Some people crave
Fear,
Adrenaline,
Things that stir them awake
Set ablaze
A fire
That brings light to the dark
Your eyes
Are my fear
My adrenaline
They are scary and exciting

Your rapid fire
Heart's desire
Is a high octane
Bullet train
Bouncing between destinations
At widely varying elevations
Stopping at mysterious stations
Where I experience deflation
In between these stops is a track
Where everything is black
And you attack
Until the merciful sun finally shines
You then say you'll always be mine

There are quick flashes of light
But also sick gasps of fright
And it's a big task of might
So the trick is to grasp right
When the speed of your movement
You claim to be an improvement
Creates fire extinguishing wind
So the flame you lit you rescind

Your ride was aridly adrenalized
Which is why I was penalized
In a poison prison incentivized
By your many mental lies
Eluding my sentinel kind
No love I find
Only tire marks
In entire dark
That lead to nowhere
While I scream no fair

You were an explosion of pleasure
Whose interest I tried to measure
Instead of being happy
I saw your train lapping
Familiar phantom spots
When emotions ran hot
Through my heart you shot
At a velocity I once thought
To be completely impossible
Proven wrong by bullet holes
And only lonely bullets know
What's inside my heart
They take those contents
To make me repent
Your speedy intent

That was fast
Smoking past
Things that last
Into broken glass
Until we were cut
By our rushing rut
I couldn't take anymore
So I sped to the door

an unpardonable aberration
in possession of an adrenalized
dynamism of energy
which emerges
like that of the dirt on my face
but cannot hide
the strangulation of my hair
nor the red that fires my fingers
nor the desire or physical location
of my marvellous sexuality
or the ink that bleeds from my nose
when the excitement of creation
reaches its unmonitored theft  
of psychophysical *******
of writing upon the page
those elusive words that once written
become an imagined ****** fantasy
blurred but cannot be retained
for the words must be free
free to be the poem, to be themselves
to be ourselves

Hans was outside himself. Perched on the edge of a daydream, he looked below, distantly aware of his bustling dinner table. How casually they live, Hans thought; with what feigned clarity they can connect and understand. There were his brothers and sisters; his aunts, uncles, cousins and ah—there was his father. Look at him personifying repugnance, locks of hair falling clumsily on his tattered shirt. Look at him! (Hans could yell only in silence.) Look there and see him cloyingly preparing his knife to hunt, to tear, to slice yet another hunk of meat for his own gluttony. With what excitement—what vivid, forbidden ecstasy Hans would take his father’s knife and turn the hunter into the hunted.

Somewhere in the cluttered abyss there was a sound followed by a warming light. Hans was entranced. And again, a gentle thunder followed by a thread of heat connecting for a moment earth and sky, father, family, and son.

It was goodness and caring, it was a mother’s voice. It was this graceful fluttering in the medium of time that awoke a primitive yearning in Hans, grabbed his throat and stared him lustily in the eyes. What could it be? Hans wondered aloud, what could it be that she desires, for he already knew that he had to be the one to deliver any object she longed for, to slay any beast that tormented her—it had to be him, to be Hans, to be her son.

Please, she said; can someone please pour me a glass of water. Oh how Hans was enraged to find that this whim had not been made solely of a son. It was his right to quench his mother’s thirst; it was his place within the natural order to satisfy her needs. What cruelty and ice! Hans said, but also felt; and in an instant returned to himself below, tumbling violently from the high canopy of his trance to the sight of his father’s filthy hand reaching for the water jug.

In base impulse, Hans jabbed at the jug, forcibly pushing aside the carnal hand. Upon contact, Hans felt an overwhelming calm, an absolute peace. He wrapped his fingers tightly around the handle, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. At once he was joyous, he was spent; he was adrenalized and gloriously dominant. He would be the one to tend to the maternal flower, supplying water for a thirst that he prayed would always be there.

We all seek something strange so satisfy those adrenalized thrills..

A young man with a family back home
A wife and a little girl back home
No one cares who he is now
No one will remember him when he is gone
Whether he was a grade “A” student or not
He will be replaced if he falls
He is a solider of America
His unit drives strait into an ambush
His friends killed by his side
Death everywhere he looks
Someone starts to yell fall back
But is stopped in mid-sentence
By a bullet through the heart
Someone manages to spit the words out
Once they finally fall back,
He looks at the ragtag group around him
A man from Georgia
A couple from Tennessee
Their leader didn’t make it
Nor the man who finally yelled fall back
He is the last of the officers
Nothing in his training could have prepared him,
For this
Now not only is his life in his hands
But those around him
He breaks down and cries
An aged man with a family back home
A wife and a little girl back home
Now he is all that stands between home and death
His next move could be his last or his best
He has a choice between life or death
He has a choice between waiting or fighting his way out
Waiting they could be ambushed again and all die
Fighting their way out they could all die
Only seventeen remain
He chooses to fight his way out
They break out the back entrance
Only to find more enemies
After a brief scrimmage they continue adrenalized
They see a Humvee and a troop-transport that look unscathed
He sprints followed closely by his men
Halfway he hears gunfire
His only target is the 50 caliber on the Humvee
Running through bullets and crossfire he makes it
His men low on ammo
His enemies coming by the thousands
He yells to get in as soon as he is shooting
They escape barely losing only one guy
But as their code says,
No man left behind even his body comes
He continues shooting over a hundred yards away
Even though there are no pursuers
He finally climbs back in
He looks over his men checking for wounds
Only to see the color drained from their faces
He begins to see black
He wonders if this is what death feels like
A dying man with a family back home
A wife and a little girl back home
A Purple Heart recipient
A Medal of Honor recipient
A Medal of Valor recipient
A man now decorated with honors
An army veteran with a family back home
A wife and a little girl back home
A survivor of Afghanistan with a family back home
A wife and a little girl

You see me, but won't look at me
Hurry past, important things to do
Return, spend a long time
doing nothing but being very busy about it
beating a circle around me
with your feet

I see the pain
Brow furrowed
Adrenalized jerky motions
of a man over-burdened, behind schedule
carrying a heavy load
making a point to ignore me
Let me help you
You are angry, upset
I will listen
I can heal you

Mother
You are so angry
I am young and need you
I know you've been so hurt
I will help you
Please look at me
Don't leave
Don't walk out the door and drive away
many busy activities, eyes to the road
A list of accomplishments
No time for me
At home, still upset, hurts
from long ago haunt you
Eyes look in my direction
but only see a reflection
of your inner world
Let me heal you
So you can love me