Camping; facing the wind.
Feeling all too safe; sleepwalking
                                    (now and then)
There's something to be said about a foundation.
(a strong one)
and there's something to be said about a dedication
to a flimsy one.
A road trip or an expedition?
A day dream or a premonition?
Take baby steps (toward big steps)
Take what you want (need) from this and (life) everything.
Smirk and scoff when you're smirked (and/or) scoffed.
Biting your tongue (off) now;
not sleeping at all somehow.
Coffee brain like a crack ******* flame.
                                       (do not condone)
Unwind your sanity to keep hunkered down
in what is real and more full-heartedly genuine
than any other known human experience.
(live)
        (die)
               (get read about)

Nothing I say is funny,
but somehow it's hysterical.
I hear whistling in the morning,
but I don't see the whistler.

Go jog; then to a sprint.
(through a slaughterhouse)
Tell me, can you imagine yourself?
(covered in insects) Rotting between
the ears,

Do you ever find yourself trying?
                                      (too hard)
                                               (way too hard)
Trying to account for lost time.
Wake up at 1 a.m. -getting shocked.
Feel your heart (sprint) and stop on a dime.

Feel your heart stop (once in a while)
Learn to love what's good and good for you.
No rotting out. More speaking out.

Nothing I say is funny,
but somehow it's hysterical.
I hear whistling in the morning,
but I don't see the whistler.

Nevermore, Nevermore
Could I ever be anymore?

Like your heartless shadow
Black soul
Confusion is more than

Real; is false
A false reality?

To just speak again
An open tomb
For you to lie in
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Crawl inside my stomach
But don't listen
To what I say. . .

I won a ghost
In the summer
One seven year

Her tongue was so sweet
    on the nape of my neck
The blood drew a grey skull
    I had no one to expect
Me home

You're wrong.

A spiny claw in my back
Calls out in the black rain
To award the new, new
New stranger into the pain
Into the flood. . .

Believe in not what you see
   But in what is complete. . .

But       ?     complete
       what is
             ?

My heart is a hitch hiker
She ain't afraid to stick her thumb out
and grab a ride with the first loser to pull over-
No grudges.

She'll stay gone for days,
Can you believe that?
Sometimes weeks...
She doesn't care to sleep in vacant parking lots
Or dark alley where the homeless creep..

She'll sit too close to a strangers fire;
Drinking whiskey while walking a wire
and everyone around will laugh-
But meanwhile,
she's just crashing...
Daydreaming about her next hitch
Like a fix
It can't come quick enough.

She'll get comfortable too fast
Hoping for illusions to last
Spending too much time on a forgetful past-
And before you know it,
She's calling fantasy her home.

Oh, that *****
Who likes to hitch
Calling fantasy her home.

Gently kissing the space left from where your heart faded I weep
To embrace you no longer is punishment beyond all reason.

Casting doubt on your existence I lay bare, uncovered, untainted by love, tormented by demons, lost to the mercy of sorrow.

Begging forgiveness for all that is rite yet lusting for the passions of wrong, my invisibility towards the light fades, as does my soul.

For what shall this life be without love without hope, expectations of high standards could not be lived up to Remorse is all I own.

I crash before thee and pray for the echoes of whispers that once took me by the hand and led me to enlightenment, until then my shadows die.

A Summer's date,
  an Autumn's dance,
Warm Winter's kiss,
  tis' in Spring; we plant

So he dreams and dreams and dreams of her,
And is awakened by the light,
In his heart he loves her so,
But only in the night,
The dawn of day reveals to him,
Out of reach and out of sight!
He awaits each evenings sunset,
To drift into her shore,
And once again be held by her,
Embraced and wanting more,
The tide begins to draw him in,
The surf begins to rise,
His only hope of having her,
Is when he's closed his eyes.

The naive traveler,
Staying fast upon the well-known trail,
Assumingly forged by others,
Heard, as he tried not to listen,
Rustling among the brush,
Disquieted, he scurried,
Never peering into the deep shadows,
Afraid of what he might find or might find him,
With eyes opened wide and centered upon the track,
He moved with all caution and haste,
Avoiding all the trips and snares that could allow him to stumble,
Dark was this jungle,
And moving about him,
the shadows and calls of the coming night,
He quickened his pace,
Fearing behind him,
Something gaining upon and moving ahead,
An ambush,
He knew if he would run,
The formidable gauntlet,
Would have little time to prepare for him,
Howling and leaping,
He'd overcome,
But the gauntlet was never set,
The sounds off the trail was his own creation,
His own fear,
He continued to run,
And he still does.