Stories nestled in my bones
are not silent storms.
My heart is haunted
by their primordial groans.
Yet so many scattered thoughts
go unknown.
Like the frantic way
autumn leaves are blown.
What decays becomes wisdom
for another day.
Skeletal stories now, the flesh of us
is gone.
Even though we loved from the core
of our jagged bones.
Human life seems just an agonized attempt
to be heard.

Some rely on cleaning machines  
the vacuum to **** up the dust,  
and one to scrub floors gleaming clean  
replacing same when those get bust.  
A hammer, these, to crack that nut  
as I think of the leccy price  
you can hear me go tut tut tut
cloth, mop and pail for me, suffice.  

No smart sweat-top, nor cut off jeans  
but **** nekked I swing my ****,  
to make dust motes fly in sun beams  
my mind flies with these, as it must...  
momentarily, till I'm pushed  
by brush in hand and in a trice  
I'm back to Earth to strut my stuff  
cloth, mop and pail for me, suffice.  

A cloth, Acdo, a mop some bleach  
my **** high nose down as I scrub,  
recalling grandma's quick brief screach  
quickly cured by her back-hand rub.  
The bleach does it to me, I blub,  
at memories that sting enticed,  
as I rinse out my cloth in the tub,  
cloth, mop and pail for me, suffice.  

Not for me the machine's hub-hub  
If offered I say " ain't my vice "  
I'll keep my Aladdin's lamp to rub  
cloth, mop and pail for me, suffice.

The line between madness,
The line between normality,
The price to pay for loneliness;
I ought to pay with sincerity.

In a world of madness,
The normal are insane,
The right are arcane,
And the abused are ridiculed by sadness.
I ought these days to go aflame,
For now, my madness, needs no blame.

A black swan moves through silent streams,
With wings of night, it haunts the dreams.
It wears its sorrow, cloaked in dark,
A soul that drifts, lost in the arc.

But there, beside it, pure and bright,
A white swan dances in the light.
Its feathers shine, its heart is free,
A symbol of what good can be.

Two swans that glide, yet worlds apart,
One carries shadows, one a heart.
In every soul, both dark and pure,
The swans of fate forever endure.

“Make the child fear you. Some people like to say respect is important, but nothing is more respectful than a well-trained child who fears you.”

Ask him how well that turned out.
All cold and alone, while three humans—half of him—walk the earth without a shred of regret
that we will never exchange something as simple as hello again.

To see it, defines what it cannot,
It brings itself for what is not.
It has knotted its way from futility.
Now it is reality.
From henceforth, you know not,
To see it defies its knot.

A life of many,
A life of not.
To know any,
To know rot.
I have seen,
for what I have not.
I have done to know,
That I cannot.
Escape my rage,
For I have wrot,
Is my own cage.
A nightmare,
That I broken.
A sage of mirrors,
For I have sought.
No reflection,
No dedication,
Anything I have knot.
Everything is futile,
For it is eternally mine.