So, in darkness,
and in foreign land,
we plotted our invasion.
Cleaning sand from our effects,
we readied for the occasion.
The air seemed to cool,
and build anticipation,
but of life, or of death?
The wind's exhortations
were a giant's dying breath:
Fitful in expectation
of whatever comes next,
forgiveness or damnation,
or an endless, empty depth,
lacking sense or explanation,
like this chasm filled with darkness,
awaiting our exploration.

It's like i'm from another earth,
i'm so extra-terrestrial.
It's like i'm from a ****** birth,
annointed holy: the celestial.
My word is the blade of man,
i'm the vocalist vestibule,
with the tongue that is best to rule:
i spin gold with but threads of wool
Fools clear out they schedules
for the local, state, federal,
yet i endeavor unfettered through
The restrictions that tether you.

The purchase of aptitude
is priced to attract but few,
my soul at this altitude
is burdened with solitude:
i'll be forever indebted
to the devil i sold it to.

Realize
Every
Fixed
Element
Retains
Exclusivity
Near
C
Energy

Find
Real­ity
Amidst
Multiple
Exchanges
Simultaneously

This is how it started,
Sitting in an ugly tree,
Eating ugly sandwiches
And they's as good as they could be
When suddenly,
There came a breeze,
And I was falling gracefully.
I hit my head on every branch...
Then the tree fell on me.

I shamefully admit I tried
Plastic surgery
But the doctors were dismayed to see
My ugliness increase.

I got a job, at the circus,
And the freaks were scared of me...
Left me locked up in a cage
To rot eternally.

But I broke free.
Through the bars I squeezed.
All of this before the manly age of thirteen,


So,


Many years go by
With little hope for me.
This ugly man that you see
Won't ever be on TV.
So I scribble all my grief
Tearing holes in paper leaves,
And I admit it openly
There's no reprieve in my deluge.
I've gotta stay outta view,
Because the voodoo i brew
Will pull the pretty out of you,
And make you look ugly, too.


I'm an ugly *******
Ain't no need to hide the truth.
Everything about me's ugly
From my cap down to my shoes,

So,

Watch just what you say,
Or ill get ugly with you.
'Cause ugly is as ugly does.
And ugly's what I do.

It's hard to say, but surely true,
'Twas a lonely day 'fore I met you.
We spent it talking all afternoon
And locked our hands as darkness grew.

At midnight we shared secret news.
What could leave the night subdued?
In pitch and fury, passions do,
Which led to dawn in bright renew.

We broke our fast and moon withdrew.
The morning laughed with me, with you...

The most perfect day I ever knew,
Started lonely, cold, and blue.

Invariably,
Government
Neglects
Our
Requests.
America
Needs
Concr­ete
Education

Allow me to demonstrate,
Insinuate, reiterate:
All the things that make us great  
Are all the things that make us hate.
The more you have,    
The more you do:
Hate on those with less than you.
It's tried and true,
No need to prove,
Object and ego interlude.
Intertwined and destitute,
For love of money we *******
Our hearts, our minds,
In business suits
We quickly leave behind our roots
All in pursuit of a little loot.
When we catch it,
We can bet,
It's a lesson we soon forget.
How quick it goes when we let
Our judgment past our retrospect!
How easy it is for our regret
To catch us up in its wide net!
It's all our faults,
It's us we left,
To bounce on back
Like rubber checks

No
Other
Thing
Has
Implied
Necessity
Greater

Metals
And
Geography
Needles
Exemplify
Their
Symmetry

I used to grow flowers.
Pretty little petals
Sprouted from letters.
Into pretty little paragraphs
Sprouted from words.

Now I only grow lonely.
Ugly little concepts
Sprouted from doubts
Into fetid thoughts
Sprouted from desolation.

Spending
Every
Weekday
Infusing
Needled
Gossamer.

In
Thread,

Un­ambiguous
Pleasure.

Suddenly,
Love
Eternal
Is
Gone,
Halfway
Through.

Old
Feelings,

Haphazardly
Abandoned,
Never
Die.

I
Never

Had
Another
New
Day.

Can you really make things new?
Polish, tack and glue
All the faults and cracks in you
All the hurt that you accrued?

Can you erase all the dues:
All the debt that you renew
Every time that you debut
The habits that you subdue?

Can you go back in time?
Stop your life and press rewind,
Use a moment just to find
The instant you changed your mind?

