When one self-medicates,
Sometimes they grab the nostrum
Rather than the cataplasm.
Trying to clean the well, they mistake belladonna for myristica.
Perhaps it was the region or the season,
Maybe the water table atop which they were building.
Were it a town,
Perhaps its citizen lacked hygiene
Or had no care to maintain things.
Maybe they sparsely talked things over
And thought little of one another.
Of the many circumstances,
It could've been the building materials
Or the architects.
The dictates we lay out
For ourselves and those around us
Rarely are truly followed
In the case of relations between each other,
And typically less so
In the case of the larger world.

What were the temples
Of the tribes, Judea
Brothels of slave Shepards
Of child lovers
And Christiandom was it's continuation, post revolt
Back it all goes back to Rome
Further back than that
To Greece
But ultimately the nomads who settled
In the land we call Egypt
These are the freaks
The monsters throughout history
Who eat of their own young and
Lay with them
Who manipulated what were the Pagans
Who continued on slavery, after the
End of its practice.
Cybele & Attis,
The cults that taught
Drugging as a tool
To manipulate behavior
Bend the rules, in their favor
Far off in Europe and since
The civil war, in America
And it was Truman's gang
That hijacked us
They have been hijacking
Various belief and countries,
For as long as there have been them.
We got back control
With some of us Americans getting in
And then they shot that young man
Going through Dallas, Texas
And ever since, it has been
Foreign elements pulling strings
Foul false Americans
Because they made of us
Of our conservative society
One of shame, one of privacy
Where normal people like you and me
Are afraid to speak out for what is right
In the face of ignorance
In the stead of savagery
They blackmailed and extorted our politicians
Right before our very eyes
I tell you, wake up
Be political, and only trust Americans
Including our southern siblings
Common people like us
Who merely wish to live free lives

en route
I'm telling you
I'm gonna be there soon
you keep hitting snooze
don't know what you have
but it's something you're gonna lose

i worry about you
but i realize
i don't have to be apart
of your life
especially when i tell you
and it's just
too bad
for me

treating her sadly
in his dull pride admired

when his innocence, inoculated
with sour spores,
devolves into thick hides
jaded attitudes
and glazed gaze
raised in the house,
to only look in at the garden
via viewports distorted

I'm sure the phenomenon is
Far wider-spread than
At any other time throughout history.
The want to have been born,
Decades or years before,
And I think it's easily attributable.
Inundated with knowledge
It is hard to come to some consensus
Among peers,
Likewise it is difficult
To be in a situation you'd rather not
Able not only to conceive
But receive, every scenario you could think of.
Many of which would be the least bit better than the reality currently ascribed

Listening to the great leader
And he promises better wages,
A better economy,
Safer streets,
Domestic manufacturing for national autonomy.
Just wondering when it's supposed to begin,
So far as I can see
The politicians taking the stage
Are long bought before they address the Republic.
40 years of presidents like pages,
Each turning over to new additions to a chapter
This awful period befallen our nation.
Another ink blotch, intelligible stains,
On the history of America

would it have been the same
yes, but it would've meant a lot to me
i used to think you had changed
but there's no differences to you
only contraries
and you're full of doubt and self hatred
earse this mistake miss
of us ever having knowing
you're off to the races
cause this basket case is
overflowing

scour the score
the poetry that liters
from hearts forlorn
imagining
you're reaching out to me

I shutter desire,
I quiet fear,
And drag a rusty blade across my skin.
It's about what I let out,
Not what I've taken in.
These sweat and tears,
This blood that drops,
I hope you all soak it up.
Each of you, like ***** mops;
Never getting anything clean,
Just spreading all the muck around
And calling everyone *****.

"I am a victim of circumstance."
Are we not all?
Play not devoid
But freely strum the chords
Of sympathy and even empathy,
Far from pieces which are familiar,
For situations one might sparsely fathom.

When someone's fallen
Reach out a hand to help them up
Even if it slows you down,
Even when it is not expected.
For when is a fall the expectation?
And who among us is the exception?

Reflect, act, remark.
If I am to cross the line which signals finish
It will be knowing you
Have completed the marathon.
Having waded the haze that is "competition,"
In a day & age where that means so little
And should still mean less,
I will have been obscured by nothing.
For in that trek, I won;
In the journey of the sport of love
I went the distance for a companion.
When I knelt,
I chanced a "prize"
But it was you who made me champion.

I like hair enough to whip it,
To have the wind pull it
And muss about my face.
It's reminiscent of living,
Makes me feel grounded.
Enough hair on my chin
That I can stroke it when I think,
Weather it with whiskey
And plenty of smoke.
I'd like to say it's for joy,
But lately it's for the nerves.

strung up between the pines
tendons stretched out on a few lines of twine
got these low down, sinew blues

my hands
all they good for
is smoking, and drawing a card

these tired hands
calloused and sore
nothing cures'em, the rot's tanned hard
you might not
but the body keeps score

in your old age
gracefully, you've become slow
through the pines
through the oaks
to arrive after the snow

Staring from the mirror back,
The complex past, displeasurable fact
But things I no longer think to change.
Accepting, trying to mend the pain,
The exception, that I'm still hurting;
The source, still of that same vein.

