Me: “Father, I think I would like to pray my own way.”
Priest: “Ha okay (sarcasm), whatever you say, Brian.”
(Priest continues about in ignorance of commentary)
Priest (beginning Vespers): “O God, come to my assistance…”
Me: (beginning Vespers) "O ****, here we go again..."
(Grudgingly submits)

May God
Overflow love
Through you,
Hour after hour.
Every day,
Render love to a weeping-child world!

The support of a hand,
A game-changing palm clasp,
Like a coach to the shoulder pads
Of an athlete.
I don't feel I deserve it,
But I don't want to sway a friendly gesture
Because then do I feel I denied help
Sent my way.
I need that tangible gift,
Whether in a corn maze of doubt
Or in a harvest of success.
It's amazing, it's a grace
To have received at least one someone's hand
Staccato your back, your shoulder,
Even a friendly fist-nudge
That lunges your motivation forward.
How blessed I have been
To have had many people
Non-sensually give what I cannot see
Yet what I perceive indelible:
Their blessing and cheers for me
That I feel when a hand furls 'round my shoulder
And then fades away to let me harness that I.V. of assurance
Injected with sound decision and faith.
For those who never felt this kind of gesture,
Let these words be a pat on your shoulder.
You're doing just fine.

Most of my relatives are distant,
But some have the ability
To bring me into an elevenses of life,
And one particular person
Is my cousin, Teresa.

I call her Terry for short.
That doesn't change how spectacular she is
To me, though!

Terry and her family traditionally visit my family
To ring in the New Year.

This New Year, just on a ten-minute car ride to a local town,
Terry talked to me about her plans for her birthday,
And her favorite books to read as of lately:
Weedly-Deedly (about a nice dragon)
And PuddleBooks, which include children characters
Such as Yolanda Yells-A-Lot.
A year or two backward,
I wouldn't have taken the topic so seriously
As I am one to easily laugh about anything
Depending on what thoughts are in my mind usually.
However, as long as I don't know fully the plot, the scenes
Of what happens in such fiction as the PuddleBooks series,
I am clueless to the lessons and learnings
I could easily miss.
There should be a warning everywhere
Not to look down on what we think we outgrow
As long as lessons are everywhere
For all ages.

There was also a time,
Many moons ago,
When my aunt had the cousins arranged
Seated on a couch
For a picture or two.
I became irritated and uncomfortable
Being claustrophobically shoulder-squished.
Upset, I curled on the floor and cried
In front of everyone in the room.
The first gesture that Terry offered me
Was a hand to pull me up from the carpet,
Of which I accepted,
Like a ***** toward a penetratingly loving Samaritan.

Before my relatives departed today,
My aunt told me how stellar Terry's memory is
And can be.
My aunt backed her claim strongly
By telling me how Terry remembered a quiet morning
Where she and I were the only ones awake
And I made waffles for her.

You don't have to go to a concert
To make special memories.
You're not required to know all
Or be all
To be recognized.
And my cousin Terry, alive and well,
An interactor for sure,
Doesn't need the sky
To be a soul of sunshine.

I
Taking advantage of the milestone age,
Prowling the night by myself,
I pull into an unfamiliar stone ring of parked cars,
Locked the car, and walk-clinked against ground-level stones
Until I pulled the handle of the main door
To my first bar/club entry.
Hesitation and nervousness showed up
When I presented my license identification to the bar staff...
But if they let me in at all,
Suppose I don't give off an adolescent vibe anymore.
Seeing my work boss rock out with his band bros,
Freak Show, turned me from nervousness and silence
Staring at a random TV channel
To responding to Jamie's audience calls,
To dancing like my mom, Robert Barone, and anyone I could think of,
To dancing with other people I never met,
One woman swooning over my self-initiative to dance at all,
And resulted in clogged eardrums
Rock and rolled
Give it time,
This side of me is awakening.

II
After circling Berkeley Springs
And realizing I passed up Hillbilly Heaven bar
[I mistook it for a car dealership],
l crossed the street into a new-to-me adult audience realm.
Outdoor setting, speakers and techno-colored lights,
A mechanical bull available for riding,
*******,
Rock music,
Women grinding each other playfully to the music,
Busts that only my eyes could see to believe,
All under a starry curtain of a sky.

