today i felt like laying down
and sleeping soundly in the ground

i'd decompose with all the bugs
that died from overdose on drugs

my hips would grind against boney narcs
like pornstars and pervs in a public park

yes, i'd like to be six feet under
singing with drug-induced wonder

Aren't we the same as the ancient trilobite... That no longer exists but still found in fossil memories?

For we may perish upon the face of the earth...

But our essence remains in the soil in the form of tender shapes carved in the rocks of yesterday...

We will be found in the hearts of all who loved us and still love us...
Inspite of our surrender in the ever flowing river of time!

Feelings die,
mine for you is probably dead,
but it fossils still remains buried
d
    e
       e
          P  in the ruins of my heart.

the cascade of clear blue falls even in the midst of the furvous night
the call of a bird echoes cross canyons composed of ages of old
the glint off amber cliffs calls to the reflection of ancience
floors of sandstone riddled with stagnant ghosts of footprints
these paths were once walked by those larger than life

we search for purpose radiometrically
estimating the desperation in the dating
allowing our hearts to sink to an endless expanse of unexplored sediment
grasping onto the aching for the pleasure beneath the pain
self decay feels natural at the bottom of the ocean

peace comes naturally while disappearing into pieces
it will find me upon the return of the rogue daughter to the expanse in which she belongs
may my atomic descendents one day hold the fossils of my being between their fingers
let the earth shake under the feet of whom possesses my bones
and let them keep digging, let them excavate all of us whole

The ruins peered out from behind
The blue-flecked crag
Where eagles nested.
Wind-blown, storm-tossed
Only the walls remain.
The turrets are now heaps of grass covered
Bricks, the keep a muddy mound.

Here, once were warriors,
Draped in furs, bearing swords
That glinted across the sea in defiance,
Defending the land from strangers.
Here, once were warriors-
All long gone!

Time itself has altered what once
Was considered unalterable.
When kings ruled from inland palaces
And long powerful ships caressed the jagged
Shore; now washed up on the beach
Like the kingdom they protected, flotsam:
Cruelly ruined planks of elm, distorted by
Sea and salt; masts broken and disfigured.

A once glorious people, now gone!
Palaces overthrown!
All hanging onto unforgiving Time
Like fossilised carbuncles.
Ripped from Time in a plethora of
Anguished voices dying slowly-
Calling out for resolution.

I converse with the insane,
And I see dead people,
I seek no fame,
Or salvation from church steeples,
I am alone,
Yet in my head we are many,
A clamoring of voices,
Above the anarchy of it all,
This world is broken, a place where life is a gamble,
And familial bonds are broken down in shambles,
I am a grateful dead, of a time long forgotten,
And like that I shall remain, till my bones are long rotten.

Marsh and Cope
lovers locked in embrace
took it upon themselves
to make each other great
by destroying what they had
all the while
mapping new life with old bones.

A decade from now,
            My words will only be a carcass even birds won’t want
            To pick at anymore.

I won’t be able to keep track of where my similes skip off to,
And maybe I’ll discover later that they crossed the street like a chicken
That wouldn’t know to look both ways,
Causing a six car pileup,
But never making it to the other side of the road as I intended them to.

Maybe my metaphors will age quickly,
            And ten years down the road
            Their doggy jowls will quiver with one last yawning breath
            As they collapse beneath the nearest tree from hip failure
            Resting at last beneath a pleasant summer sun.

I don’t like to think about it,
But I’ve entertained the idea
That perhaps I will neglect my words,
            Letting all the quatrains pass me by.

Yes, that is how my structured sentences will meet their end:
            With no periods
            But a blank space
                        Where your name should be.

I’d like to think that someday
            I won’t have this horrible need to write anymore
I’ll describe my perfect days because I want to,
Not to fill this void I made
When I handed out my consonance like candy
            And scattered similes in the air like skittles
            During that drought we had a while ago
When everything was black and white
And I thought everybody wanted
A taste of the colors I’m made of.

I like to entertain the thought that someday

Someday
            People are going to reach back through the decades and excavate my words
            And try to find deep meanings beneath all my poetry.
            Scholars will slit the throats of my similes,
            Claiming there was some philosophical point pumping through the jugular,
            And I might laugh somberly [a little] if they do.

            They’re going to find the rotted carcasses in the most random of places:
            A passenger seat,
            The floor by a bathroom,
            A stairwell,
            Under a tree.

I know that some might try to find the cause of death.
In fact,
I know they will.

But I’d much rather people look for the only reason of birth,
The only meaning behind all my metaphors,
I want these people to catch the quatrains I let pass me by when it hurt too much.

When it hurt too much
To just write-

I love you.