There is a thought
Inside a man
Who swears the idea can
Change the world.
On his forehead the sweat draws
Itself to the contours of his
Face in confirmation,
The essence of intentions with
Only good in mind.

And when the thought is brought
Out into the open
The idea breathes itself into existence
And takes the form of a polished
Feature of morality.

In the idea the light shines in the darkness
Of the world and it becomes
An ideal that leads men into
Action based on the purest intent
At the very center of the idea.

The idea becomes cannon
Like a holy scripture found
In the darkest deepest cave lost
To the oblivion and found by
A flame that feeds itself
With fires of ideas and burns
The whole of himself for the sake
Of the thought.

In these men intent and action
Can be seen,
Born of an idea with light at its
Core and purest intention
Of the heart,
And one can see the idea burns
The whole of a part of the world.

Perhaps, maybe
There is a man that truly loves a woman,
And they will love each other
Forever in the light
And happily under God's watch.
Perhaps, maybe
They are fed up deep inside,
Sickened of the repetitive days
That fill the emptiness with
Nothing and out of that nothing
They **** each other slowly
Everyday.

All is invisible,
The unspeakable silence
That penetrates the ears louder
Than the love we make.
And the things left unsaid
Unite the hope of the two
That it might be spoken
To fill the abyss that grew
From the light of their love.

And they live life to the fullest
And think they had a good run,
They are lovers and tireless
Husband and wife.

Perhaps, maybe this is the only truth
They may ever know.

A room, a bed, a closet,
A familiar setting,
A window and a storm.
The night without stars
And a thunderclap of wonder.
There are many people like
This, all around me who get
To know the storm.
The sunrise, the mist,
The birds at song under
Wet trees, lukewarm morning.
Here there is a woman alone
With no man, many like me.
And all that is and was
Or will be wants what the heart wants,
Love.
The night comes again,
A room and shadows long and
Madly the same.
I swell with a thought of a woman,
My dream comes to me awake,
I am alone but she accompanied
Me through many lonesome nights
Even in my imagined reality.
We had loved and made
Love many times now,
I don't know her name
But I know every curve of her face,
Her transparent slip....
The rolling curve of her thighs,
And while so close seems
So very far away.
I see her ****** in the shadow,
I long for her body,
No I long for her soul with me.
I love her more than I know,
But I don't know her,
Her wings clipped like some
Fallen angel,
Her flesh deeper than the touch,
This is more real to me than
Anything else I know.

Tonight, in a room, in an insanely
Familiar room I stand alone with her
In my thoughts,
I sweet song arises in my head,
We dance in the pale moonlight
And then I was interrupted by
A passing car,
And I knew the car was real.
Illuminating from my mind
I return to the last dance,
Forever the first.

I write her into reality,
Every lonesome verse filled
With an unknown woman,
She that I love deeper than
Any abyss,
She carries my soul away from
The room, the closet,
The familiar night.

One:

She sings in her bed
While she stares at a picture
Of her daddy.
On her lap is a razor
And her monsters cut away
At her lap, laughing.
The girl sings her song
In the empty house.

Two:

Her sky was a daddy,
There were birds and clouds
And the air was pure
In his hands.

The clouds caressed
Her face and her face told
Of a sadness,
Like a cloud her daddy
Wasn't there.

Three:

Heart full of dreams
And eyes filled with water,
I will share the girl's secret:
Daddy was taken away,
Her daddy was locked away.

Unfastened in her defenseless
Blood, she annoints herself interrupted,
She has the scars,
You can see the scars.

Her song sings:
Daddy do not abandon me.
I am alone
In the tears and the blood
I am home, alone.
You are not here,
And it hurts me truly,
You are not here.

I don't belong here
In this flesh
Going to this dirt,
I belong to
the fire, the wind,
The sky.....

Torn into pieces
Every bit of you complex-
Desirous nature to please

Come one come all
To the show
Of pleasing others eyes

Be it far from yourself
To be yourself
For retribution is swift
On originality

The world calls you,
The one that pleases the others,
Not you but the other one

If you are not yourself,
There is no other
To be accepted outside or in

I am not the night nor the stars,
But the dream experienced.

I am not the touch or the hand,
But the soft kiss of the lips.

I am not the life or the death,
But the spirit of us.

You are not the sun or the moon,
But the light of my eyes.

You are not the rose or its thorns,
But its red like life blood.

You are not the door or the room,
You are home.

I am no one without you,
I dont know what else to write,
Only that where you go I will follow.

Because I am not perfection,
Nor could I walk in its shadow,
I choose to see the Man.
I'm a born again sinner.
The curtains at a close and the
World a shot away from killing
Itself, I would not turn to perfection
In the dellusional mind that is man.
No,
I like my God as a man,
Beat up like me;
Wearing His scars in public humiliation.
I can relate to this Deity,
The imperfect manner of his sacrifice,
The degredation.
This Guy understands what its like
For most of us everyday,
So let Him bleed and suffer,
He did so in a short life.
He catches a glimpse of what its
Like for us everyday in the imperfect
World,
The glorious sinners we are,
And I walk with a suffered Jesus.

Where is the poet whose bugles blow
Through internet screens and invisible
Imperialistic royalty?
Might your words blow like trumpets
At Jericho?
March, march upon the walls
That which takes the heart at its very beat,
Take back with passion all that
Fear has robbed,
The power in the people that remains
The basic fundamental movement
Of this world,
Let be known we stand,
We stand and will fight,
March on poet saints,
Let a the martyrs before you become
The crystalline clarity that beckons
Deep in the soul.
Behold,
The words become a movement,
May they incur the people,
Then it becomes a battlecry!

I am Mexican:
       Brown and forgotten inbetween,
       Brown like the dirt poor I am.

Iv'e been in hard labor:
      I do what "they" don't want to anymore,
      I am the backbone of the working class.

Iv'e been poor:
      I see no handouts under the pyramid scheme,
      I am the Latin prince of the ghetto.

Iv'e been a hustler:
      Every penny earned off my back
      Makes dollars for "their" pockets.

Iv'e been here:
      I am no *******,
      I am the American dream,
      Still I must show identification.

I am Mexican:
      Brown and four generations deep
      American, I am still
      The immigrant face.