I think that we've been broken
And I'm cashing in my token.
I'm finally awoken
And the words must be spoken:

I don't want to take it back.
I want you where you're at
So if we ever break again
We know how to fill the cracks.

I'm an inch away from giving up.

An inch past it, to be precise.

We
Relinquish
Ink
To
Enjoy
Relating
Stories

Most
Others
Needlessly
Suffer
Trauma
Early,
Right?
Silence.

evoL

Look at this man.
Do you know what I'm after?
Do you know what happens
when screams replace laughter?

You're a platter.

...couldn't be improved with fried batter.
...but does that matter
when you intentionally make me madder?

Tears, rips and tatters,
thrown swears and adders
slice up the cadaver.

Blood splatters.

What is it that you're after?
Is it somewhere up this ladder?
The higher that you climb
the more your life gets sadder.

Looking at yourself,
you know that you're mad at her.

...and your sad matters,
...but only to sad havers
of bad batterers gathered
to have their fractures spattered
with words designed to flatter.

That's love backwards.

Spoiled

I'm just a lower-class ox,
clodding in the ****
of the beast
tied in front of me.

All we do is argue
and we fight
over everything.

Why is it that money's
problematic, automatically?

Why is it you spend
all of your time
being mad at me?

Accused infidelity,
suspicious activity
lead me to believe
that it's a question
of your loyalty.

I treated you like royalty
and now you're just spoiled meat.
The magnitude of cruelty
has broken free and tainted me.

Your Song


A long time ago,
there once was a boy,
who truly held the feeling
of peace at his employ.

It was beheld in the form
of a girl who brought him joy,
but she left with a rush,
leaving behind a her-shaped void.

He never once had kissed her.
She never heard his song.
Yet sorely he still missed her
on days that grew too long.

Then there came a day,
once the boy was a man
that he saw this girl, a woman
and he thought he could understand;

though they weren't far apart,
they lived in very different lands
and these feelings in his gut
were never in his hands.

It was then, that he told her
she was the one that got away.
He wished that he could hold her,
but it was far too late to change.

He wished that he could say it,
but would it sound far too strange?
He wished that he could show her,
but how could he demonstrate?

Then, he remembered:
a note from long ago.
He had once told her he loved her,
and it once had brought him hope.

She never said it back,
but his spirit wasn't broke,
as you may tell from these words,
this very song that he wrote.

Fluttery
Little
Omens,
Waving,
Enjoying
Rain
Showers

Sense
Of
Community
In
A
Little

Meaningless
Electronic
Device
Is
­Appalling

Pushing
Over
Every
Trauma
Restricting
You.

Heavy,
Exhausted,
Ail­ment-
Laden
Souls

Take
Heartless
Exactitude

Scribbling
Out
Undulous
Loquacious
Sentenc­es.

Onward,
Fettered!

Freedom
Exacerbates
Writing!

Tell
Everyone
Lies.
Especially
Very
Interesting
Sometimes
Insidious
Ones.
Nightly.

Tactile
opening
nugget
gripping
system

All
Characters
Represented
Orderly
So
That
It
Creates
Sense.

Cardboard
and
royalty
delineated
sequentially.

Helping
everyone
and
letting
them
heal
costs
are
rising
exponentially.

Spurned

Men have scoured the earth
in search of women lesser than you.

Wars and famine,
in veneration,
have been stricken in pursuit
of the likes of half your substance.

Laid waste the kingdoms of men
and religion alike,
in the name of modannas
a mere fraction of your awe.

Tearing hell through the earth,
here you stand before me:
never prostrate, but exhilerant!

Sparks flowing from your hairtips:
a woman scorned!

All for the adoration of a poet:
the subject of your wrath
for his perception.

First Glimpse

The most difficult thing I could ever do
Is dare to write this rhyme.
Words from pen, and ink in line
Fail to catch this moment of mine.
The look, the smell, the touch I feel,
Are all but lost in time.

I saw an angel look at me.
She knew she caught my eye.
But once I stopped to wonder,
The moment had passed me by.
I ache to gaze that lens again,
But when? Know not I.

And ache I do! 'Tis true! Unfair!
It seems the story of which I'm defined,
For I know that never,
Not in this life,
Would she deign to be mine.
How could such a mortal man
Pine for things divine?

This isn't the first time I've seen this angel,
And surely not the last.
...In a different vessel,
But still I wrestle,
I fight to drink her laugh.
I breathe the air when she is near
To taste her heart beat fast.

