the  time  of  day  that  makes  the  sky  shine  gold
the  feeling  of  distrusting  your  own  eyes
and  appraising  your  surroundings  threefold
observing,  absorbing  the  slothful  sun  rise

in  these  moments  serenity  i  find
in  these  moments  myself  i  do  most  feel
both  the  breeze  and  fresh  air  align  my  spine
paradise,  heaven,  feels  nearly  unreal

what  can  i  do,  what  can  i  say  to  stay?
way  back  to  reality,  so it  seems
opposite  of  this  day,  my  day - to - day
but  here,  near  mother  nature  i’ll  daydream

surrounded  by  animals,  flowers,  trees
the  outside:  my  favorite  place  to  be

Now that it’s over, or so you say,
I feel compelled to wait another day,
For you to cry, for you to miss me.
I have visions that you kiss me
And forget about how I hurt you
But even that aches; I still desert you,
On every single day.

You said you want me gone,
That all is lost and you’re alone.
Yet somewhere deep behind my shame,
I hear you whispering my name.
I tell you in absentia: “I never meant to hurt you.”
That I was deserting my old self and not you.
And yet I come back and you’re still gone.

Would it help if I said it was never about you?
Or does that hurt because it really was?
Would you understand that I didn’t yet deserve you?
Or does it feel too much like a stumbling pause
Between the beauty thing that was you and me
And the pull of a deserted house, a dangerous key?

I was sick and lost for so many years,
Drying my own sorrow with another’s tears.
The emptiness I felt inside was hidden,
Behind another’s hell.
I looked in the mirror to find myself
And saw a backward road on a path I knew too well.
Trying to escape—it was not love but addiction
That pulled me back to a tragic fiction.

And now I live in a no-man’s land.
I reach out in the night to grasp your hand,
Expecting to feel you there,
Imagining climbing up the stair
To reach you in the light,
As I used to do when things were right.
But now it’s over,
We’re nowhere now.
I’m sorry, so sorry my love!
I still will find you somehow.

I can tell you what heaven is;

Heaven is

Sitting on a metal bench

With friends

And a rat pack of Samuel Adams.

Shackled to the very depths,
precariously situated
on the very precipice
of the end

where I can lasso the edges
and bring them back together
whipping the world back
some disseminatory yo-yo
excreting silky rut
rocks that bumble up
from hell and turn to lush
green,
belts of world for sand and dust
to which we have been gleaned.

I could hear them calling deep inside
that colossal of Rhodinia
an ancient land that will never be heard
except for the left
over play dough
left in the sand
Hidden under ice
I will dig until my fingers burn

The animals all taste like chicken
we hide beneath the rocks
fallen angels
left to run for our lives
constantly
constantly
constantly
constantly
constantly

and­ then
Flash
We are together again
the chickens cluck
and I fetch them a water pail
to wash away the fire in their gut
time to eat
time to grow
time to move
time to know

And the Himilayas dance into the sky
and florida's mosquita nets are dry
and the ice
and the creatures
given to the earth
move ever onward
and then
us.


But what does it mean?
I am but dust
and elemental stuff
and atomic configurations
on a tectonic bluff
unknown to the geometry
except for what I see
opaque eyeball
in its cage rolling
Searching for something in the static of dreams
in between the here and then
the now and when
the constant end
that drags the rocks
like slaves
towards constant
never
end.

Gliding deftly along the city street
rolling quick and constantly
onward to some unknown scene,
some backward park in the nighttime
smoke curling from these
parted lips, moist and inviting
calling me somewhere I've never seen.

New day, new night
new feelings, rage in delight
fill me with your hilarious entropy,
knock my quarks into the next century,
will you please?

Now you're smoking the pipe and all at once you are free
between you and me, this smoke is thicker and sticks
like glue,
wispy and dreamy and the world spins and calls Toltec
telephone company can't pay me for all those calls collected
and rendered obsolete
Sun god dead as that silly calendar meme

Amaterasu,
and Imma tell you
these ladies in the picnic table
buried alive for boxed lunch and god's brunch
Jesus ******* Christ
and a indelible roster of good guys,
to which we all must strive to live and die
behind,
never moving forward
chasing our tails like a sick dog
under the jasmine runner between the decades-old tanbark
imported from overseas
dead trees
dead canine
and oh isn't it just divine?

You see it, pretty lady.
I can see it hiding behind your eyes
the things you don't tell the others because you're afraid
if they found out,
you'd be crucified.

Well honey I hate to inform,
With KGB efficiency that these love-a-dumbs
aint Methuselah,
they'll be dead!
long before your flood of tears tears me from the land
ballistas me across the great expanse to some strange Ararat
of the eastern seaboard,
or maybe wash me deep along the 80
into the desert sands and tiles
on a leaky cell phone screen
desperately trying to dial home on low battery,
realizing all this was one big deferred dream,
baking in the sun and shriveling
oh well, back to the grindstone-- all those lies plucked your nose,
gotta cut it back to size,
'else your soul it'll outgrow

Don't worry honey bee
It hasn't happened to me,
and We know with calcuable mathematical truth
that it'll never happen to you.

I held onto you
for as long as I could
It doesn’t last long
When you live in the hood

Came from the sticks
I came from the woods
Rolling ******
Down the backroads
Of these backwoods
Rolling up backwoods
Bumping Rolling Stones
I never was that good

Of keeping within reach
Of the ones closest to me
Sometimes feel
Like I wish I didn’t have to
Feel at all

Had a ball
It didn’t last too long
Xanax and Adderall
Falling down the hall

But you were always there
To pick me up

Please help the hurt, the broken, the shattered the sick.
Please don't leave them, ignore them and crush them to smithereens.
Even a weakly burning wick, I pray please don't quench it. There's still some life left in that weak frame of a body.
Please don't break even the weakest branch, they're fragile, please handle with care.

Even the "fortunate" ones, give something.
Do something.
Don't just sit down all day being sad for the people who are hurting.
Get up and do something.
They will continue to rot, to wither if someone doesn't come and give them a hug, a smile, to know that someone cares for them.
Loves them despite their weaknesses.
Who loves them despite being outcast of society.
i hate that.

"outcast" of society.

How to describe this feeling ?
What name does it go by?
Does it even have a name?

The answers to my questions
Remain unanswered
But with absolute certainty I can tell you this

I never want to let this feeling go
I'm on this insane rollercoaster of happiness
And I never want to not have this feeling

Cloud 9 seems like childs play
Sky high is where I'm at
It's like being in love only a thousand times better

The sun and the stars are all in one frame
Both shining at their brightest
Someone tell me what this feeling is !

I take that back.
No one tell me.
No one utter a word.

For if I was to categorise this feeling
It would be sure to escape me
No one tell me.

Let me drown in this moment
In this feeling that is like no other
Allow me this one pleasure.

No need to name the feeling.
Just watch on by as I sink in it.
Grant me this one request.