You hide away from others
People just don't don't know who you are
That loneliness must smother
I wonder how far you can bother
So reserved in your emotions
I'm forced to wonder what for
Hiding away from your life
You stay inside all day,
Depression under too much strife
Beside the bed you never sway
Silence is louder than words
You accidentally express
Everything we need to know

She, a cavernous champagne glass,
he, a weary pony, who ate the neighbor's grass--
her name Ms. Wesson,
his name Mr. Smith,
they died on a slow Tuesday--
and stop looking Wesson clan,
if looking for a lesson.

Mid-afternoon
midst a love bent 69
Mr. Smith and Ms. Wesson
committed ******-suicide--
Mr. Smith turned from a man
back into a stain,
Ms. Wesson turned from a woman
back into a chain.

And the artist-in-neighborhood did rejoice,
subject matter for a painting to hang above
his licorice-colored memorial of a prisoner dove.

And the police did gossip,
was it love? was it *******?
What a fine piece of *** that could be living.

And it took the families two weeks to find out,
they wiped their feet on dead leaves,
daydreamt open caskets and planted juniper seeds.

Talk of another woman, talk of another man,
but God himself would tell you,
they were simply bored of each other's drugs,
they were simply bored of each other's barrels,
so, they barred each other from being,
and headed west on erosion's dime.

In haste,
I took the first woman like a whiskey shot--
every ounce of her scarred my throat
kept me silent, kept me staggering under the weight.
When the bottom shelf love went beyond full bloom,
I vomited her up, leaving me with a headache.

In good conscious,
I took the second woman like an aspirin pill--
every milligram of her alleviated the pain
kept me similar to content, kept me tame.
When the effects wore off and I pined for another drink,
I put her in the cabinet, leaving me rambling nomadic.

In guilt,
I turned myself into the third woman like a penitent criminal--
every liter of her blood solidified
kept me wrapped behind her bars, kept me seeking her good graces.
When the prison sentence drew to a close,
I left her behind, walking with an unwashable history.

The fourth found me frightening,
the fifth just ignored,
the sixth designated me the "other man",
and the elusive seventh only said, "You could do better."

In my mind,
the pills, prisons, and liquor melded --
the days cut short,
the nights grew long,
but I could do better
I could do better
I could do better.

I sold the pills, I poured the whiskey down the sink,
I left prison to the prisoners,
and in the mirror I became a religious practitioner.

To the Church of Better I subscribed.
Sober, lone, and free my cry.
To the darkness I whispered:
I am the resurrection,
I cannot be killed,
I am the resurrection,
the Buddha,
the Jesus,
the Krishna,
the Allah.
I am the resurrection,
born again and again and again.

Eager, *****, I washed my hands of you
in Rippling Creek on the 1st of January --
the beginning of the beginning.

As you turned to driftwood,
the friends and cross-eyed strangers
asked what was I thinking when I let go of you.

My mouth stitched by bongwater haze
all I could do -- watch your notched body soak.

Now on the 18th of September,
sitting in Fox Hollow, USA,
the shiniest of suburbs --
the sober of the sober--
In honest,
I say I'd rather have you alive and hating me
than dead and loving me.

If I lied in the grey dawn,
it was out of love.
If I lied in the grey dawn,
I was out of truth.

I'm alone
fending off vultures prying in with fake Facebook profiles,
taking threats from fathers who long ago went blind,
and this much I promise to you and Fox Hollow, USA:

I will quarantine the past.

What is
the
anthropomorphic
personification of
your
artistic soul?
Immerse
me
in the
gently
flowing ocean
of your secret
epithet.

She lives in shade
Where muffled sounds of laughter from the sunlit place
Can't reach, and colours fade
To grey in this so silent space
Which, all alone, she yearns to leave
But still unseen, she leaves no trace
The shadow child, without a face
The nameless one

the value of Money is relative,
(relatively speaking)
giving power and prestige
to a prestigeless Nation
(filled with Cash cow cheese eaters)
(business-men drunk wife beaters)
(game players
and cheaters)
and, to me, at least, it seems so cheap
but my idols are now sheep
(and slaves) in this country.
Slaves, for what?

ask not, "what?" but "why?" do you do for your Country!

why do you pledge Alligence?
why do you give them Power?
why do you make their Money?

"if Money is worthless then so are you"
it is not true.
they've taught you this
but you never knew.
(and now you do).

eliminating need for interaction
eliminates protest
eliminates people
(like me)

if your mind is free they detest
(if your hair is grey and your ******* sag
they say "dye" and "lift".)
die and left, the left and right
and all the little wars we fight-
they don't matter with no morality left.

give me equality-
I'll give you my TV.
(DVD, CD, Phone, Plane, Car)

(My Days Will Be Sunny
But Have Fun With Your money.)

Cannibalistic killers
Can at least claim
They were simply trying to sustain
Themselves
On unconventional prey
It's no different than the bush meat trade
What makes you better than a Gorilla?
To me or a cannibalistic killer,
You look pretty tasty...
I'd eat you in a heartbeat.

Oh, will you ever return to me,
My wild first force, will you return
When the old madness comes to
Blacken in me and to burn
Slow in my brain like a slow fire
In a blackened brazier - dull
like a smear of blood,
Humid and hot evil, slow-sweltering
up in a flood!
Oh, will you not come back, my fierce song?
Jubilant and exultant, triumphing over
the huge wrong
of that slow fire of madness that feeds
on me - the slow mad blood
thick with its hate and evil, sweltering
up in its flood!
Oh! will you not purge it from me -
my wild lost flame?
Come and restore me, save me from the
intolerable shame
Of that huge eye that eats into my
Naked body constantly
And has no name,
Gazing upon me from the immense and
Cruel bareness of the sky
That leaves no mercy of concealment
That gives no promise of revealment
And that drives us on forever with its
lidless eye
Across a huge and houseless level of
a planetary vacancy
Oh, wild song and fury, fire and flame,
Lost magic of my youth return, defend
me from this shame!
And Oh! You golden vengeance of bright
song
Not cure but answer to earth's wrong