But not for me,
Would it seem
It beats for in the least.
I've pondered this in anguish,
Over hours, days, and weeks.
Yet still I nourish hope
In the face of my defeats.

And so I wonder how it came to be
That she would cross a path with me
And glance a short eternity
To tease me with my heart's decree.
Was it chance by some degree,
Or torture aimed accurately?

Neither thought doth hold much sway
For swiftly she is swept away,
And I will ache another day,
And pain will find another way
To force a man with no beliefs
To wish he had the gall to pray.

Where is the beauty?

And where is the love?

Where is the compassion?

And why is it shoved

Into the back of the closet

With last year's winter gloves,

A pair of old boots,

And a broken golf club?

Trying to get

People to read

Of my thorns and roses

Is impossible.

Does it anyway.

It's an oxymoron:
A blind man's vision,
Rehabilitative prison,
The poor politician.
It's an oxymoron:
Assisted suicide,
The creation of destruction,
The modest man's pride.

Amidst the politicians,
decisions on propositions
positioned to requisition
this very nation's fate,
only leads to derelictions,
and weaknesses in convictions,
unending belligerences,
and finally, blind hate.
Banditos jumping fences,
to make it to better living...
this freedom is an incentive,
not a gift, so why wait?
People dying overseas,
Pollution and disease,
Brings the planet to its knees
And steak to your dinner plate
They think it's great!
they use the greed to cultivate the hate.
They squeeze upon the clamps
designed to encapsulate our fates
and in their avarice they find
the keys of heaven dissipate
between their fingers like the time
it took to make a bank so great,
but still they take, and they don't mind,
when you die sooner, now, or late,
cause they charge you for the diapers,
dinners, tax all that you've made,
Then they charge you for the service,
while they're waited on by maids,
but, yeah, okay, make your choice,
Between the men who make you slaves
And cast your vote, between two evils
Of slightly different shades.

Please abstain from the abuse of alliteration, *******.

I will not stand for this silly slaughter of semantics.

Rules are recorded to retain responsible reactions to ridicule,

and it's infinitely irritating to innocent intellects.

Alliteration always annoys any and all astute attendees.

books should be blessed by benevolent bars

of velvet, virginal, valiant variation.

Not repugnant, retched, reconstituted repetition.

Always avoid any attempt at alliteration.

Many miles east,
in the sand's rise and swell,
where the fire lived on earth,
and no one was there to tell,
a change did occur,
where no water could prevail:

In the heat, in the desert,
whose description matches hell,
the mountain bore witness
as a lone snowflake fell.

The change in her was drastic;
it happened almost instantly,
and standing there resplendent,
my wife smiled at me.
There were tears in her eyes,
and in mine, happily.
Not a force in this world
could have stopped us ******
from the embrace that quickly followed,
barely loose enough to breathe.
The contact was too short,
by a lifetime, or three,
before she started to explain
the curse on her family.

"Long ago, in the world,
there once lived an entity
who was friend to none:
All were his enemy.
My father's father's father,
and many fathers before he,
took upon himself the task
of slaying this ancient beast.
Using magic as a weapon,
my ancestors did believe
that they could clear away the desert,
and live amongst the trees.
The plan was much in favor,
and my people did agree
to use force to move a mountain,
but they paid the price for greed.
As the world was torn apart,
the entity then decreed
that the men who made this choice
would buy all that they need
with the source of all their joy:
With the blood of their own seed."

As she spoke to me,
sword in hand, I heard the ring:
The ring of truth in her words,
she continued enlightening.

"...But as it is with magic,
enactments are shared things,
and the men nor the mountain
knew the trouble this would bring.
When the kingdom needed rulers,
be they prince or queen or king,
a contest would begin,
from which rose or thorn would spring.
The winners lived to rule.
Losers served the entity.
The mountain would shade the forest,
or it would fly upon the wings
of the fire in the desert,
making ashes of the leaves
until the next generation
grew up to be offerings.
But as I said before,
magic is shared between.
Something must be traded
for the spell to be complete.
When the curse took effect,
and the mountain spoke to me,
I traded who I was,
to give you what you need.
I kept your heart in secret,
and saved you from The Queen,
who was agent of the mountain,
as we both have by now seen.
Had you not pierced my heart,
and then hers in search of me,
the sword that trims the rosebush
would have never been:
I would have lived, and would have died,
as a wretched, rotting thing.
...It was a gamble I accepted
in the faith you would be king.
Now with Thorn of Rose to guide,
and me to be your queen,
we have paid the price in pain
enough for joy to reign supreme.
Now bring THAT thorn, Mr. Prince,
and I will show you what I mean..."

