next thing I knew
the head of the boat had hit me
connecting with the back of my head.
I turned around quickly
and pushed the boat along,
but by then the damage was already done.
I sang and danced to every song
Unaware until later of my new concussion.

drain my lungs of all their air.
**** me, or don't, I couldn't care.

It's too hot in the day to go outside
It's too cold at night to stay alive
It's too late to sleep but, too early to be awake
My eyes are too tired but my mind's cranking thoughts
Work days are too long, mentally too shot.
I bet you felt this way too,
I bet you do.

It's two a.m. laying down, I feel inspired
You can keep the fame, the money, and whatever
I look to you and hope to be admired
Just a clever kid trying to make ends meet
Every time I pull them closer, they change the game
So friend have a seat, don't ask for a nickel or dime
While you're in my place, I promise you'll be fine.
I hold my own, I carry my weight, this life is golden
All the rest is a roll of luck and some fate
Rereading my own self and feeling great
While few others offer me their time and that's ok,
I'm already amazing, you'll believe me someday.

It seems unfair that I outlive my peers
As I get older, that will become deeper, i fear.
Today, I push with every muscle in my drive
Tomorrow, I may just live to survive.
It's been sitting on my head, the first friend i made,
Already made a leap to an early grave.
Free to be free but death has us enslaved
I'm talking to the walls but they ignore me still
Stuck awake and it all just feels unreal.

Let's live together
     Like a poem
Written from our frosty breath
    Dancing in the cool moonlit air.

Darkness of a void
Can you feel the whispers
I’m like a memory stuck within a Polaroid picture
Ageing faster than old drunkard sipping on a sweet elixir
Trying to find my way out of this prison of infinite wisdom
The prison that stole my innocence

Gravitate towards the heartbreak
The critic of dismay
I already knew the ending by the first act of the play
The betrayal of desolate lips
As my heart embraced the cold edge of your daggers tip

How does one learn to love when it is the poison bringing him to an early demise
If my eyes were to close indefinitely would you even cry
Would my soul even cross your mind

​

His frame is that
Of a split willow branch
Splintered and narrow
Bendable and strong
He barely musters mutters
Words colliding, sticking
Like molasses on linen
His eyes are damp moss
I know from photographs
As his eyes won't meet mine
Too fragile, faithful , naive
To bear so many scars
He settles for shelter
He deserves a home

I see you've made another enemy,
but this time it is different.
Isn't it?
You're battling for relevancy.
Maybe this time they'll stick around
They'll be the needle that you need.
The drug for your veins' vanity,
addicted to each other's greed.
You crave each other's attention,
wanting that toxicity,
that makes you so well-known.
The drama for your soul.
Because peace can't exist without war,
so keep chasing them you fame *****.
Making your own enemies!
Fighting battles in the streets!