it's sad
how it's all true
it's no dream, no fantasy
it's the reality
and it doesn't matter
how bad you want it
to be a dream
it is
and it will always be
nothing but the truth

Everyone cares how they are perceived in society; otherwise the ones that supposedly don't care... wouldn't insist they don't care!!

Meticulously maintaining
Impossibly feigned nonchalance,
Toying the cigarette ever so slightly
In her fingers -- careful so not
To appear as too calculated

The pariahs parade the dancefloor,
Shades of ignominy culminating in a
Prismatic rainbow, heightened by
The stale odor of ***** and body heat

Still, she stays in her perch like a silent sphynx
Waiting -- watching --
Aimlessly, but with direction, such
Carefree flamboyance below her,
A stoop to which she’d never deign

And so she watches, resigned
To fate, as much a fixture in the joint
As the gilded barstools --
The closest she can come to confronting
The fact that she is no different
Than any of the rest

i put on vertigo today
to relate to the slow flooding of green
i came to the circling score
remembering how I used to get slapped
when scotty embraces made-over judy
i couldn’t help but cry as i fear
i want to be made-over too
in someone else’s image

That gibberish he talked was city speak,
Gutter talk near the Tannhäuser Gate:
Memories, you're talking about memories,
Moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain,
All I could do is sit there and watch him
die. Slow thing and he fought it all the way,
Where do I come from? Where am I going?
Go to Hell or go to Heaven, I'm afraid,
That's a little outside my jurisdiction,
Fiery the angels fell / deep thunder rolled,
Ships on fire off shoulder of Orion,
More human than human is our motto,
I watched him die all night. To have feelings,
I've seen things you people wouldn't believe.

We came but our children have barely time
for us for they are leading busy lives.
When we were younger we had barely time
for us for we were leading busy lives.
How it passes: like the train that brought us,
winding but with purposeful direction.
How it passes: like steam above tea cups,
a gently rising evaporation.
We had tea with the widow of our son.
Our train returns home early. Life goes on.

The idea had been growing in my brain,
Queens, fairies, dopers, junkies, sick, venal,
They are all animals anyway,
Become a person like other people,
Organization is necessary,
All the animals come out at night,
There never has been any choice for me,
Wash all this **** off the streets. My body fights,
There is no escape. I am God's lonely man,
Headaches that stay and never go away,
Thank God for the rain. Wash the garbage and
cannot put it back together again,
One day there will be a knock on the door,
and it will be me. What hope is there for (me?)

Night and day I see your face at stores;
A famous one, seen in different shapes,
That does express life, which each fan adores,
Adventures with downfalls and escapes.
Like stars of olden days, in black and white,
In every scene you shine with emotions,
Each smile, each tear a different sight,
Praised for many philosophical notions.
Oh, and my teenage years were filled with you,
Right and left I would see you for a while,
Till I would suddenly find someone new,
Making me feel safe with a lonely smile.
Amongst the loved ones you were then, O star,
Nonstop, while I was always apart so far.

Perfectly curled caramel hair
Cascades down her shoulders,
Bouncing in time with the music.
He can’t help but savor every
Fragment of her movement as he
Traces the camera around her frame,
Capturing the dance.
She’s an actress in every sense of the term,
Her eyes sad yet powerful,
Her body hurting yet beautiful.
The music ends and she stops, breathless,
Her hair that has fallen in front of her face
Flowing up and down as she catches her breath.
“Did you get it?”
She asks him,
And suddenly he’s back to himself,
Back from the world her dance took him to.
“Definitely,” he says, and when
Her dimples break her face open,
The camera is still rolling,
For he doesn’t want to miss a second of her beauty.
She isn’t just poetry.
She is art.