III
Closer to home,
The parking a trick
That took one circular trip to land a legal spot.
Another unroofed setting,
Downed three Sprite sodas,
Pretending to make a pavilion stake
a stripper pole,
dancing slow up-and-down,
Dancing the same stand-still body-rocking moves each song
Only to support the music being brought by Freak Show.
I sat next to a Dr. Pepper co-worker
Who laughed dangerously the entire night I saw him.
I shook my ***** with a stranger woman
Like two Newton ***** clinking each other rhythmically.
Thanks to supporting staff and benefactors!

IV
Taboo Gentlemen's Club,
The security check-in churned my feelings
Into thinking, I was lying,
Lying to myself and to security.
But I wasn't negotiably.
I passed the metal scan
And paid my way in.
Strippers, poles, birthdays
With spanking.
Luxury chairs,
Flying money.
Maybe there's no club I can join,
But there's always room to join the club.

Curveballs can be hit,
But dodgeballs are impossible to dodge.
Comparing dodgeball to a summer’s day?
Shakespeare, try again.
Dodgeball, you are synonymous
To a hellfire confined to a perimeter
That destroys everything it touches,
Especially at summer camps.
I walk away from dodgeball alive,
But dead in self-esteem:
Always getting hit,
And any clever maneuver of mine always seems to be a violation
Of game rules.
Dodgeball, you only fuel my aggression.
When I am the only one in play,
And see beyond the half court line
Stronger, more agile and athletic demons
Ready to pelt their confidence against my hope,
My mind defaults to “bad-sport” ideas
And just wants to get the match over with,
Lose or win.
With a POW!
Or even the slightest brush of orb to skin,
I give in
And have to wait until opposing victory cheers melt
Before grudgingly submitting to a pointless rematch
That tortures me, vaccinates me with sulky feelings.
Crying over spilled milk is negotiable,
But I cannot undo the rash from the whiff of a dodgeball
By screaming “That’s so not fair!”
Instead, I force out good sportsmanship,
My eyes wincing, my throat and mind hardening
In the struggle to keep vengeance contained.
If only the interest in dodgeball would cease
And suffocate on the taste of its own humiliation.
Boy, would I ever love to burn some dodgeball rubber.

I hate it,
Firmly hate it,
And have hated it,
When I feel I have to answer
For people constantly.
Once is fine,
But a thousand needs a heavier
Addressing.

Arms folded,
People look around the room,
Nothing happens.
Don't we realize
We have more power
Than the scary proctor's
Presence?

People, listen.
Me, listen.
If you think you're going
To passively make a difference
In life,
You're *******.

No one wants to get in trouble,
It's a psychological withdrawal from privilege
As much as physical.

But think of all the people who "got in trouble"
To make history what it is.
Wouldn't you agree that most historical
And acclaimed/notorious events
Around the world
Took place
Because someone
"Got in trouble"?

If Jesus didn't "get in trouble",
Would Christians and Jesus-followers
Feel the faith of salvation
As strongly
Had Jesus not thought his words through?

Would Nelson Mandela
Have sent a message
To the apartheid crisis
Had he not
"Gotten in trouble,"
Handing over
Most of his rightful life's longevity?

Would protestors
Have overthrown rules
And unprincipled ideas
Or even made new ideas known
Had they not
"Gotten in trouble?"
****** revolution,
Women's rights,
Addressing racism,
Achieving justice from unruly assassinations,
World War II,
Kent State shooting.

Would brilliant minds and workers
Have achieved their roles in life
Had they not experienced
"Troublesome" times?

It's important to get in trouble,
Rather, most times,
It's the only way to a resolution.
If we never stole that cookie
From the cookie jar,
Yelled at mom or dad,
Failed to study,
Called someone a nasty name,
Fussed over mom or dad
Helping to dress us in early years,
Misspelled words,
Missed goals
Like soccer, basketball, football
Goals.
If we never drove
Along a road restricted,
If we never hopped a fence,
Tossed a ball in a neighbor's yard.
If we never procrastinated,
If we never cost our team(s)
The game, the victory.
If we never felt behind,
Overslept, dragged.
If we never whined about work,
People, transportation, relaxation,
If we never pouted about not getting
What was desired,
Or if someone forgot what we said,
Or the other way around
In however long of a time span.
If we never admitted...

