the politics
dance,
they dance
in open forums
everywhere.

they dance,

they dance
gayly with
rainbow flags
in hand.

they dance with
pistols strapped
to the hip and
bullets with
hollow point
tips.

until...

until each and
every democrat
donned their
pink puxxy
hats.

and they
danced on
the graves
of all murdered
babies they chose
not to save.

the politics stop
dancing
when the
heathens stop
perfectly healthy
babies from
breathing.

one day i hope
that my
political dance
will find these
heathen's graves
of which i will
stomp upon
and not prance.

our parts
are
mostly
universal
sure...

our
outsides
are :

"you've seen
one,
you've seen
them all."

which IS
beyond truth.

remember
though,

that's not
what makes
you....
you.

you are
so much
more
than that,
so much more !

unique to you?

it's your soul
that
makes you....
you.

it makes
you
attractive,
it makes
you unattractive.

keep your
soul
beautiful.

feed it love,
feed it caring,
feed it sharing,
feed it
properly and...
people will
watch you
grow,
watch you
glow.

your soul
is not
universal.

your soul
is the
truest you.

like
diamonds,
your
image
sparkles,
glistens
upon the
water's
calmed
surface.

i may
liken
your
beauty
to diamonds
but ....

your
value
to me
is worth
more than
the most
flawless
diamond.

you
my love...

i love
as deep
as the
deepest
ocean.

when i
see
your
image
shimmering
upon
the calmed
water's
surface,

i always
want to
dive
deeper
and
deeper
and
drown
myself
in your
love.

Mmmmmm

love me
please,

please
love me
before
i drown....

a tortured soul that
makes themself
a visionary through
a long,
boundless,
and
systematized disorganization
of
all the senses

poetry died,

when you died.

i **** myself
a little more
every day,

knowingly.

my suicide note,

my dear john,
has long been
in my
poetic verse,

for those that
are keen enough
to comprehend.

I wondered about wondering -

And then,

I wondered some more -

Is death, death -?

Or is death, birth -?

Do birds fly because they have wings -?

Or do birds fly because Jesus is beneath their wings, or both-?

Is tomorrow the first of never -?

Or is tomorrow the first of forever -?

Do words pierce skin as a keen sword -?

Or are words as mighty as the pen that brings them to life -?

Or the mind that never stops wondering about them -?

I wonder -

he was
not fragile
like a snowflake.

he was
fragile
like a bomb.

and they....
didn't know
which was scarier-

his;
                                                  ­      ­   explosion
or
his calm.

within
every five
inhalations
of life,

there is a
new muse.

if,
i am
that sand
in
the hourglass?

i,
am a beach.

i grasp
what i can
out of
every last
moment.

i squeeze
and i squeeze
till the
moment
lies dormant.

tomorrow
might be
news of
cancer,
it may be
my today's
last day.

shadows may
fight the sun,
and blue skies
are overcome
by the grey.

just a
passer by
saying hi,
listening to
a new born
baby cry...

i never want
to leave
a moment
wondering
what if
or why.

growing up
  without
a father was
in fact,
   the most
painful
  experience
of my
      

     life.

these are
  wounds that
  never heal.

scars that,
   you can't see.

a lifelong pain,
   just for

      me.

as you
   brush by me,

we attract-

   pull to one
another
   like magnets.

our gravitational
   pull
has me
     rigid
as we....

  

unintentionally/ intentionally
   orbit
one another.

  and like
neodymium
  magnets,

once joined
  together,

it will
  take
heaven....
    to pull
us
    apart.

guess what?

you are dying
    at this
moment.

    we all
are.

      you can't
run,
       you can't
hide.

                  and,

   i won't apologize
for sounding,
      so 'grave'.

we are
like puzzle
   pieces that,

   perfectly
fit together.

    but,
what happens
        when,

  one of us
is lost?

change...

green grass,
dead grass.

what lies
on the
other side
of the fence?

i crane
i jump but
i can't see.

nostradamus
liked change
when it was
absolutely
meant to be.

change...

not to be
confused with
that of which
sits in
my pocket.

but change,
change of which
obama spoke of
and failed like
an unflyable rocket.

change....

like how
people change
partners because
they need
something "fresh"
something new.

change...

can be
good but...
change can be
devastating too.

the unwanted
copperish hue
rusts and
corrodes
what
once
appeared as
a
silvery
imperishable
deathless
mainstay.

remember;

nothing
lasts
forever
including
today.

the
sage lines
upon
your face...
just like
those rusty
copperish hues
will also
be gone
one day.

I invite
old and weary
death,
into my home
every day.

Death is brittle
and non threatening.

Death sits,
and enjoys a
cup of coffee
with me as
death rocks
in my rocking chair.