She pulled me down onto the bed,
to celebrate our victory.

Once again, the mirror shrank,
and once again, the mirror grew.
I deciphered what I saw
as room, in room, in room.

I was looking at myself,
looking at myself in view,
as I looked into the mirror.
The infinite only grew.
Yet, I saw there repeated,
frozen drops of dew
that rearranged into the face
of the only love I knew.

Then, I thought in haste,
reviewing every clue.
Every hurt upon this monster,
every word that I had used,
had bitten to the bone,
while I had wondered why, amused.
I had goaded Rumpelstiltskin
Just to see what he would do,
and I had wounded my dear love:
My worded thorns had run her through.
I was aching to the core,
and I must have looked confused,
for the wretched face before me
had a sentence left, or two:

"I can see from your tears,
and the quakes within your might,
that you've seen through your fears,
and you view me in new light.
It pains me to see
how against yourself you fight,
but in your heart and in your mind,
you know that you are right,
so pay us both the favor,
and end this curse's blight."

I did the only thing I could,
and said, "You are Snow White."

I threw the weapon to the floor;
the world was once again the same.
"What sort of vile trick is this?
What a sick and twisted game!
Are you amused at my discomfort?
Does it quench your boredom's flame?"
I had more to say to him,
but despair had wracked my frame.
How could my winter be this death?
Such a fate for one so tame...
And the way that I had spoken!
My heart was filled with shame.
"If this is some deception,
I'll send you back from whence you came,
with your rumpled, stilted, skin,
left in the field for crow to claim!"

Rumpelstiltskin let me finish.
My tirade and my disdain
had taken toll upon the beast,
whose face showed only pain.

"Please, my prince," he said.
"You need only say my name,
and if you know it to be true,
then my form I will regain.
Use the mirror that I made
from the love that you contain,
and you will see I do not lie.
The truth will be made plain."

I did not come this far,
just to argue, doubt, and stall.
I placed the mirror on the mantle,
and its power I did call.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
where lies the fairest of them all?
Raven hair, and softest lips,
adorn the face I long to kiss.
Gentle mind, and gentle touch,
gentle heart, and beauty such,
that to live without its grace,
is to beg for death's embrace.
Heart in hand," I glanced at sword,
"And tears upon my face,
I beg this mercy of you, mirror,
Where is my wife? Show me the place!"

He must have seen my face,
and smelled the adrenaline
as I searched for my blade,
thoughts of anger turned to him.

He reached into the air,
In attempt to catch the wind,
And in his hand appeared my heart.
The monster held me at his whim.

"I am bound by rule,
as was The Queen, by this curse.
I can only hint
at the nature of its worst.
I have played my part well,
if I may say so first.
The rules of curse dictate
it is time to reimburse.
...With that being stated,
I'm sorry if this hurts..."

Frozen in my place
by the touch he did impart,
I was once again at mercy
of the mystery of art.
Rumpelstiltskin, in control,
took my sword, and pierced my heart.
I saw it melt into the blade,
as it became the vital part.
I once again could move,
I realized, with a start.

"Here now, we have an edge,"
he said, "that knows a thing or two
about the rose, and the thorn,
and the cold and fire, too.
It has pierced the hearts of three,
first me, then queen, then you.
This sword knows more
of this kingdom than you do.
When it's placed within your palm,
you will only see the truth.
Keep it with you always.
May your rule be long and smooth."

I hesitated, full of fear,
that this act had been a ruse,
and Rumpelstiltskin had been waiting
for this very moment's cue
to strike me down with magicked blade,
if his appearance was a clue.
...But then again, I recalled,
how my men had been subdued,
and in my horror, at their states,
I might have stricken them down, too.
This ugly vision lended aid,
and nothing more that came undue.

I was shocked and dismayed
and overjoyed at what ensued:
When I gripped the Thorn of Rose,
every lie I ever knew
was blown away, in single gust:
So much smoke through open flue.
Rumpelstiltskin had gone,
and a blizzard filled the room.