Now this can be the biggest trouble:
Keeping reserved can alter time
In larger ways than we realize.
Point being, if life were perfect
Up to a certain point in time,
Then no one would know
How to react positively
To an error.
One of the underrated reasons
Why all the good things are
How they are
Is because of errors
Molded over time.

People will react
To reactions
As if they shouldn't have happened:
"Why are you crying? Stop crying!"
"Quit arguing with me!"
Yeah, I've had emotions come out
Plenty of times.
But I don't want to care if people look at me the same or not,
Change comes in many forms,
And change isn't always pleasant

Errors are obviously obvious
Everywhere.
But how can we know how each of us thinks
If there's no conflict or tension?
I am not saying I am for trouble,
Just find peace in troubles of all sizes.
Maybe we/I should come back to the basics more often
To understand the trouble sort of peace.

You were much more than a church-goer,
Much of your history floated under my nose,
But I realize now and am honored to have known you.

You served in the Navy,
At the Bay of Pigs in 1963.
I also read through the names of people
Who loved you and continue to hold your name in high regard, in faith.

You were a loyal, local church attendee,
You were always willing to volunteer during liturgies.
The fact that you would talk to my parents each week
And, in future years, also becoming my friend,
Showed how much you loved my family,
Which made you family, regardless of the sporadic times my family and I saw you.

I’d always round the right
To walk into the vestibule.
There you’d be, not intending to harass,
But to make me laugh and see
Sundays as a celebration of community
Rather than a somber type of solemn atmosphere.

To me, you are an insignia of St. Leo church
Being one of the first figures I’d link to the parish title.
I also cannot forget how,
When I began wearing ties to church,
You’d wrap the tongue of my tie(s) in your grasp:
“Let’s have a tie party,” you’d chuckle
As I tried mutely laughing back in the sacristy
Where silence was enforced, but you challenged the norm
And went against the tide of rules, remaining true
To your person, being an example for me
As I struggle to, like you, remain true to who I am.

May the halls of everlasting peace
Welcome you, Dan Desmond.

Don’t love poetry
Because you’re on a hot writing streak;
Love poetry because you love poetry
And poetry loves you back
In all obstacles, times of staring into space,
And inspirational thoughts and ideas.
Love poetry because of the partnership
Between you, the author, and poetry, the bioluminescence
Of the literate ocean.

Don’t love life
Because you think you’re living the best one.
All lives are unique;
How troublesome it is
To consume time in chasing what only others
Can see and do accordingly.
Outside of being instructed,
Work, any kind of daily routine,
Create your own steps
Not by “hitting it big-time”
But humbly walking where you are
And embrace the sights right where you are
Because even the tiptoes of a journey
Lead you forward and allow you time,
Not for all views, but at least seeing one ordinary view
As glitzier than glitz itself.

Don’t love anything
If the reason you do is to impress anyone or everyone.
When you do what you do,
The truth will strain the ones who scoff
But leave you with the one(s) who see your heart
In what you do.
Live. Be open. Respond. Love. Stand your ground.
You’ll be surprised what or who comes around.

America, America
Your forests dense and lush;
And yet they are so quiet,
Like they told everything "hush"!

America, America
Some of her rivers calm and blue;
They are extensive and reach out
To places near you!

America, America,
Your people intelligent and brave;
Some of us are so adventurous,
We camp out in a cave!

America, America,
How your mountains may vary;
Some may be rocky, some may be snowcapped,
Some may be extraordinary!

Alas, I have finished,
There is no more for me to say;
But always remember,
There is no place like the USA!

When the earthen season of fall arrives,
I fall with the leaves;
I don't descend in spiraling motions,
But drown easily
Into the fogginess of what's next.
Hopefully, the leaf that takes my place
Will make up for my err in the air.