We sat in
"dead silence"
and just sized
one another up.

After finishing
our coffee,
death wearily
rose its feet.

Death paced the
room for a moment and then
turned its back
to me and walked
towards my
front door.

As death exited
the threshold
of my home I....

I shouted out
to death,
"I guess that I
will see you again tomorrow?
I'll be sure to
have the coffee on".

the crow,
as black as
the ink
in newspapers
of yore...

rests on
a mountain
of white snow
along side
the
busy,
oft'
traveled
highway
of route #66.

as the
crow spreads
its wings
and
takes
flight,

for a few
moments
i live in
an old school
world
of only
black
and white.

every day
we do things

things.. .

many things.

we stand back
  in admiration
of some of
  these things.

we accomplish,
  feel accomplished.. .
other times not so much.

   every day
we do these
   things,

just to die
  and leave
these things
    to a world
filled with more people
chasing these things,
filled with things that in
the end means
noTHING!

and your things
  now?

now they are
someone else's
things.

death is also
a thing to do
that will leave
  your things
in the same place
  that you
left them
  before you died.

to summarize;

we pile/stack up
  things

we pile/stack them up
to use as our
  stairs.....

stand upon
   them... ..

to climb up

     eventually,
to heaven.

after

                taking your

         last breath,

   what happens

                   next?

new year,
  same prison cell.
new decade,
  same hell.

new year,
  same as yesterday.
   new decade,
same fate.

new year,
  life's meaning
lost its virginity.
new decade,
  still the same
old destiny.

"Men do not live on a pile of excuses.
Men live on a pile of results."

and
now...
the end
of
another
year.

another
year
in the
'proverbial'
rear-view
mirror.

they
come
and go
now-
for me
without
much
care.

another'new year'
looking
at me-
just
standing
there.

resolutions
made
by many
that
are
regurgitated
clichès
spoken
by
bottles of
liquor
and beer.

literally
uttered
in pubs
and
bars...
here
there,
everywhere.

but
yes,
i guess..

it
once
again
will
be
a
"new year".

and
once
again
by
midnight-

i'll
be
nestled
in bed
good
and tight-

just
like
any other
night
with
a smile
of
great
delight.

forgetting
the
world
and its
menacing,
regrettable
dark
light,

putting
it out
of mind
and
sight...

until
first
awakened
breath
at.....

daybreak's
first
light.

so yes,

  it is indeed
    going
to be a
  new year,
new decade.

but;

  what oh what
in this life
   has pushed you
to fade?

  please don't
blame others
  when you alone
choose your fate.

slow your
  life down,
be rid of
    the haste.

a new decade,
  a new year
and you
  still will not
blame you.

  keep lying
to yourself and
  unhappiness
will continue
   sticking
to you
     like glue.

listen y'all:

  you don't need
a new year
    or decade
to change whom
  you wish
to be.

a change
  in year
means nothing
  if you put
asterisks on
   your conditions
of being free.

i literally
  write poetry
that people
   are so proud
to put up
   as memes
you understand?

i guess that
  memes are for
shorter,
    i want it now
  attention spans?

with me?
  you will
never get
   it now!

anticipation
  and foreplay
with words
  is who i am,
my vow.

there's
  absolutely
no fun
  in what
comes easy.

what's best
  is the thrill
of the chase
  and some
  lip licking
teasing.

when
  we know that,
something is
   killing us.

what is
  our fascination
to keep
  touching it?

still there?

precious time
  was stolen
from me
  with someone
that i loved
  very much.

stolen
  from me
by someone
  who's time
  together,
i don't deem
  "precious"
at all.

he's gone.

while they're
still here.

   which,
only
angers me,
    pushes me
to resent
  more.

the irony
  of which
i write this
  with is
    literally
maddening.

  there's no
jeckyll,
   there's no
hyde.

there's my
  reality
not
  schizophrenia.

i know what
  i lived
and i know
  what is
too hard
    to forget.

   that knife
has gone through
  my chest,
through my heart
  and out
my back far
  too many times
to count.

resentful is
  a modest word
in exclamation
  of my feelings.

apologies
  be ******.
there is no right
  for the wrong
that i am
forced to
  have live
     within me,
  day after day
after night
   after night.

thanks for
  the memories
that murdered
  my soul
long long ago.

i'll be
  hard pressed
to find a
  tear for you.

perhaps
  forgiven,
perhaps.

   but never
forgotten.

