It is cold tonight,
But that's alright.
Leftover winter air
Rushes through my open window ,
And coils of my heat
Languidly rise to the stars
Obscured by city air, true;
But still sitting undisturbed
Far, far away from this night.
This night that takes my warmth.

Personality problem monumental
Attempts to change inconsequential

Learning to care
A constant struggle

Desperation to scream
Producing nothing but mumbles

A freshly broken heart
Can make one so humble

Mind pollution
No abatement

Dissolving solution
Emotional Contagion

Recycled love
Halfhearted statements

Am I enough?
Romantic damnation

There is no place safe on earth
Not the water, air, or the dirt
The water runs with toxic waste
The air wears white cumulous
Smoke stacked poisonous plumes
As for the dirt it is far worse
The ground is scarred by cities
Cement streets wearing steel structures
Plots of death with monument sutures
Sidewalks and brainless billboards
Visual, nasal, and audio static
The only place still safe is space
But I haven’t learn to breathe there yet

There's something so sick about
        this emotional capacity

Before breakfast we plant atomic bombs in our neighbors yard
                                                            ­   like bulbs of (glad)iolus
Haven't you noticed how much gardens look like graveyards

My cereal, ceiling, bathroom, and skin
        All say Made in China
This homeland is looking more like that land
Ughhh and you can see the blood in my pink nail polish from that sweat shop girl
It's not supposed to be RED!

ooOooopps did we just learn how to commercialize genocide
I'm wondering when I'll wake up with a barcode
Will it be on my eyelids
             my arms                                           my soul

Maybe God was in the bees
And now
Now there's no more honey, flowers, or trees
  
                       Just time.

My brothers both went to war
It's not Wal-Mart
But it's open 24/7, checkout through Heaven
And I don't think they're coming home

Not without bones implanted in their brains
sharp, jagged, broken ones
That kind that make you uncomfortable with your memories
The one's that make it hard to sleep

Last week I found a dead cat
  A dead bird in the snow
When I turned around the corner, I saw myself

I was lying in the street
          Dead, dead
And I felt nothing

Sun's going down and I'm trying my hardest not to think
of the walk back and enjoy the nature.
It's a littered mess, though.
With discarded refrigerators, tree glass, the paper cups,
products consumed and departed.
And it's hard to feel one with the wood,
but it's easy as well,
we're just like the trash.
our millennial fashion clashes with the fallen leaves,
and our indie rock from our portable,
doesn't blend in with the pebbles.
I sit on a tree, turned over
while the sun gets lower.
I've got this eminent feeling,
that this trip back we'll be keeling.
The trees are still bare but budding,
still it's something.
I imagine this is where I should breathe,
the extra oxygen.
But all I smell is city air.

Steel claws rip at open grounds
Chemicals ripe with poison flood into quiet waters
there is a sickness in the air tonight
the kind that scares the wary but suffocates all
Buildings grow where trees have collapsed
Blood and fur get caught in traps
Drive a car or grab an axe
the end is all the same

Steel claws with nothing to rip
Chemicals sitting in poisoned water
there is a sickness in the air
the kind that stretches your eyes
and brings the words out of your mouth too late
“This was a mistake”

Along rivers of stone, making pictures in the sun
Of giant spider webs, wreathing the skies
Of iron snakes, braiding the lands
Of invisible raven exhaust, intimidating
With every breath, I languish
I yearn for home, away from home

A path of roses, resistance, though trampled
It seems like home is but a vision
Dreaming of a place, soon i’ll be free of this prison
I want to look beyond the pavement
I wrote some notes in the margins, explaining it
Inescapable, this room lacking windows

Children contaminated
The black air holds them in it’s grasp
Robbed of their youth
Long live that sentiment

Timber whispers seep from hollow.
Oaken chasms, seasoned skin.

Sapling pines strain sap from time.
The kind to mend a fractured wind.

Of splintered veins weep pores of swallowed.
Sweetened aid ties supple limbs.

A figure full from height and borrowed.
Halves of state that harbor this.

---

Portions know a sterile singe.
A taking for our grip.

The backs of knives carve parting lines.
Flooded by the pigments lips.

From fluttered steel barks cutting edge.
Teeth to weave a stuttered stitch.

By hand we'll take what's ours to see.
A fingers length of measured tip.

In this morning's waiting room
And then the café, breaking bread -

I might have read,
Engaged in reverie
Lost myself in thoughts,
Or meditative memory.

But someone overruled
To agitate the air
With an imbroglio
With the inane, vain,
Smug banter of local radio.

It claimed the arena,
And turned our space
From haven into mayhem,
Compulsively silting up
My poor, empty ears
With an unhealthy sound.
Like painting out the view
Behind Beata Beatrix
With a filthy fairground.

Just what we need!
This constant aural cattle-feed.
So: every tree in my opinion
- (I'm speaking as a lowly minion)
Should be hung with massive speakers
Huge loudspeakers, woofers, tweeters,
To entertain us in every place
With never-ending drum and bass,
Then verbose youths, with wit so clever
Can pump us full of **** forever.