I like to write instead of fight, I punch with words and kick with sweet verbs and let language channel my energy, amplifying synergies and creating impact greater than my body can enact. The words come unbidden, hidden in my mind until the perfect time for them to pounce, they announce their intent and invent themselves anew, spreading truth into the night sky like a firefly, catching eyes and freeing minds, my words can give sight to the blind as they remove the ***** lenses and cleanse your senses so you can see the world clearly. These words I try to channel, try to filter, stitching them together like a quilter but really they knit themselves, I am just a self pretending to have power as each hour proves that I have no control, that I is a concept I made up, existential make-up to cover up the crisis that can’t be contained by vices and distractions, the fact that I am just chemical reactions that sustain the secret energy that is me, that flows through pathways and patterns that I can’t see, this illusion that I am free vexes me, entices me, talks nice to me but it is just a lie I made up to answer all the Why’s that I shouted at the sky, to help me deny the truth that one day I will die. I am just energy, flowing through circuits I will never see, just atoms taking shortcuts to combine and refine until consciousness arose and created the divine to explain the mysteries within the human mind. I looked inside, scared of what I might not find, but somehow found peace in the emptiness, bliss in the abyss, freedom as I let go and became one with the flow of the energy that is me, happy to have the gift to see where my atoms take me. Awareness is the miracle I may not understand but I’ll be ****** if I take it for granted. I may not control these words, and it may sound absurd but I will use this illusion of free will to keep my sanity long enough to help others find reality, to see we are all part of the same energy and finally rest easy in the sweet release of flowing freely.

Following the words of tongue
         that flow like rivers,
coming from different streams.
             Each can venture on different
meanings, like the flow carrying petals
          of indifference upon
                   the riptide of contemplation.

Even though everyone shall drink from
             the knowledge flowing, each taste
            may divide from another and even
though the source maybe the same.
         Every sunrise is minutely different from
                                                          yesterday.
Gleaming on the flow of words, the reflection
                   upon each maybe not the taste of others.


Let us not differ on the source, but let us drink
                quietly upon the reflection that with
every drink brings ripples of reflection upon
all that drink from the knowledge that is swallowed.
There is one source and we are all part of its meaning.

She and me
Kick our legs over the cliff
Watching the water pound in steep
Crests of mist,
Awash the quaking stone.

Drinking through the daze
Withering and coastal
Happy with every day
that drips
And growing older
Sedimentary
Seeking the simple deaths of life.

And when we sang our songs to the flocks of gulls
And they called saline
Eating fishbones
Circling like biplanes
Above the coast
We wondered what wandrous
Raptors out ran the oilpan
And instead became this.

We eat our picnic meats
And settle down for a long daydream
Staring at the overcast blanket
Seeing streaks of Grey dispersed between
Feeling
Warm and a little bit loved by the sea.

Me and she
There was no stopping
Her questions, flying hot lead at my
Brain
Dripping gall juice inside the spleen
Infected and hungry
Waiting to engorge our final meal
A bunch of microscopes in the petri
Dished out and left to drift
Amongst the lapping waves.

Assuredly,
When those gulls flapped their lazy way
Heading down the coast
Searching for simple meals
And calling family in the sky
They wondered to god
about solitary
You and I
And just what was our deal?

Edger Allan Poe inspired me
Shakespeare educated me
Maya Angelou raised me
These writers created a beast in me
A beast of emotions, words that lack definitions
Only existsting in my expressions

Ideal to the common citizen
I write with a pen full of love, curiosity and pain

Emotions that have gone blind, to common sense, and swallowed a pill full of ego

I realize I am worthless without this pen and this pain

I write of love as if I feel it
I write of Justice as if I need it
I write of human behavior as if I need to fix it

If I am to die let my words live on within your emotions when you read them
Forever and ever I hope you feel them

We will sail away
on the wings of the moonlight
over the lakes of the blue
we'll cross the starry nooks.

We will go, we’ll go far beyond
where the flow is musical
every air beat plays the lute.
You and me we’re only one
who says we’re two?

It’s a coloured and shaded broad daylight.
Bring me my hourglass, my paintbrush.
Keeping a timepiece, how soon my brush
strokes become finer it is not the task.
Try once more, strike a fine chord in time,
ever ticking but doesn't make a sound!  

Let’s read the small prints, the shadow lines
on the pitch of the slit sun shines!
A dark spot in the light, some dotted lines
on a blank paper, however witty you might
describe it, count on the tweeting birds
short and cute, singing in the open air.

Light and dark the two tallies, ins and outs.
The times come and go, flowing fine.
For now, let’s take a look inside.
Tint and shade nor tone them now.
Zoom in and out, just watch them as they are.

This cool sleek shade on the sunny slate
is it a shadow, or some quivering curly hairs
or are these reflections of flocking clouds,
diligent sea eyeing deep down on the ground?
Read the small prints, shadows in the daylight,
before the show is wrapped up.
And down the evening pool, the sun
parts away with the black swan.