Sleeping
Under
Night

the emotions
  evoked by
clouds,

should
never
  be
under-'precipitated'.

that cloud,
  right there.

the one
that always
drifts away
  from others
and their
  mundane
    colors and
rituals.

that cloud
  right there
doesn't mimic
  the tired old
zombietic lines;

merry Christmas
happy birthday
happy new year
blah blah blah
and blaaaaah.

why?
  
right there,
   that cloud
is not a zombie.

it's beyond
  bored of
triviality and
  predictability.

  the more
that cloud,
  right there,

exists in
the sky,

   the more that
it wants to
   drift away from
the ones that
  all look the same.

i don't wish to
  cover up
the warmth
   of the sun but,

then again,
  i don't ever
get a chance to
   because....

the clouds that
  all look and
sound the same,
have blocked
  the sun from
shining on me
  for my entire
existence.

  that cloud,
right there?

 it holds
    torrential
rains...

it holds a
     billowing
   storm
  with his name.

hopefully,
  it won't downpour
years of thunder
  and lightning
over you.

that cloud,
  right there
is me.

that one cloud
   in an otherwise
cloudless sky.

advice
from ghosts
is advice
worthy of a
  cemetary's
ghost hunt.

now,

now for
one day,

just about
everyone
  puts on
a disguise.

a mask,

  a Christmas
mask.

it literally
   makes me
sick to
   my stomach.

folks
more fake,
  than a
$3 bill.

  "merry
Christmas"
   they exclaim
through their
mask.

  
   me?

i'd rather
see your
   real face.

like the one
  i'm sure
to see the
   day after
Christmas.

spare me
  the clichèd
greetings that
  are purely
robotic and
  to be blunt,
....
  nauseating.

sweet Jesus
  brace me
  because soon
after this,

the
   "happy
new year"
  defecation
is next.

the
  "new year -
new me"
  prevaricators.

  the
resolution
   makers
that make me
   wanna puke.

wanna be
   different?

  make a
resolution
   and keep
it to
   yourself....
thanks.

ev'ry "holiday,"
birthday,
all in sum,
my soul feels
cold, it feels
so numb.

as they pass
i stand and
applaud,
it brings me
closer and
closer
to God.

my company
sits in misery,
i suggest you
stay away.
this wretched
soul forever
in battle with
torture,
will never
be okay.

alone i aspire
to be ....

because
truthfully,

the only one
that can
make me happy
is me.

my
everlasting
inward war
is something
of which,
i will never
be free.

the winter's
  trees
stand as barren
  as a soul
in search of
    stimulation.

far to many
  humans are
only capable
  of living in
one moment
   at a time.

where as i
  live in
many,
  so many
moments
  at once.

especially those
  that have
yet to have
     even
  happened.

A fractured spirit as a child.
Divorced parents.
A Saturday father.
A jealous mother of happy time spent with our father.
What very little time that was.
For me it was never close to enough.
That precious time was reduced even more.
I missed and needed my daddy.
But mom didn't care, her feelings were clearly more important than a fragile child.
After being dropped off by our father there were times of mental and physical unwanted unnecessary uncomfortableness.
All I wanted was time with my daddy but it became scarce, because our father did not want us subjected to that type of behavior any longer from a jealous woman.
Fractured spirit led to a fractured heart.
Part of my heart was so loving and warm.
The larger part was so cold and so bitter.
Which has led to a fractured tormented soul especially after losing my daddy a few short years ago one March day.
Watching my daddy suffer first hand from stage IV lung cancer opened up old and new wounds.
It fractured my mind.
It fractured my very essence of being.
Why is my existence completely fractured ?
Why was it after watching my father get so abusively tortured by cancer did I and do I feel so broken and unrepairable ?
Perhaps it's because I want the same fate as my daddy and I won't feel whole ever again until I do.
I've never been a truly happy person since my father left us as children.
I've never been whole, ever, and I never will be.
I drag my fractured existence through year after year since my daddy's passing.
Never caring, even a little if I myself was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer
tomorrow.
Selfish?
Perhaps.
But that cold and bitter part of my heart doesn't care much about selfishness.
It only cares about the exhaustive numbing pain it has dragged around for nearly 50 years.
As other layers of guilt with other separate affairs of my fractured heart have been added throughout these painful years, life if I am to be honest, has almost become a nuisance.
Crowds of people I avoid because my cold bitter heart trusts no one.
Outside of my home I venture only because I have to, to support the family I created.
Otherwise my fractured being I would keep in my home away from a world I almost despise and sometimes loathe.
Money does not make me happy.
Love does not make me happy.
Nothing will ever make the bigger piece of my fractured heart happy.
It's north pole cold and it will never be warmed until I suffer as my daddy did and I finally leave this place called Earth that I look at as hell.
I only need to leave my home for one day to realize that this really is hell on earth.
Until I can get away from the ignorance...
the I I I I I ...
the selfishness of just about every human being I encounter everyday I will never be happy.
When I see my daddy's face and Jesus's face is when my fractured heart will become whole once again and when I will finally allow myself to be happy.....at long last.
I can't wait to know even something as simple and taken for granted as being/feeling whole.... I can't wait to know how that feels because I never have.
A whole heart from me would be absolutely angelic.
A heart that Jesus has longed to see whole too, i'm sure of it.

