behind what digit does greatness hide
for surely it is seen in mass
though mark it bold if self-proclaimed
a self-called victory is oft for last

and on what pedestal is greatness praised
enshrined and head bestowed with gold
or is it meek and humbly bred
unrecognized beneath the fold

in the sea's unwavering crash
in the sky's expanse unspared
in the ant's resilient march
all things great when uncompared

and can it be that we are great
perhaps in just one other's eyes
I know that I am full of it
why do you hide in plain disguise

I wanna punch a hole in a hole
make the blackest black
crawl inside
   and sleep

this
     is not insomnia
        this is lust
   twisted into the most frustrating knot
             and dawned with the ugliest bow

lying in bed
I swear I can hear the ceiling crack
it is mocking me
   incessant cackling
        I wanna tear this ******* room apart
crumple walls and bury them beneath buckling kness

I cannot stay still
it's like I've been touched
   and left to dry
aroused
   then left to die

        this is no way to end

my bones are starving hyenas
the bed, a watering hole
there is a slumbering carcass next to me
its flies
   buzz tidings of sheep-filled fields
     ~utopias of sleep~

but I
   am surrounded by night
no stars               no sheep               no sleep
only silence
   but not dark enough
this hole is not dark enough

someone punch a hole in me
I need to get some sleep

I caught myself head bobbing to ******
leaking red ink on vinyl
keep the track spinning
doing rounds of H-bomb clouds
all white got my head on tight
got my nose off right
check the center
if I could see it
muddled beats lead to reaps
Jack's a busy man
death a grave business
all trades
he deals diamonds for profits
sick the Hound
he's got no time for games
thrones be melted down
set the mold for a caravan
desert eagles circle corpses
warm body, not for long
heat brings in the winter
tore snow through his soul
****, I thought blacks ain't like cold
they nod to that **** you give it a hook though
caught up in the bait
cheap and shiny
rock their life away
as it drums in the ear
keep the bass bumpin
mama'll keep pumping the tears
gassed up with super diesel
you gotta peep the subliminal
laced up in the air
inecessant bumble of the bees
got a sting like no chaser
wait to explode, to exhale, to bust
oozie laid to rest
patient is revenge
but always with a righteous fist
BOOM!

Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
     he wrote a poem
And he called it 'Chops'
     because that was the name of his dog
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
     and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
     and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
     took all the kids to the zoo
And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
     with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed alot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
     Valentine signed with a row of X's
     and he had to ask his father what the X's meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it

Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
     he wrote a poem
And he called it 'Autumn'
     because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
     and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
     because of its new paint
And the kids told him
     that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
     with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed
     when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
     his mother and father kissed alot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad
     when he cried for him to do it.

Once on a paper torn from his notebook
     he wrote a poem
And he called it 'Innocence: A Question'
     because that was the question about his girl
And that's what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A
     and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
     because he never showed her
That was the year Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
     of the Apostle's Creed went
And he caught his sister
     making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed
     or even talked
And the girl around the corner
     wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her
     but he kissed her anyway
     because that was the thing to do
And at 3am he tucked himself into bed
     his father snoring soundly.

That's why on the back of a brown paper bag
     he tried another poem
And he called it 'Absolutely Nothing'
Because that's what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
and a slash on each ****** wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
     because this time he didn't think
     he could reach the kitchen

beyond Montana’s yellow lines
there is a field
~a field of painted soles
     and laces rubber tread
~a field of ****** curls
     and fallen headlights
where kaleidoscope lenses
look onto twisted frames          like origami halos
where teddy bears hug stop signs like pickets
     fringed in anger
          runaway childhoods sleep cautionary tales
  
beyond Montana’s blushing acne
there are red cup melodies
     blasting from blacked out tints
          weaving blues notes through Rock & Rap
distant cries are drowned by Bass
     or maybe Bud (light)
a haze of teenage eyes
they might as well be ghost riders
whip game copped from GTA
these pubescents are a Vice to their City
blooming sidewalk sloths
like flowerbeds

beyond Montana
is a country of bar stools
   where bar tenders play therapists
        and therapists play coroners
precedents are shots of whiskey - taken to the head
and reflected in flooded eyes

beyond Montana
is a country of MADD mothers and SADD students
beyond Montana
is a country of unexpecting pedestrians
beyond Montana
is a field
~a field of wing-clipped snow angels

That field is Mariah's home now
and she challenges you to change
   yourself
        your friends
             your country
she challenges you to
**STOP DRUNK DRIVING

Train Sets were always the coolest gift
I mean, I never got one
but that's what the movies say

now I ride trains daily
monotonous jumble of
commute.work.commute. sleep.

a ******
   brains get swallowed whole without my morning Joe
but there was a time...