Zooms
Across life's mountains,
Not focussing on the mountains to overcome, but
Achieving each peak's goal,
Running with courage and strength
Into a setting sun that awaits its impending rising again.

My audience in my head
Always expecting a thrill from me.
I even imagine a cartoon youth
Sitting at a desk and doing nothing
But writing out the actions of my life
As they occur.
I could only imagine
What the audience in my mind
Thinks of my life up to this point!
What would they critique or suggest I adjust?
My sound?
My setting?
Yes, how can I satisfy my imagination
Instead of my own person using my imagination?

The people,
The land,
The waters,
The opportunity,
The selflessness,
The confidence,
The change,
The error,
The sights,
The air
Can form any terrain's person and pride
Into something magnificent county-wide!

I can't always run,
But my hiding's not too bad.

A former boss told me
To stay longer for a work shift.
My lips said yes,
But my mind said "Hell no!"
Clocked out,
Casually stepped outside;
Upon passing the host window,
I blitzed to the car, fidgetted with my keys nervously,
And whirred the blazes out of that parking lot.

Each New Year of mine has begun with relatives
Crashing at my family house.
This 2019, I take the interstate back home
To be around the out-of-state.
It's been a long-lasting tradition
And I did what I could
To break apart from that tradition
Even just this time.

At a bar on New Year's Eve 2018,
I relaxed after having made prior reservations,
Just me,
And having moseyed away from family
For just one night.
I'd go to this bar again too:
**** dancing, stellar drinks, young blood...
**** dancing.
Didn't mean to be a Scrooge and mostly not dance,
But at least I escaped and saw new faces around me.

The escape that is never too far away
And is always open around the clock
Is my journal book.
A journal doesn't have to have continents,
Oceans or clouds
To be a world
That revolves around the author.
Natural the paper,
Preserving the pen[cil].

I'm not implying
That I escape this world,
But what a world there is
In escapism.

Can I do it?
Can I look at words and notes
And study the choir director's motions
All at the same time
While barking a joyful noise?

Can I make the cut?
Can I better zoom in on the areas
That need vocal attention?
Sure, I know this is not my life path,
But I want church choir
To be something new in my life.
To say I did it?
Okay.
But it will certainly not end on that note
For sure.

Though coming from imagination,
I don’t wish to impede on any income regardless;
But wouldn’t it be nice,
Across all identifications and statuses
And beyond an average allowance cap,
If anyone and everyone
Could be compensated more largely for living?

Paid by the hour
Upon rising from slumber.
Or given a salary
For doing some laundry.

How about a Jackson
Every time the dishes are scrubbed?
Or a score of Lincolns
When through with the school day?

Waited in line?
A Benjamin’s just fine!
Picked up the dry-cleaning?
A Grant has a nice ring!

If dreams can come true,
Why not this one for me and you?

Red-Winged Blackbird

Here you are again, in the chain-link fence.
It's the same every day as I pass by
heading home--you perched there.
Are you waiting for someone?
Do you, like me, wonder what's next?

I'm often on the fence, too. Each day
I pray for success for my six children.
I can't rest until they are on their own,
thriving.  My wife is the same.
We keep our eyes on hope.

Blackbird, you neither sow nor reap,
nor gather into barns.  Do you question,
each day, how you will feed your family?

People urge me to write a will.
It's inevitable, but I feel responsible.
I want to be here for them.  I still talk
to my parents and am pretty sure they listen.

I don't know if you, blackbird, contemplate
these things each day like me.
I'll swing by again tomorrow.

When the night silently whooshes
Over the sky,
It becomes that time of day,
The time to recline
And watch Dwayne Chapman and friends
Apprehend the wanted and charged
In the Hawaiian splotches of land.
Every cut to commercial
Happens at the ****** of each episode,
Starving the soul for what might happen...
When really the cut-scene continues
With less action than Beth, Dwayne,
Leland, Sonny, Cleo,
And Baby Lyssa may stir before a break.
Cars, cameras, and people
Move in hot-pursuit.
And thus the setting of the TV series
Isn't the only dimension
Captured.

Acquaintance: "Brian, if you ever need anything, let me know, okay?"