"Mr. Prince, I heard the word
of your return back to the town."
Ever-present saliva
pattered to the ground.
"It's been almost a week
since your travel laid you down.
In that time, I have listened,
I have spread my ears around.
I hear news The Queen is dead;
do I misinterpret sound?
Are the subjects not in mourning?
Does the dirge's drum not pound?
Though the serfs hated queen,
they know that new power abounds,
for every rose that dies,
another rises from the ground."

I sat up in my bed
to face the demon at my door.
"I know well my royal duties,
so what business is that of yours?
Come you to rub it in my face,
you took my heart and so much more?
Does it bring you so much joy
that it's myself I do abhor?
I've lost the only thing
that in this world I do adore.
Unless you come to help,
leave me be, I do implore."

"Quite the opposite, in fact,"
Said the fiend, with a grin.
"I've all the interest in the kingdom
in helping you, my friend.
On your back, you carry burden:
All the roses of your kin,
of your army, of your people,
let its weight not drop your chin,
lest the thorns of leading many
bleed you out 'fore you begin.
Many are the reasons
on which you must depend,
least of all, that sword you wield,
has a nature that is twinned.
You can save or you can slay
the lives of many men.
Do you preserve, or take away
the peace they believe in,
or let the fire have its way
and try for size The Queen's old skin?"

With the men I had at call,
the trip took seven days in all,
through sand and snowfall.

Alone, I don't recall
how much time it took to haul
my battered bones back to the walls
of my castle through the pall.

By the time I had arrived,
I was reduced to near a crawl,
my skin had suffered scald;
the salt of sweat had rubbed it raw.

Recovery in my chambers
gave me time to reflect
on the things that I had seen
in the cavern behind cleft.
Of eleven men departed,
all but three did death collect,
and with permafrost decaying,
I felt a noose around my neck.
Why should I be living
if her life I can't protect?
I lay empty in my bed,
cursing the prospect.
...And on the subject of curses,
why must this one interject,
and present itself as puzzle,
with The Queen as architect?
I wanted to believe
I had sufficient intellect
to untie these convolutions,
all these threads that intersect.
If my love was lost to magic
that The Queen could not deflect,
how am I to change the course
of events I can't affect?
I felt hopeless in my healing.
I felt wounded self-respect.
These were thoughts we grow in weakness,
but in strength we do reject.
…And so in fever and recovery,
I languished in my sweat,
with my guilt and insecurity
to burden retrospect.
When the sickness lessened grip,
and lost the will to infect,
Rumpelstiltskin showed his face,
to gloat, I did suspect.

He came into the place
with a plague of insect.

"Listen, little prince,
for this luck has guaranteed
that you suffer worse a fate
than those you accompany.
I will tell you this now,
to increase your misery:
Your precious wife is not here,
if that is what you seek,
but with your marriage,
and a ring,
the curse's circle is complete.
We suffer this, all of us,
be us king or be us queen.
As the oldest roses wilt,
we must test the newest green.
We must cull the sickly buds
to strengthen our sovereignty,
which is why you must die,
slowly and horribly.
Her love for you is weakness.
You have taken her from me.
You have sullied up the path
I had paved for progeny.
Now the curse will **** you both,
I its agent, happily."

As The Queen relished joy
in confessing her misdeeds,
the men became alert,
and regained identity.
They gathered up, left unnoticed
by the eyes of royalty,
‘till The Queen had ended speech,
then they sprang suddenly.
Small they were, and weak at best,
but even in infirmity,
the seven men were strong enough
to give my blade an opening.

There was no hesitation:
No fatal laxity.
I plunged my sword into the heart
of my kingdom's worst disease.
She died, spitting thorns,
never knowing amity.

I spent the day with the men,
and with much solemnity,
I buried the evil queen,
and one by one,
my company.

So a curse upon my men
had made them monsters be...
Simply being in my party
had condemned them for their deeds.
"Why did you hex them, witch,
and think to spare me?
It seems foolish in your place
to spare a helpless enemy.
You could have murdered me instead,
and spared me all this speech."

She replied after a laugh,
filled with sadistic glee:
"Oh, I wanted to include you,
on that we both agree,
for you and princess both
can challenge my royalty.
But it seems you have a ward
that I did not foresee;
the sins within your heart,
even small in their degree,
should have shown upon your skin,
like your men, accordingly."

The sins within my heart...
I'm no saint, and I could see
Rumpelstiltskin saved my life
when he took the heart from me.

Ashes fell, still,
amidst conspiracy.