Today my son
Is to be sentenced
To prison. He
Lives 23 hours a day
In a jail cell, he will move on
Steeling courage few of us
Ever have to experience.
Consider your luck.
His mental illness
never to be a crime.
Will there be light for a prism?
Where he can turn to
Other pathways
Less dark and Forge
Himself into the open
Blue sky and all the rainbows
From here on out.
On the outside we are blind
On the inside some
Are given true sight.
I cry for a rotten system
In mental health care
We own. You might
Want to pull up some buckets
For all mothers tears
Knowing the best we have
Is incarceration. How is that
America? Tired of blaming anyone but yourself?

Go away, somewhere deep inside
Far away, like the direction of my eyes

The wind surrounds us.

The restless howling tells us --


that we are inside.

The inside me often disagrees
(sometimes violently)
with the outside me

See, they have very different perspectives
different standards
different - … ,  
well they're just different.

They've both had it difficult,
but in different, very distinct ways.

And that leads to differences in opinion and to opposition.
Opposing views, opposed decisions
that in the end they need to resolve
(however reluctantly),
to agree where they disagree.

Agree a way forward.

If you think the outside me would prevail,
you have been deceived and failed to conceive
just how much the inner man can conserve
energy until its needed to win the day

And so the outer me concedes,
(not defeat, but a passing loss),
because in the end they're in this together.
Inner or Outer.

A toss of the same coin.
One of us winning whichever side comes up,
whichever, whoever ends up on top.

Like I say, don't be fooled by the outward façade.
Take the longer view.
Look at the heart.

Just inches below the ground
but must be behind the sight
sow the seed for a tree in return.

Deepening down the bottom of the sea
nor lying on the ground dropping off the sky
merely dipping into some foots long body  
the soul springs a life.

Take it on the run then should the sky
or earth bends giving a flatten lid.
Even then can it prevent
the soul when rebounds with a life indeed?

An inside scoop, a math, never surfaces
neither in sky nor on Earth, a measured deep,  
always behind the eyes but life maker indeed.

Thank you, but I have vowed
to accept the fact that luck is as good
a chance to take as grace,
no exchange, no earning luck, never was.

Good luck is only good, bad luck is a mistake,
a grasping at things that did occur,
to change
at sudden, certain, central points,
miss the aim as teleos is said to be a mistake,
the act of aiming
definite purpose, ala Napoleon hill, aim to ****,
train the brain to fear no death, not mine,
not the other guys,
I am the weapon,
possessed of the spirit of the bayoneted and bulleted,
points used to ****, flood the ******
Flanders fields, at that time of year, first the blade,
then the ear, then fields sing thanks and bloom
***** scarlet poppies… later in the spring

Aim at nothing, the mind
of the machine
gunner reacts, point and spray, if you pray,
I say,
pray for the man who takes careful aim,
and squeezes, knowing sudden
bang
budges not the aim aimed true and followed
through.

Machine gunner, pray for me.

If you see one snowflake dropping
you don’t have to salt the roads
but if it’s snowing bad enough
then yeah you salt the roads
depending on severity
you might even ask
people stay inside.