I sat adjacent
a roaring fire
rising into the night

I spoke incantations
and chanted wild
incongruously
without consternation

Next time,
I wait at your car.
Next time,
I keep your chain as a trophy.

Think it a wound
That has been cut open,
All of this
Pouring out of some person.
As blood like ichor.
Of Uranus a pouch, a receptacle, a quiver;
Time in consumption,
Like an arrow autochthonic
In the breast of existence.
Nursing the young.
Of Cronus a reflection, a refection, a ripple;
Time in digestion,
Like an innominate derivation
From the navel of continuance.
Bringing them up.
Of Zeus a reverberation, a spark, a sliver;
Time in expression,
Like an aborted secret
From the honey of speleothemas.
Shaping them out.
Of Apollo a radiance, a ray, a participle;
Time in extension,
Like an auspicious countenance
From the mucilage of angiospermae.
Birthing the echo.

The best way to goad a lie?
Believe it yourself.
But it's even easier
To convince others of the truth
Being false itself

The contrast between truth and falsehood
Lie in the whether
The inquiring party
Believe, or not;

Sufficiently convinced enough?

in charity
i feel myself unburdening things
that otherwise would have weighed heavy
and would have escaped
any scrupulous gaze
i could give
what a stalwart these hearts are
despite all they endure
and these hands the same
i tender to the mind
and kindle the tinder
of dreams
shaven off hopes and desires
painstakingly, a bit begrudgingly,
i carry on

the scientists saw it
decades before it was a threat
a meteor, it's trajectory
earth
hurtling toward us
eighty-six years to impact
based on simulations
at the current rate
of technological advancement
they say
we will be unable
to mitigate this disaster
so far off
it seems inconsequential to life
and yet
it loomed over all of us
half of us obsessed over it
the other half accepted it
it made no difference to me
eighty-six years on
will i be alive
to see the sky alight?

feel empty
after pushing everyone away
they gave you plenty
but you turned your back
and headed the other way
it wasn't meant to be
or some other saying
where you can dodge blame
loving was lovely
when i didn't need to use my head
all heart, no brawn & no brain

One day, our generation's gonna rule the population
And that'll bring change?
We wait till our kids are their parents
In thought, in action, and conviction
And expect a difference each go
It's really contradiction
Cause each time the problems only grow

High above the valley
Nestled amongst the trees;
There's a memory,
There's a memory.

Shining down from the peaks
In the afterglow of the moon;
There's a memory,
There's a memory.

From the bough an echo whispers
Like the song the swallow sings;
There's a memory,
There's a memory.

On bright & sunny days
I grieve the hardest then;
There's a memory,
There's a memory.

Happy memories

cringey stuff
what is it about
my emotions
that i gotta
express them
through this method
say less
in the coming days
shut my mouth
keep my head down
and just stay quiet
until i die
dice roll
snake eyes that cry
next roll, sevens
eleven, slurpees
blueberry ice
nice dreams
chong with the ****
and that makes me cheech
can't never win
gotta stop trying
busted
gambling
love is a high stakes game
leave you
broken, lost, roaming
and rambling
i ain't happy here

I rush to speak
When I should be quicker
To pause and think,
Parsing each phrase.
How my words will and could
Be interpreted or construed
And of that, whatever resulting.
Of the checks & balances
We put ourselves through,
What is the material from which
The weights of judgement
Have been constructed?
Pig iron, sterling silver, stainless steel?
And of our choice of counterweights,
What is revealed?

I don't stop
Crying, when others
Enter the room.
I just cry quietly
Or laspe into
A silent weeping.

If comparison were forced,
No flower would match your beauty.
Every rose would pale
Trying to meet the measure
Of that which I see,
Of how much you mean to me

There is no greater pleasure,
Than pressure,
When our two bodies meet

Singing your praise

In my ocean, you are the tides
The only thing to stir to life
Rivers of crimson within,
Areas grey & white
Were I the fish, you could eat
Forgo a day, for an eternity
You could cast from my soul,
Wade my streams

he stared into the forest
looked at shadows no longer there
his mind of brambles
of bluejays and fife fancies
and marking new trailheads
where fruit was to bare

Truly, as stated previously;
I hate nothing & I hate no one.
Dislike delight? Not I.
And what joy it is merely to be alive

That luck would so have it
And countless chain reactions
That I should be a human on this planet-
I can breathe easy staring at the sunset
As much as a sunrise.

Whatever twists, warps, & bends
I may experience;
They are all worth it
Just to exist.

When water condenses to vapors
We can curse the temperature
Or we can be grateful
For having had any liquid
So life giving.

So, life may be giving
And life may be taking-
That I strike out some balance,
It's always teetering.