Brian's thoughts: "Sure, but you only say that to boast that you're a kind person. Sure kind persons don't always have to act right away, but I can sure as hell see you not being there for me.

There I am,
The first light pole,
Waiting for my ride.
I wave to a few,
And receive consolation
For a life struggle.

There I am,
The second light pole,
Under the shade of a green canopy of leaves.
I receive a greeting of consolation
By a friendly whack of a paper bulletin
Ruffled up into a conic shape.

There I am,
On a rock,
And my ride is here.

Here I am
Spending nights at school.
Seeing scenes and sights
That are everyday
But that I don't see every day.
I feel like I need to return the favor
For feeling good.

Oh wait...

I am in debt already.
Even though there aren't signs
Everywhere
Telling me that my grace period is fleeting,
I know the consequence of feeling good
And doing something for me.

Where there's good felt,
There's a bad waiting to co-mingle,
Such is the yin-yang
That shapes a circulating balance of events.

I sit to stare at a nice small brick waterfall outside
The education building,
But I'm still walking debt.

I jog around campus
Air crisp, the sun only seen by final red luminaries,
The feel of the seasonal conversion
From summer to fall...
But I'm jogging debt at this point.

I enjoy my meal plan food,
Good-tasting food I'll admit
In my own opinion,
Getting my fill of a surrounding
Variety of eats...
But each step is a step toward the realization
And back-hunching weight of debt.

I enjoy sitting at a swivel desk
At all my classes
And meeting and talking with new people...
But all at the expense of debt's presence.

I have my own room and
Free ride on the public transit...
But knowing that someday there will be a price
For all this.

The pleasure of seeing campus' sexiest women
Will also crumble
At debt's feet...

Debt to friends,
Debt to pay back the school
In currency and by achieving
The education I am pursuing
And hope to keep with.

Listening to music
While running the track,
Shooting hoops,
In my dorm,
Lifting weights,
All to the tune
Of D-E-B-T.

Again, it's all worth it though.
As of today, this is what I've been craving,
What my spirit sought as freedom.

Loans, debt,
Reimbursement,
Costs, expenses,
Purchases,
I escape these words in fun and fascination,
But I will feel the fleeting effects.
Fun makes time fly
And debt is never late.

But suppose there was no debt at all:
No debt to self or anywhere or
To anyone besides.
If exchange was only a fantasy,
Then there would be no incentive
For the societal life,
And freedom may as well
Be isolation.

Debt gives me something to work for
So that life isn't just handed to me.
There are things I should avoid,
But if I can't,
That doesn't mean life ends,
Rather here would be an indication
That my life story isn't supposed to
Achieve the norm.

Maybe the debt can be forgiven,
But only at the debtor's expense.

If even the smallest hint of lust is a deadly sin,
Then I already have my foot in the grave.
There’s no turning back:
The notion of *** surrounds my reality
And caresses my mind,
Rules my dreams.

*** toys with my manly nature:
Foxy cheerleaders,
Gentlemen’s clubs,
Attractive college students,
Glitzy pop artists;
Lyrics of seductive songs about pleasing arousals.

When the word “***” rolls off the tongue,
I am left fidgety and weak.
The most interesting ****** account, I perceive,
Is Eve and the serpent,
Given a serpent isn’t necessarily human,
And Eve wasn’t portrayed as slithering.
*** and snake fit together because of this tale in Eden:
The serpent flirts with Eve, messing with her ****** response
To a certain seduction.
Ssssssss! Says the serpent.
[When people hold the “ess” in saying “***” as a snake,
My guard sags as if my body readies itself for ***.]
Imagine the serpent hissing at Eve,
Winding slowly about the trunk of the tree,
As though suffocating the knowledge in the forbidden tree.
Its eyes glued to Eve,
Her naked body giving in not to the serpent’s verbal abuse of ***,
But to making mouthy contact with the taboo, savory pome sensation.
The serpent may as well have also added, “Don’t worry…God won’t know about thisssss.”

Guard the pawns,
Forward the rooks,
Center the knights,
Queen comes on a ‘coach,
Beware of the King [James]
Who can put you in check
With an ankle-breaker
You’ll not soon forget!

