archeologists brush dust away from bones,
like memories from empty homes.
here i sit among rubble and ruin,
amidst broken picture frames strewn.

this is the scene i remember the most.
my words are written, jagged,
in a notebook forgotten, ragged am i
as my eyes shine like broken glass.

my bones turn to rust, to dust.
i brush away my remains from this grave
of a home i no longer remember.
among portraits i am no longer a part of.

november comes around with its bells,
bellows loud that i am not welcome here.
it brings fallen petals of blood red rust.
i am stained with agony and painful lust.

for a time that does not forgive,
and as the cold sweeps in i know,
november is the time of sin, for me.
i was born in a time that does not forgive.

the picture frames will not let me back in.

i / am / absent / here

It takes a great deal out of you to admit you're wrong.
We don't ever like to own up to it.
Being wrong isn't on anyone's bucket-list.
(At least no one's I know)
I will say one pro of any apologetic situation:
It is a terrific weapon.
A decent apology can bring most anybody
to their knees.
Frankly, I think we should all relish the opportunity.
Make amends for losing the battle,
and as a result win the war.
However don't take this weapon lightly.
It will jade you.
Ruin your concept of sincerity.
Not just for yourself, but for others.
We must never forget that sometimes we really are
Sorry.
I apologize, dear friend, I seem to have ruined your dinner party
with all my talk of apology.

Grey clouds, wet, brute wind
Spewing cold torment, abort
Spring's new born blossoms

Whats become of the creed, my brother?
People filling their coffers
with so much ***** coin
And filling their head
with empty irrationalities;
A temple of gold is no buidling
to atone their sins.
Oh why Oh why, cant they see
the cobwebs of dogma gathered
in their temple over the ages.
How do I see all this, my brother?
and they dont.
None of this was to be,
Not in the book that they swear on.
So lets stop waiting now,
No more prophets are coming now.
It is time, lets bring this diseased
temple of theirs down on them.
It is time, my brother,
for the gods to die now.
They need some new ones now
We build a promised land now
From the ruins of the old now.

You idiots!
You unconscionable poltroons!
Your minds have the intelligence
Of helium filled balloons!
You had a chance to save us
But when it came down to the wire
You chose to let a circus clown
Win the race and play with fire.

Who could know you have learned
Nothing at all from before
When you elected those two morons
Run the show while you snored?
Who could guess that people who
Claim to be so Christian and good,
Would act like from the ears up
They were made entirely of wood?

You imbeciles!
Do you not see what you have done?
You chose a man who seems to think
Lying and embezzling are great fun.
You did not choose the candidate
With experience and knowledge;
You chose the guy who swindled those
Who signed up for his bogus college!

Millions of us with wisdom predicted
This man who praises Vladimir Putin
Would want to start World War Three
Because he is so fond of shooting!
He thinks, without a bit of experience,
He can simply put on another act
And all the rest of the world will
See his mad delusions as facts.

You chowderheads!
You have sold your country out!
Later when it all falls apart
You'll blame someone else and pout.
Now you cheer and chant USA,
And pretend you are so ****** brave
The rest of us fear for the world
And hope there is something to save.

Cowering in the corner, the boy began to cry,
******* in the gloom.
Searching the room
As his father slowly went by.

His father’s reddened ******
Caught under the weak bedroom light
His genitals pink and bright,
Like a swollen crucifix hanging impudently.

“Out my boy.” He called
In a voice that to the child
Sounded like thunder, ill-tempered and wild.
“Daddy needs you.” The father bawled.

The father’s affection was a wound
That disfigured body and mind
Care sullied, love unkind-
First loved, made love to, then wholly ruined.

His father’s hand jabbed the gloom
And laughing cruelly pulled him out
“I knew you were somewhere about.”
Dragging him through the room.

The child at first whimpered,
Then was muted. As his father began,
Through his small body the pain ran,
Biting his lips, the boy quietly simpered.

“Everything I love has either ruined me or watched as I ruined it instead.”