in a
  mirror,

your eyes
  are the

hungry
    language
of love

a softly
woven fabric,

so finely woven
together
in various hues
that mimic
your soft
inviting
delicious lips.

warming,
  like your
lips and
curvacious body on
   a winter's
night beside
  the fire
as they
  intertwine
with mine.

   you,

    you
wear flannel
  and flannel
becomes
   mesmerizing...

breathtaking,
  and loses its
harder edge.

   when you
wear,
   only flannel?

it makes
  more than
just the
    edges hard.

"Flannel"

i'll never use
the phrase
'lol'.
it's just not
in me to be
one of
the crowd.

i'd rather use
the phrase
haha.
that lol stuff
reminds me
of sheep in
the meadow....
baaaa...baaaaaa

not trying
to be cruel,
just always
being me.
but,
lol reminds me
of exclamations
at a child's
birthday party.

ever since
the rage took
hold i went
the other way.
i'll never
conform,
i simply was
never raised
that way.

i know that
most of you
think it's all
just too
darned cutsie.
just like
all of those
regurgitated
"refried memes".

i'm the man
that will
always stand
away from
the crowd,
alone if
i must.
unlike you
all bound
together,
i will never
rust.
and in myself
i thoroughly,
wholeheartedly
trust.

why in
God's name
would I want
to be
the "in crowd"
or
like you?
naw,
no thanks,
you
people can
sell yourself
while to me....

I always
remain true.

like a
  tree,

all that
   i want
to do
     is....

"leave"
and,

    have my
branches....

     stretch to
    
             reach
  the

heavens.

your heart
  and your eyes
  choose
which human
   makes your....

pulse race,
    
your palms sweat,

   and butterflies
gather abundantly
   in your stomach.

attraction,

   magnetism,

gravitational pull.

they are all
  out of
your control.

your heart
   speaks
loudest.

with a
    deep breath
he inhaled
  the
christmas
  lights
and snow
    as he drove
in the dark
  with a
broad smile.

  the next
morning,
   he was
dead.

the mountains
  would never
move for me

so,

i had to
  climb,

each and
  every one
and then,

exhaustingly...

   scale down
the
    other side.

mountain
   after
mountain... ..

   made a man
out of
  a little boy.

life,
   is not easy
to survive
  for little boys.

little boys:

  might i
suggest,

  climbing a
mountain
     or two.

wet are
the
winds of
missing,
of...
sadness.

the winds
speak of
pain,
of
throated
screams.

the winds
blow on
by,
the winds
return
like boomerangs.

these winds
travel
over land
and over
sea.

but
make no
mistake,
these winds
of change
always
make it
back
to me.

86
different
forms
of
poetry.

before
my demise,

i will
conquer
all of
these.

poetry,

it
takes
me to a
paradise
of seas.

poetry,

it can
bring me
to the
summit
of all
that is
ecstasy.

poetry,

many
times
has
brought me
to
bended knee.

poetry,

gives me
oxygen
to breathe.

poetry,

is my
exhale
in winter
that
i can see.

poetry,

is all....
that i need.

poetry,

is how i communicate
to the world....
through me.

you are
a flake
of snow

a feathery
ice crystal

a delicate
sixfold
symmetry
of beauty

a winter
wonderland
is what
you are

she's my
sunny day
alarm clock....

as she's peaking
through
my curtains.

she's the
coffee
in my cup....

she's the one
that gets
me moving.

she's the
one that brings
a smile....

even when
i don't
feel much
like
smiling.

she's
clearly my
best friend....

'cause in,
bad times
it's her number
that
i'm dialing.

she's the
lover in my
bed on those....

cold nights
in the winter.

she's the
one across
the table after....

work and
eating dinner.

she's the
air i need
to breathe....

she's the
fine wine
that i drink.

she's my
favorite song
on the radio....

she's the
slow song
that i sing.

she's the
one that
i kiss last....

on a steamy
summer's night.

she's the
kiss that's
on my lips....

i'm not putting
up no fight.

she's my
blanket as
we sleep....

as we're...
kissing through
the night.

the only
thing that
stops us
is that....

first mornin's
light.

she's
the one
that purrs
up against
my chest....

she's,
different from
the rest.

she's
the one
i want my
whole life
through....

she's
the one
i want to
say.....

    I do.

she's
everything
i need.

cause'....

she's
everything
to me.