I’m not giving up,
I’m not giving in.
I put on a stunt,
Just to have Him win.
I may be down,
I may be injured.
Want another round,
Won’t look away,
Won’t look behind.
Never will change,
To be captive by time.
Yes I’m imperfect,
Yes I have flaws.
But it’s never worth it,
To count all our wrongs.
I won’t run,
Refuse to cower.
Waiting for hours.
Yes there is risk,
Yes there is chance.
But grasp its brim,
Hold its hand.
And you will find,
It all will pay off.
You’ll meet your kind,
You’ll hear your song.
You’ll match your heart,
With another’s own diamond.
Never to break apart,
Only to shine on.
in my chest
if I don't give them voice
in the form of lyrical language.
But I refuse.
This is one memory that I want to keep for myself, sweet and thrilling, and slow motion every time I replay it.
I want the details to remain clear
in my mind
and against my skin.
Though I tell
my family and friends,
this is my memory;
I will not give it up
as a sacrifice
to the celestial chasm
that is poetry.
Stacked up worthless, bald tires
One roll of rusty barbed wire
Hub caps rest waiting for rain…
Twelve radiator cores
Sixty-four automobile doors
all live down on Sycamore lane
Where old men’s boots pass
through the three-feet tall grass
Gawking and sifting through steel…
They will rummage and plunder
Searching over and under
Hoping to hook them a deal
Parts of broken machines
Fill the junk man’s lean dreams
His palm creases outlined in black…
An Oak tree shades his old couch
Cancerous springs springing out
A bottle peeks from its wrinkled, brown sack
And they’ll bring him their find
It’s a one-of-a-kind in his mind
And its price he will register quick…
“Take or leave it,” he’ll say
“That’s what you’ll have to pay!”
A junk man’s speak, slippery slick...
In the orange cream dying sun's half light
swaddled by blankets wrapped in dirty clothes
I open my lips wanting your taste
eye to eye, mons pubis, warm fragrance
To offer myself and soul over completely
When we were young did you ever think
we'd drown in the ocean of flesh between legs?
She smiled brightly, made noises
overjoyed much more than confused,
though that's not the story now, is it?
In an instant passion rises up with steam
gone again before I wipe the mirror and
brush my teeth, and once again I see
blackened debris, they're rotting out
from misspoke verbs
All that's sweet now is the imagining
of diabetic what once was
Two closed eyes reach back with a breathy sigh
withheld truths and well meant half lies,
cannot inspire lift again that left me,
but that doesn't stop the faithful
Has the tide this whole time been sending
waves of false hope, on which I'm floating?
Daydreaming, heating oil, she wants dinner,
and I hunger for satisfaction in new pictures
A hand for a finger, a tongue from both mouths
comforting by grabbing hungrily
until heads get thrown back, abs tighten
when pressed to relax, on the rack
stretched but both floating
Why does she want to drink my blood?
I don't ask just imbibe in return
Those days are long gone
Times when the worst thoughts could not undo
whatever flicker remains in the waning brazier's ember
I don't believe in YOUR “God”.
I don’t believe in anything.
How could I?
Why would I?
They tell me to pray about it..
Pray to who?
Why would he listen?
Who is He?
All of my life,
It has been shoved down my throat.
This “religion” of sorts.
Never can I get a break.
I was taught that your “God”
Wouldn’t accept me.
That I was a disgrace.
Why would I believe in someone like that?
No, I won’t believe.
I can’t believe.
Even if you think
I should believe.
Ya really got to wonder
how the process really works
Turning food into something
closely akin to mud, or dirt
Eat that steak or yogurt
and magically it seems
It's turned to something brown
as out your ass, it streams
The mysteries of waste
a defecated product made
simple fertilizer proof
of something, now decayed
It's a total wonder
as joy upon release
a crap that feels so good
as defecations, cease
God in his infinite wisdom
created life and everything
as bowels, are emptying
Life is always beautiful and colorful.
But I'm not so sure I'm ready to be joyful.
Dear friends, and soulmates-clear your duties for today.
For, now is the day for getting free of things in our way.
Dear friends- we don't need a long time.
Just some free room and some free air to roam around, and feel free.
Don't judge us by the burdens we have.
But, by the activities we choose or refuse.
Call it an instinct, or an intuitive feeling;
I've got my life in order for the dealing.
You've got troubles, I've got mine!
There isnt much to say
My mind refuses to think at this time of day
My hand refuse to move in that form or way
My lungs refuse to breathe, held up with clay
My heart it will not beat, it simply lay
I dont have words to say
Until you cross my mind at break of day
Until you caress my hand in that certain way
Until your lungs clear mine, free of their clay
My heart can not not beat how you and I lay