Yet, I am still.

cast
condemned to the depths
to look up at the blue overhead
where waves crash
gulls streak the sky,
and sun sit high
down there
in wait
to attract
the unfortunate
passerby

everyone comes and goes
it's no surprise then
i'm really only confortable
on my own
so leave
i didn't need you anyway
wait and see how far i go
emotionally
a pencil thin man
they're in there
highly concentrated
volatile to the touch

were it easy, we would be so lucky
but, alas instead, here we're found
where our ground is scaffold
its tarrish glue fractured
the brown boards we walk, cracked
the whole thing creaking under its own weight
poised for collapse

in my chest
hums a grenade
violent turbulent days
himalayan skies
vast mountain peaks
dark valleys
that which wouldn't break;
in molting
still taking shape

the cat isn't out of the bag
they're beating on it
still covered in burlap
butterflies all havin' fun
gone, as spring
draws near its end
and if there are fumbles,
that's saying the least of it,
it's all we seem to be able
to muster these days

One never really knows the need of friends till they're alone
When there's no one to ring and not a text on the phone
No joy to be shared, no dialing noise
just a tone
Pinocchio, you're fine on your own

no fuss
no time to talk
in this lameduck generation;
a friend till the end would be nice
and if that can't arise, I suffice
a friend, generally and genuinely
is more than I can ask for

ranting and raving
about nothing and everything
it's so tiring
going on from one thing to the next
never any rest
tired of trying

was i sculpted
in the image
of some omnipotence
or drawn from chaos
by forces unparalleled
not yet fully understood

Whittle with my teeth
Shovelheads and pitchforks,
I give toothpicks what for.
Thin ****** in suits
Will get what's coming to them;
When these hardened hands
And sore jaw,
Finally give in

knowing our time here is short
and shorter lived, with how we rob ourselves
why is it we take from others
and give back so little

knowing love is to share
why do we guard it
keeping it close to us
biting at those that might
want to be loved
or, to love

especially upsetting
is acknowledging the few paths of recourse,
mostly hollow options, left to us

staying up
milking it
but you don't
see me
as a joke
right

Burnt olive trees, to provide nutrients
For soil's hunger;
For the insatiable appetite
Of the wandering, lost souls.

Out in the desert, praying for a bloom of
Blue lotus;
The river thumps on,
The streams flow

No more dates, no more plums-
Just sick puns;
This is how you worship omnipotence?
Through war & the ****** of innocents?

Second class citizenship, not even recognized at all;
Prison states and dehumanization.
Extremism fostered on either side,
Each side refusing responsibility

All in the name of Allah
All in the name of G-d

emptiness, hard shook
from this soul
you have engulfed
i have fought the fight
this long
but i don't know
if i see a lot of reasons
to go on
it's all a joke

Old man stroked his chin,
Rubbed his forehead
And ran his hands through his hair.
He cleared his throat,
Tightening the slack in his line,
He was a regular killick in his time -
Youth was short, but was it fair.
These days it's just a simple trolling boat,
And he casts his rod overboard
But he's not been bringing up a lot.
Waitin' on that change in the wind.

and the light of god
like a flash bang
down dark hallways
men blind
flying
like moths toward a lamp

The old man eats his TV dinners,
He's never learned to cook.
He believes it's a woman's job
But he never quite has the nerve to approach one.
Sure, there have been some
But far & in-between.
They don't stay long,
Bar the ones who have been there
Not to love but to take.
But he was smart enough
To cut them off
And not ache for a connection
Even if it wasn't genuine.
He has sense enough
Yet, not exactly a kind which is common.
For he finds it hard
To stand on ground equidistant.
But what is normal?

Is it such a thing as loneliness or love
Which more people take apart of?
In love there is loneliness,
Just as in loneliness there is love.
Whether it is from hearts together
Who can't stand each other,
Or from hearts seperate
Yet readily love one another.
Is it such a thing as loneliness in love
Or love in loneliness
Which more people find themselves in?
Of the equal strength it takes to stay
There is someone stronger in leaving,
Of the equal weakness it takes to wane
There is someone weaker in longing.
Yet, of the unrequited,
These are but fancy words
Which don't always flower to fruition.
And love can be won through persistence,
But to some it is akin to attrition.
The foundation of it loose & unstructured,
Rather than unbound & liberated.

Perchance, by the eye which beholds;
Some think it cowardly -
Some think it bold.
To go on loving, nonreciprocal.
To go on loving, unconditional.

self serving, desperate
loathsome
dimples
i must look off
refreshing

i lick my lips
they taste of sky
my head high
in the clouds
but down under
things festered
still bubble
of what
for so long
i had
denied

rush in
for an invitation
for the chance
to see new nations
not freelance
rather via indoctrination
rifle in your hand
in your heart contradiction
cause it's not your land
but they are your victims

the man you just shot
two kids and a wife
as you lay in your cot
you think of their lives
as her husband rots
like little tiny knives
you can still see his eyes
as you lie in the night