To be a caged animal
and illicit stares
of shared despair
while trying to
clear the air here
of that ***** stench.

The populace passes
by my caged display
as I try to play
pretending that my pain
is not so real.

I dress myself up
in nice new things
watching how
the other animals swing.

Reality shows,
sports events,
and other
things
obfuscate
how human beings
isolate themselves.

My cage expands
to fit all my pretty things,
while my mind shrinks
and stinks of sinking fools
who are also drowning
in their own stool.

Everyone is watching
Some humans are deducing
Singing, humming in their mind
Surrounded by flesh and bones
Neurons and skull
The true me bears a hat
Reliability buries mind control
The higher consciousness
belongs to astrophysicien

Your body is a vehicle and
you are driven by many influences.
You sit inside a vessel with a vast palette of buttons and a huge wheel.
A passenger sits beside you and both of you rotate the wheel.
The car is secretly controlled by an other force.
The one who has real influence to stop the other force has the potential to become complete.
Sincerely, Joy
But one thing's sure
The end.

just once I looked
out of the oval window
high in the sky
To see tiny figures below
making dances out of the
snake-line of car lights

It was all flat,
and blackness swooned in over
the view,
A reflection showing back to me
all the hairs that stood their ground

a place
has no more meaning, no connection
  with itself
   rather I
who sees with desperate eyes
toward each
possible
turn

It is a dream of colors
working in the real world
while I walk to work.

I look in to the water
and see a cool pool
of aquatic colors
clear to blue
and whatever
tint or hue
that swims or sinks
into my view
or merely lies underneath
this wet sheet.

I walk along the sidewalk
seeing cement gray,
wooden brown,
and grassy green,
falling behind me.

Red brick buildings,
and one poor onyx
colored car
with a black tape bandage
to match the
paint job.

One pale poetic friend,
and one brown skinned
friendly stranger.

One cloudless sky,
turquoise
then turning to
the darker night hue.

And journey’s end
find me soaking in
rain water
that becomes
a reflecting pool
of everything
I am looking at.

This creature…
She lurks just round the corner
Her lips painted to perfection and pursed to prissiness
Her hips hosting hands, polished nails the color of Hell’s fire
Her eyes wild and dark, so full and deep, intricate curtains over the windows to her soul
Her hair cascading wild but under the chokehold of her need for control, constantly
And her entire existence… just

This creature…
She is a creature of the night, no doubt
But she is an essence of the broad sunlight
And she was designed to be the center of attention
But is simultaneously inclined to favor solitude
She craves affection, attention, validation, and such
But values her independence, her privacy so very much

This creature…
She knows no name.
She knows herself.

The non-dominant slightly less coordinated one.
The one with more knuckle scars;
the expendable one.

There is a healing pencil eraser sized scar
where the capitate bone
(the part where your thumb sprouts from your hand)
should be and is the last time I checked.

I know how I got this one,
but I'm not sure how much longer the memory of
my flesh separating from my flesh will last.
Scars fade, memories disappear and,
hands tend to stay the same.

My left hand is often ignored and will continue to be,
until at last on my death bed I'll look down,
notice the scars again
and be grateful for the dutiful service
my slightly less coordinated hand provided me.