Talking is an art,
The more talking done,
The lesser the fear of talking
At all,
Whether alone, in front of close acquaintances,
Or toward individuals unknown
And nonexistent before.
Admittingly, talking can be overdone
Like chard stew,
And talking on top of people…
Well, it cannot be helped,
But no one will receive a Pulitzer for it.
Unless if a “good idea” sounds from one
And ices the agreement cake.
But beware of those ideas you wish to verbally patent
In front of a gathering,
For if you only wish,
You may end up falling into the abyss
Of a silence that traps not your mouth,
But your will to speak, evaporating your words and
Ideas that might have bravely forwarded discussion.
Vanity, thy name is Groupthink:
What talk might arise next
When no talk arose at all?

Sure, there are events
That mnemonically make sense,
But the entirety of that day, yes,
Slips as we take new steps
Toward the promised morning beyond our essence.
Trials become more, we grow to become less,
Something we need not confess,
For it cannot be concealed, even in our code of dress.
There are groans for the day to cease and those for the day to onward press,
How can this opinionized split be reconciled? Unless
Our own lives we assess
And remember those moments that still impress
Our minds and attitudes, this can we address.
When the day and our remembrance
Of it seem to fade in all hopelessness
Of retrieval, remember at least the happiness
That kissed you in distress,
That lifted you like incense.
A quintessence
Of what it’s like being on the fence
When time unleashes an offense
In weak defense
Against what we hold nevertheless
Not with hands, but with dense
Feelings, those with irreplaceable innocence.

New poems are great to write
But even previous writes still have lessons and meanings
That even the author didn’t quite uncover.

Downloadable music is efficient and convenient
When certain physical technology cannot be found
Or obtained.
Yet an LP gets a previous generation to see
That music from any time and for all occasions
Is just as much accepted
Than the “latest” or “most trending” iTunes release.

eBooks can act like a portable library
For those who love a good book, newspaper, etc.
But seeing many paged, hardbound or paperback books
Helps readers to remember the quantity of a collection
And the discipline of organization
Rather than having a tablet always ready for on-the-go
When sometimes the only place to go
Is a living-room couch or dining-room table.

Video games are quick-advancing
And the various virtual realms are eye-capturing
And free-from-reality.
But sometimes there are times
Unfocused from technology
That are just as much an escape from reality
Such as a walk in the park,
Biking along a mildly-breezy, clear-skied beach boardwalk,
Claiming front-row seats to a basketball game,
Or playing croquet, if that’s your forte.

Ingrid Bergman
Or Rod Carew
Even the old
Can rise anew!

If a picture’s worth a thousand words,
Then a window contains a library.
A window is set apart
From any canvas or oil painting.
You can see artistic scenes through a window,
Unlike most other art forms, which, of course, can be windows,
But they lack an outside,
A tangible and believable portal,
Sustaining the natural need of an environmental presence
Even within closed confines.
A student seated in a classroom with windows
Is more likely to gaze out a window
(Imagining escape, perhaps?)
Than to glance at even the best possible art around the interior space.
One purpose of art is escape,
And windows are a visual escape from where we are,
Luring us with the bait of what stares beyond.
Like all art, be a steward to windows,
Keep them clean and free from breath fogs.
Be grateful that a window
Gives you a view and protection from any disturbance
That may hinder your admiration.
Take advantage of a windows feature:
Open them up!
Feel the wind of the art on the other side!

A bishop accused of ****** harassment,
My behavior out of control:
Screaming, frustration, anxiety-anger,
No girlfriend
Even with the effort,
Pushing others aside,
Welcoming new ideas
But later parasitizing their freshness
By shunning those too,
New people
That become not-so-new
Annoying me,
Hospitalized,
The strain of the workforce.
Fine, the rest of the world can handle it,
But there's something in me that just can't
Win, that can't hold up my person.
Looks like it's back to square one...

