She cries during ***,

a set of collective regrets expressed,
see at least you still have some emotions left,
in a world that’s gone cold,
and most people stumble around like the walking dead,

no Norman Reedus or Andrew Lincoln though,
just an aborted fetus and a broken heart with no treatment,
at the bar with a babe drinking,
till I get assassinated at a theatre like Abe Lincoln,

feeling like I’m in a real life Soap Opera drama,
the way I get caught up in these women’s feelings,
one minute she’s laughing the next minute she’s crying,
she apologizes and I tell her she never has to apologize for her feelings,

at least she still feels things,
says she’s been ***** before,
so when I go rough with her she gets flashbacks,
and it’s hard to face facts that have happened before,

I tell her it’s okay,
I tell her she can tell me anything,
I tell her sometimes it helps to communicate,
but she clams up and doesn’t say anything,

so I get up and go to the shower,
to try and wash off the stress,
moments later she comes in and joins me,
somewhere between sedated and upset,

at a hotel somewhere in Tulsa,
a hotel that they call boutique,
but it feels haunted and a bit spooky,
the wind howls and the floors creak,

and it gives me the creeps,
because in a way this hotel feels like me,
all nice and hip and trendy on the outside,
but inside everything is not what it seems,

haunted from the drama of these girls that were abused,
that then decided to transfer that energy to me,
which I in a way deserved because I used to serve,
this sort of abuse out to girls that thought they were into me,

you get what you give which is exactly what karma is,
so now I’m trying to help heal the Collective Feminine,
from all the damage that’s been done,
by the Collective Masculine,

so go ahead,

smash your conflicts into me,
drown me in the ocean of the the tears of your traumas,
scream shout let it all out until there’s nothing to let go of,
I love you unconditionally continually no menopause or commas,

no mental pause or drama,

you are an incredible creation,
resilient and brilliant,
and I am hear to be a platform,
if you’re in distress I will be your outlet,

so you can vent the stress,
even if that means crying during ***,
and I will be here to hear everything you need to express,
a Living Light in this world of The Walking Dead,

so it’s okay if you cry during ***,

a set of collective regrets expressed,
see at least you still have some emotions left,
in a world that’s gone cold,
and most people stumble around like the walking dead,

no Norman Reedus or Andrew Lincoln though,
just an aborted fetus and a broken heart with no treatment,
at the bar with a babe drinking,
till I get assassinated at a theatre like Abe Lincoln…

∆ LaLux ∆

Tulsa, OK.
2019

Attempting to make the memories,
of these moments last longer than the moments themselves,
but at the end of the day I’m just a loner with some poems,
because we all lose everyone close to us including ourselves,

what the Hell,
what the Heaven,
running out of Time and into Luck,
what an interesting combination,

they say,
necessity is the “mother of all invention”,
but I’m a ******* child running wild,
so I have no mother nor father at least not that I care to mention,

only have the pen when,
writing these verses constantly,
that and the accompaniment,
of the associated memories,

feel like all of this was meant for me,
which reminds me of a saying they have in India,
“You’re always where you’re supposed to be because that’s where you are.”,
I couldn’t have said something so complex any simpler,

simply speaking pause,
take a moment to spell the flowers,
simply speeding past,
sometimes it feels like I have more lifetimes than I do hours,

which I guess makes sense in a sense,
because time is only relative anyways,
and there’s no way something so omnipresent can be explained,
in a way that’s so linear in it’s emphasis,

anyways where was I with this,
this poem about nothing in particular,
well I guess I was as in am,
on a plane south of the equator,

passing over New Zealand,
also known as Ateorora,
still attempting to make sense of this,
of all the sounds and the colors,

still attempting to make the memories,
of these moments last longer than the moments themselves,
but at the end of the day I’m just a loner with some poems,
because we all lose everyone close to us including ourselves…

∆ LaLux ∆

Nelson, New Zealand
Jan 18th, 2019

Overcommitted to this life that we’re livin’,
got no choice but we’ve got a voice and we use it,
See in the Book of Life every life has it’s sentence,
to communicate the truth that we move with,

hats of to The Inventor,
I’m doing time paying mind paying dues and doing fine,
lost in the Splender,
of this Life that for now is mine,

and yours,
and sure,
blurs,
from the lines for sure,
or rather,
the lines blur oh sir,
please there’s no need to be so formal,
as ease as you were,

no cure,
no prevention,
no honor,
no mentions,
okay some honor,
some honest intentions,

but not always honest intentions,
what’s worse the user or the invention,
the consumer or the corporation,
personal or business relations?

The plot thickens,
the ***’s steamin;,
let’s eat let’s break bread,
please pass a fork a knife and a napkin,

what’s happin’,
we’re all on the boat but there’s no captain,
it’s madness I can’t even speak about it out loud,
so I write it down even when I won’t admit it happened,

hear no evil see no evil don’t even make eye contact,
it’s like they’re all on drugs it’s both cliche and ironic,
and the irony is all these things that were once free,
cost as the debt from the profit continues rising,

“Excuse me Sir,
but how do you expect to pay for this Karma?
Credit or cash,
because nobody pays with checks anymore.”,

or checks anymore,

or pays attention,
can’t say the world has always been honest to us,
but I can say that we’ve always had honest intentions,
and honesty it’s always been an honor to be us,

in all our committed excellence,
it’s an amazing balance to be both involved and unattached,
a labor of love an adventure a sense,
it’s being an an incredible team of strangers and you’re up to bat,

overcommitted to this life that we’re livin’,
got no choice but we’ve got a voice and we use it,
See in the Book of Life every life has it’s sentence,
to communicate the truth that we move with…

∆ LaLux ∆

SF
2019

well... ****.

sitting across from you
at the white kitchen table
or cross-legged on my side of the bed
is someone hollow.
not as sweet as a fig. not as dead
as the inside of a black rotting trunk
but close. i do not hold beautiful things
like a terracotta vase. inside my head
is a seam ripper that splits everything
down the middle. sometimes
you are standing in front of the bright window,
glowing like a saint. sometimes
i let you fall into an algae-lined pool
that i will not pay to have cleaned.
everything is floating within me.
i haven’t figured out
how to anchor this stuff down.

no one ever taught me how