Today I caught a glimpse,
A reflection of a ghost
Beyond the wall of smoke.

I see many familiar spirits
And we exchange pleasantries,
Slaps on the back, hellos,

And, (just as important!) goodbyes,
Leaving one another to voyage,
Apparitions of the loved dead

Trapped between two distant worlds-
Ours of business, busyness, beaches,
The other of undisturbed rest.

The ghost I glimpsed today
Was caught in the reflection
Behind a wall of smoke

The street we had walked
A complete sun circuit ago
When we shared the earth,

Shared the wind and rain,
The stars moon and sky,
High above the April clouds.

But our journey was incomplete.
I sought life beyond atmosphere,
She wished for feet planted

Back on solid ground below,
The place love can bloom
Without freezing in the clouds

And turning to acid rain.
And so it was goodbye.
Eighty words could say less

Than the five we shared
When our glances strayed apart,
Beyond the veil of smoke.

I remember you, lovely ghost,
That's what I told her,
Allowing passage to the hibernation.

particularly bad outbreak this year
slightly contagious
draining strength
causing hate of the daylight
"i miss you" are the hardest words to say

the sick are quarantined;
the month of love is almost here

someone i never met told me
life is lonely...
not if you live on earth

but for those who live on made up planets
we need to be taken
to places we've never seen before
to Heaven....
i'll carry you up the hill
"i miss you" are the hardest words to say

many months can pass in the chasm of creativity,
          each block spanning a quarter mile
on the desolate street which the writers call home;

and yet one lyric of a single song can cease the silence,
           breaking like a dollar bill into the
clamor of loose change in a poor peasant's pocket.

I finally got around to watching that Robin Williams flick,
           warranted by solemn respect for the dead,
his society of poetry, ripping out the pages of rules
.


WE are the dead; short days ago we lived,
and now we are food for worms,.

A young man
Thougb not too young
Carved from flesh
Molded by experience
Came to the river

He'd crossed it before
Before his child was born
Many years prior to
His lover's death

Mother of their son

And his son
Carved from his own flesh
Hated him
Crossed the river on his own
Leaving our hero
To ask his reflection
Clear as a mirror
In the river
"What went wrong"

More than twenty
Centuries passed

His soul was never released
Never became free
As
As a young man
He'd hoped it would be

Our hero fell into the river
The water accepted him
The water permissed him
Join the current
And so he passed
Twenty some odd
Centuries
To become some one
Who hated himself
Who dreamt only of
Oblivion
An unfortunate slip of the razor

It
will be fun
they said, try
it,

jump, the old
train bridge,
signs say
NO
but they do
it
anyway
crashing through
the surface
splash

it'
s easy, they said,
close your eyes,
jump,
only twelve
feet to immortality,
they never ask
if you can swim,
they just
want you
to try
it,
want you to
jump

Mighty am I,
Standing over my kingdom:

The headlights beneath me are beneath me,
All the people beneath me are beneath me.

You've got it made is what they say,
And I look down at them from my balcony.

No stranger to heights am I,
And I have ascended to the greatest of heights.

No pity do I feel for the ground dwellers,
Though I have slept upon the ground many nights.

Hard work pays off, so they say,
And they say you reap what you sow.

These things I have grown, I once planted,
And I nurtured them so they would grow.

For all that I have I am thankful,
And all of my thanks go to me

For getting my knuckles all *****
To one day have a balcony

Before beginning something new,
One must know The Steps-

The first Step is admitting-
that this mess is not beautiful
beauty is an opposite (not an element)

that we cannot sit here for eternity
that it's all just a freckle on a giant plan

The second Step is forgetting-
everything that was said, heard, read
all the things that stayed a maybe

the revolutions that never got bought
the ones who shone brighter than the sun.

The third Step is moving on;
seeing what lies in the Far East
and giving away the last CD's

saying goodbye to ecstasies
pulling together, and turning around.

there is no adjective
to describe
the feeling
that follows
three nights without sleep

the swollen eyes
too much light
(even in the dark)

then what am I
to say when asked, "how are you
today?"?

"tired"

that in itself is a
tiresome response

try
to recall the number of
times you've posed
that question of formality
to an aquaintance, only
to receive
"tired" as a response, as if
that frame of mind is
the newest epidemic sweeping our
terribly exhausting society- seven
to eight hours a night,
that's what we need, or else our
train of
thought is likely
to steer itself off
the rails at least
twice per
talk

this poem is
trash
though I
tried
to be
thoughtful, and
to start each sentence with a
t
(besides the ones in parentheses)

******* insomnia
take a slice if you dare
teach me
the way
to shut
these
tired eyes


there is no adjective
to describe
the feeling
that follows
three nights without sleep

So much time
So little to do
It's cozy on the curb
In a big green bag

Days pass
And I rot
Stinking in the sun
Waiting to be collected


Waiting for the trashman

I seek the meaning of the glyphs, Inscribed
          upon the dark night's sky, The universe-
                     's  secret to achieving, The final
                               draft on the first try. That gloating sun with
                                     all his pride, Would blind us for his portrait
                                              days, But inconsistency made him weak,
And he always rushed to finish
                                               With all but good intend I stand, Channel-
                                   ling that boastful pride, And night's cold darkness
                              ere described, When Kodak moments go a-
                       way. The universe's secret to a-
                chieving, Will never be found in the stars,
        But in the portrait-esque blueprints of day,
   Which came out perfectly the first time, The
final draft on the first try

maybe




everything will be better




tomorrow

Sweet salvation lies in sleep
Make it dreamless, make it deep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep

Sweet salvation lies in naught
Away from memory, away from thought
I pray the Lord my soul forgot
I pray the Lord my soul forgot

I seek the meaning of the glyphs, Inscribed
          upon the dark night's sky, The universe-
                     's  secret to achieving, The final
                               draft on the first try. That gloating sun with
                                     all his pride, Would blind us for his portrait
                                              days, But inconsistency made him weak,
And he always rushed to finish
                                               With all but good intend I stand, Channel-
                                   ling that boastful pride, And night's cold darkness
                              ere described, When Kodak moments go a-
                       way. The universe's secret to a-
                chieving, Will never be found in the stars,
        But in the portrait-esque blueprints of day,
   Which came out perfectly the first time, The
final draft on the first try

burns throat on the way down

raging chariots of fire

bitter salts but solemn

vengeance of the empire

Fingers cut palms as hands turn to stone
And a catapult hurls the projectile home
Knuckles collapse from bone meeting bone
Down in the alleys where miscreants roam
Suggestions of violence fill gutters with blood
Fill heads with the sense of nefarious thrill
Their skin turns to ash and their brains into mud
Rage in the kingdom of eager to ****
The children are soldiers who train everyday
Cowboys and Indians, Robbers and Cops
****** is plot and the actors will play
Portraying the place life will come to a stop
Violence is cancer, and love is no more
Edge of our seats waiting for the next war



*Dedicated to the deceased and forgotten, Love and Peace

considering reflections!
spectacular expressions excited by vernacular action
spicy and exotic erecting complexity!
forgetting the selective dyslexia
mental anorexia like pecs flexing
lacking dialect donating directions!
elementary subtraction of expletives
what the heck do they expect!
exclusion unaccepted
best guess reckon you're a wreck
what the heck no explanation!