For you,
I feel an ancient yearning
Baked into my bones
A cosmic ache-
A prehistoric hunger-
A primitive pining

Yes,
It’s a supernatural connection—
Mine and yours—
A rest-the-vessel,
Let-the-tides-guide,
Sacred sort of love

Because betwixt us,
There is a longing
Only the moon
No — only god, herself  
And all her sapphic sovereignty
Could resist

There is a glowing desire
So fervent within us
That I wish I could reach into your Heavenly Body
And pull out your stars  
And thread them into the nest of my womb

An immortal, galactic romance—
Ours is—
Fit for gallery halls and poetry readings
And woven with all the glittery things  
But it’s Roommates, they’ll call us
Roommates, reads our plaque

Roommates—
Not lovers, nor sweethearts
Not partners, nor darlings
No lust
No lore
The saga of us, enduring no more

Celestial stains and divine shame
Roommates, we’ll remain
So we’ll guard this holy matrimony,
We’ll let our lovers’ anthem die
We know the truth is in the stars
We know who lives a lie

✓My favorite weapon
✓Bikini ski boat
✓Fluorescent sand
✓Her eyes immaculate
✓Keys to the prophet's house
✓Emotional screening device
✓1 cup of sun, 3 teaspoons of rain
✓Third world treasure map & saxophone
✓Alternate flightpaths
✓Extra parachute
✓Mediocre Shakespeare
✓Poison pen letters
✓Getaway car & escape route
✓Ladies in waiting (in lingerie)
✓Subterranean lips
✓A pinch of film noir
✓Night vision
✓Antarctic scenarios
✓Fountain of remembrance
✓Policy of containment
✓Silhouette machine
✓Water wings
✓Pillow

I do believe this world is mine,
A realm of one—my butler and I.

My butler, not a servant, but a caretaker,
Equal to any man, as all men are.

No status, no wealth, no pride
He exists, helps, and devotes to his work
Committing no crime
Just as I am a man
Except I am all the things a ruler is
As nasty and cold as a man gets with a mountain full of gold
I think I cannot  grow frail and old
For what one calls a dream, divine,
Is but a slow demise of mine.
As for my caretaker, he shall be the wealthiest man who ever lived

Seasonal
Like allergens
I’m puffy-faced,
Annoyed by the presence.
Hoping you catch the drift
Before I blow my nose like a car horn
“Out of my way”
Always with your static traffic
Conjecture and loose metaphors.

Temper on the rise like the temperature
And the temperament I use could quell a blade
Lest you challenge the sharpness of my tongue
And the ways I can cut you with precision.

Fractal pieces
Of broken mirror
Shows you and you alone
And you can’t face you
So how do you suppose I can?

No, you don’t seem to get this-
You’re parasitic like a leech
Or worse yet a bed bug
You infest with unwanted reverie,
And spread your insipid tragedies
******* my oxygen - and I’m asthmatic
So I puff on the albuterol like a lit cigarette
I hope you get the drift.

You don’t
No, you can’t read a room
Third-grade level intellect
Wrapped in middle-aged mold,
A pustulant excrement that speaks flatulence
And I can smell you from across the street.

Just shh…
Take it somewhere else,
Let me herd you to a new shepherd
I have no use for a lolcow,
The milk is sour and you’re not my kind of cheese
Sleazing on anything that breathes,
You’d breed with a steer if it had the parts
Create a satyr as dim-witted as you,
At least then I could use this buckshot.

Memory will forget you
Like history missed you,
Nothing garnered or gained
A name that means nothing,
Just pass like wind -
And cease your prattling.

I care not.

The internet could have freed us.

Now we know for sure it doesn't need us.
Endless babbling repeated tropes.
Posted by morons and losers and brain dead teen aged dopes.
Vacuous and vague , nothing said nothing heard.
Not a thought nothing original
not a word.

Are we free anymore? I’ve asked myself lately,
Sure, it seems so, but a few things are shady,
Well, more than a few; in fact most of our lives
Are controlled and well-governed like dogs kept on lines.

Last week my own neighbor was caught and arrested
For owning plants curing her cancer, depression,
Science speaks truth but the Law doesn’t mind
Their care is your sentence, not the healing inside.

We’re ruled by fear, I’ve come to conclude
It’s limiting consciousness, limiting mood
Forced to pay off all those bills in the mail
Or they’ll haul you away to community jail.

It’s not always this way—look at it like this,
We do have a large sum of freedom as kids,
We can eat, speak, dress, and play how we please
Before the real world arrives, subjugating this ease.

“Get good grades in school, be quiet, and listen,
Better cut the tomfoolery or end up in prison,
Repent all your sins or you can’t go to Heaven”
...Are drilled in our heads by the time we reach seven.

Yes, it is fear; now much clearer to me,
Yet sadly too subtle for the masses to see,
Some of us hope that things will get better,
So we dogs may finally stray from our tether.

The luster has worn off
Revealing the worm eaten rot
Of unvarnished racism

the truest tragedy
of all poetry
is the fallacy
that every line you write
must be saddening.
irony is the counterculture of poetry.
i write death
to the community
and without a breath
the work is granted validity.
i write life
to the people
and without strife
my work is deemed feeble.

a poem is not a feeling
it's a moment.
there is no emotion
there is no reeling
it's not hopeless
it's not devotion
it's not healing.

your poem is now.