I descend the hallway stairs
As the only motion this morning
In dormant passages and space.
Sweatband tightens around my head's
Circumference.
With water in me, I am ready
Yet my mind explodes thoughts
To have me reconsider my determination
To exercise.
Following disorganized stretches,
I trot and pant away,
With the intention of completion in mind
But the burden of self-propelling in sweat.
The sun follows me every foot-length
Like a security camera always operating
And constantly watching.
Only in this case, if I stop running,
I am caught and burned.

Not all things are perfect,
I am aware of that,
But there are days where I cannot seem to get by
Without soft-breathing in exhaustion
An “Oh ****…”
Or giving a “******”
A talking volume
When few or none are around
To scold me with their ears.
What, haven’t you heard “***” outside
Of TV sitcoms before?
Or "****" aside from around a college campus?
I still get reactions when these words are overheard
From my lips,
Though it’s my life,
And these words have a recurring frequency.
These words are not only a stress-reliever
For someone like me,
But simultaneously a linguistic culture,
A communicative temptation,
Yet also having a dominating expression,
Commanding no only attention
But seriousness.
Fine, do what you want,
Hurl my soul to eternal shame and torture,
But a “curse-ed” day is like a chimney,
Letting out the smoke
Of energy that powers my motivation and forwardness.

O Brian,
Why are you in despair?
The sun still shines behind the clouds
And you still inhale air.

O Brian,
Your life is in strife;
Despair your partner,
Exhaustion your wife.

O Brian,
What can you do?
Your efforts are empty,
The old still vanquishes the new.

O Brian, Brian,
Where’s your support?
Do you have friends?
Someone to court?

O Brian,
Your thoughts are confused;
One idea opposes another,
You are being used.

O Brian, Brian,
Take a breath;
Before you wear out
And collapse in death.

O Brian, Brian,
If anything is a guide,
Let it be unbounding
Until on true freedom you glide!

It doesn't feel right
To be angry,
To be sad,
To have envy.
We want to just have
Peaceful, happy living.

But they are called emotions for a reason:
It's not just the happy and hopeful,
It's also the dark and scary,
The distracted and tired.

It has been said
That the body is a "field of sensation."
A field may have an abundance of the same produce,
But different sections
Can receive different presence.
Presence...

Living in the present
Does not mean that everything will be fine,
Yet also does not necessarily mean vice versa
Either.

When a wrong isn't done toward a party,
When wrong is only pumped inside the body,
The body feels balanced and cleansed
For when the happy feelings return.

If foxes have holes
And birds nests,
So wrongs share a duplex with rights
In the body's quarters.
After all, did not life
Originate from darkness itself?

After seconds of cranium rehearsal,
I think I know how I will say what I want,
Until it happens far from how I planned to say it.
****, it sounded so much better in my head.

Ever had those dastardly homework problems
Where either the answers were in a far-out stratosphere
Or you just couldn’t summon a strategy
To go about the problem logically?
What if I  j u s t  t o o k  a  p e….
Hey!  No looking at the answers!
Whack! Goes the “ruler” scepter against studying surface.
What did I do?
What did you do?
I didn’t know what to do,
And no one was around to help me.
But I knew where the answers were,
And I was flipping toward the index of answers.
Okay, maybe the index doesn’t tell me how the answer makes sense,
But I need the answer(s)!
Or else I’m here all day,
Wondering when I will officially finish
The chronology of academic problems ordered in the exercise.
It’s not like I’m taking a test, right?
I mean, it’s studying.
Am I the only one that has ever peeked at answers
Or gone astray in the school day?
I just want to know…
I don’t want to sit here forever,
Because I will not stand for this.
I don’t already have the knowledge;
If I did, I wouldn’t be looking up the answer,
And I wouldn’t be fully human.
Please let me take a peek!
Promise I’ll understand! Promise!
For if I can’t peek at the answer,
It’ll be even more of a problem unsolvable!

Loss
Of
Virginity
Exclusively.

A pioneer
Is one to plunge its own nature
Into the unknown unnatural,
Such as Daniel Boone and the woods,
Or a **** sprouting
Between the crannies of gravel.

I ask you questions
To get answers
And to better understand
So I don't seem nervous;
Yet I am still uneasy
Because I am prepared to fail
Rather than succeed.