I find myself forgetting more and more frequently
that the world I have painted on the walls of my cell
is not reality

Death is a boy to me
An ageless boy with brown, curly hair and golden skin
He is an egotistical trickster, three steps ahead of me
Cruel, unfair, unfeeling
And for some reason, intrigued by me and the messy Life I breathe

In my head, I can make deals with him
In my head, he protects me, gives me choices, even as he pulls me closer
In my head, he is beatable
In my head, Death and I are falling in Love

But though it makes Death bearable to think of,
to believe it has characteristics it cannot is dangerous

Death loves me no more than it loves all of us
An embrace at the end of agony
It will not speak to me, it will not listen
It owns my Life and there is no deal I can make to change that

Yet

There is something beautiful about the boy in my head
Death a life of its own
A vision I can't escape
The walls around me painted the endless black of the stars

are the vagrant weeds, there on earth spread like greedy *******,
never appreciated. Dandelions , to me,
are as gifted glorious,
as any violet or rose. and, fro'
to and believe just as an Orchids scent
on Easter day.
In Ecclesiastes ,
is told that mere breath,
just living, is meaningless.
everything just dies, all is meaningless.
I write thereby, an autobiography,
as if I were a ****.
germinated not pretty, fragrant
vagabond, I analogize, anthropomorphize
into a moth ugly,
I try to be a Butterfly,
flutter beautifully, colorful.
But am I
I am
beautiful,
anyway
suffering, continuously
burned in the fire.

Once a year, I'm reminded here

on father's day, I have no father near.


My father could not be farther.

Actually, that's not true.

He's in one of the Southern counties of England

but it's distant enough to do.


He has two sons that he chose to have

and raise and support and endow

with all those cultural allegiance mechanisms

that I try to imagine somehow.


Painted their rooms,

changed their sheets

throwing a ball and stuff,

giving them a father that they can observe

doing his worst, best or enough.


I'm a secret secreting jealousy as a crime superfluous to needs

watching all you parented people

making pronouncements on your old Dad's deeds.


Bitter, sour grapes and cynicism are the silent names that come,

"Don't utter or mutter a single word of distain

keep our game a zero sum.

It's not our fault you had no dad

there's no need to rain on our parade!"

I know this poem is digging a hole

but who got you your first *****?


Which, I guess gives me license to continue

to go on about the other problems that came

When I was a kid, they talked of a god

and "Father" was his name.


As if it wasn't challenging enough

there's a celestial, all-seeing eye.

I found daily life to be complex as it was

without attempting to anthropomorphize the sky.


Intimidated, un-encouraged without a male adult to hide behind,

I learned I was a ******* without belonging

while mother ******* raised their own kind.


But, I guess it's time to turn around

face the future face-on with the rest

I've two sons now, who know that they are wanted

Glad I typed this crap off my chest.


Sorry if I offended anyone with a dad

Just wanted to put words to my own case,

it was not written with any malice in mind

just like your annual slap round my face.

...

Come, come you avian darlings
You hawks, gulls, wrens and turkey vulchers
Lo! I have a sacred place
Where mountains are made
From unburnt debris longing to be ashes

Come, come you airborne circlers
Wafting up on heat streams unseen
Your kin abide on Jealousy Lane
Thinking you are satisfied.   All your needs met
Without having to scour the ground

Those careless human benefactors, wry and grizzly
Poking fun at the sight
Of so many black shadows
Flies in swarms
Gnats attacking the pitcher’s mound in August in the swamp
Bees.  Caressing the Queen.  Delicate, Loving, Caring
How can we not anthropomorphize the cackle,

They arise out of curiosity
And stay out of satiation
When do the bats revivify the seeds of waste?
Why are there no jackals?
Who built the fence?

That glorious victory mound
Miccosukee burial ground
Green seeded with local grasses
Humbled with railroad trances
We, your dancing gymnopedies
Bow down.
Constant motion
In your service

Thank the wasteful trash purveyors,
May the dump rise high!

one day there won't be an edge kids
just a hole in the ground for the suicidal
do a bacteria count of your spring water
while tossing down a few useless conventions
why do anachronisms live so long die so hard
and cause no embarrassment he mused
musing had become his compulsion since
the holy ghost serpent handling incident
their medicine man pronounced him dead 7 times
his own ancestors sent crows to peck out his eyes
the fortune cookie antidote worked off and on
then hell ascended under his smoking feet
their vanguard toes now on fire
one thing is sure in the lust for truth
contemplation will not buy you serenity
but yes your life can be lived
without a prison cell oath of allegiance
if the universe demonstrates intention we’re it
the battle between sequence and simultaneity
may be good for another 10 squared generations
in this hypnotist hunch monger demolition derby
where a legendary and enormous ignorance
complicates matters for no apparent reason
well maybe for the following reason
all explanations have been oversimplified
in a panorama of benign efficiency
arise you yuppies and management level trainees
you have all the tools of cognition
you will ever need right in your head
every act begins with an estimate
let's put Humpty back together again
feel relevant that's all there is to it
since a monopoly on endless pleasure
is yet to be fully achieved and moreover
the Great War in Heaven is officially boring
and furthermore the iris is a sphincter
just thought you'd like to know
sorry a lung obstruction makes my voice whistle
one ******* homophone after another
making the undead radar in on me
my wings have been clipped so many times
they fall off at the sound of grinding teeth
thanks to the dogs of innuendo and pantomime
we anthropomorphize absolutely everything
no beanstalks on the horizon he noted
just a marsupial orphan with an Aladdin's lamp
charmed into the gesticulating arms of Venus
by the secret patty cake handshake
then a magic thing happened
there is no magic
only unknowing