...there was a time when
I rode that Polar Express to bliss
        crazed off hot chocolate
   golden ticket in hand

then
I slipped on ice caps
instead of sleeping on beaches
dreaming up Mad Hatter candy mogels

then
Tom Hank's voice was the patter of reindeer
and magic was cast by wizards
   not scientists

A White Beard
wise as Gandolf & Dumbledore
   specked with canyons of God
would laugh jolly into a nation
        into a season
   into that dusting galaxy of a child's eye

that beard
   holy and revered
would laugh humanity into a rattled world

slipping down chimneys
it would leave propaganda of hope
in the form of trainsets

No, I never got one
     but I loved that beard
        and the silver bells on its sleigh

they are voiceless now
but I keep them for their shine
I miss those days
                 ...sometimes...
I think about them on my train rides
wishing I had a different destination

This gun to the temple of my dome
I am faced with a single question
Should I shoot?
Or let fly the words just uttered?
The mouth of the devil’s minion lies open
nagging
     and picking
picking
     and nagging
          at a lost cause - a deaf cause
And Yet
     it feels
          it angers
               it rages
no longer containable
     it erupts
no clip for a gun
only bullets of air
air of truth
                                                           ­                  and so
                                                              ­             I choose
                                                          ­        and before I think
                                                      TR­IGGER
a crescendo of cacophony

HATE

A tear falls. The truth escapes. A jaw drops.
she did it to herself
all those years of nonstop badgering
she did it to herself
all those years of hypocrisy and disrespect
she did it to herself
blood flows from her eyes for my pleasure
a stream of emotion dammed by emptiness

she did it to herself

starlit domes have never been so down to earth
wishful dreams
     so close to home
fresh sight gives life meaning anew
     but with new perspective
         comes new appreciation

cradled in the roots of chromosomes
I branch out to new wombs
in hopes of escaping old wounds,
finding refuge in distant planets

that's why when I lift my head
I always imagine the sky a bit closer

then I awake to realize
I should really learn to dream with eyes open

I awake to realize
maybe I shouldn't take comfort in dying every night

I awake to realize
planets are so removed, I should just create my own

Hell---
     if Pluto ain't a planet---
          I can decide these things

who is to speak for the voiceless
     when their mutters make not a sound
who is to speak for the broken
     when their pieces cannot be found
Not I said the boy
     No one has spoken for me
so walking home
     he avoided cracked stone
          his eyes diverted down
and he saw no evil
     because he looked away
          until that very tragic day
               when it stood directly in his path
and he hadn't a clue what to do
he opened his mouth with a yelp
     but no one heard his cries
he was now the voiceless
     invisible to our eyes

"I feel like it's unfair. I feel like everyone should have that one tooth to show off, even if their smile is only one tooth. I feel like that's only right."

He told me, if you are in this class, you have to stop feeling and start thinking.

[Shrug]"I think it's unfair. I think everyone should have that one tooth to show off, even if their smile is only one tooth. I think that's only right."

He asked why?

"Because I feel like..."

STOP! Stop feeling. Think.

That night, I told my girlfriend I thought I didn't love her
I don't think she liked that very much because I never saw her after
but I've been thinking ever since
and whenever someone tells me I'm thinking wrong
I feel mad
but I ignore it
I think I'm becoming a better person
though I smile less, I think more
whenever someone says I feel
I tell them think
I tell them Grow up and use your brain
I tell them think

One day
my professor gave me an F on a paper
but I thought he was wrong
(I never once wrote the word feel)
but he said my thinking was wrong
so that night,
that night I thought long and hard
And the next day I gave my professor a FINAL grade
and I thought it was fair

Now I'm sitting in this chair
me talking to you
you asking me
how do I feel?
How do I feel?

Honestly...
I don't. I don't feel anything.
I think feeling is a waste of time.
and so when those currents come shooting through my veins
pleading with me to feel, if only for one last time
I'll smile
and tell them to count my teeth!

Woman birthed. Woman raised.
I am no biproduct
donating ***** does not make one a factor
back strained, she supported me like Atlas
sheltered me with wingspan like Daedalus
her love stronger than the Greek gods
Aphrodite was her apprentice
agape her creation
her love for me surpassed my love of self

Death from her life on my shoulders
resurrect me in the wind
     -a weightless vagabond
whispering breaths of prophecy

Blessed is he who lives life to the fullest

Tamed to breath filtered oxygen
we do not know the taste of exhileration
conceptualized, packaged and shipped objective
realize that society holds no ground
life is yours to miss

open your eyes to the fact that you are blind
*and no one sees you