From the moment of birth
Our instincts of survival
Bring us down to earth
We dream of the fairy tale
world we wish to live
Hoping to be happy and
learning to give

When we reach our peak
and buld the person we
want to be
Something happens to
our security of survival
and our friends  become
our rivals

Rolling, Rolling, over and over
again
back to the bottom
for another spin

Our Minds unclear of
the person we built to be
Instincts of survival have
taken over you see
control is lost
Survival at any cost

Aimlessly we wander
Hurting the ones we love
Until our thoughts we
launder
The world again becomes
our dove

Repeated over and over
again
Each time the threat of
survival blows in the
wind.

You see we are really
just animals with the
ability to think
but we forget it all
until our survival
becomes almost extinct

Its an understanding
We all need to have
because survival will
dissapate for all mankind
Unless we reach for
the star we were

I knew I had to do it
I knew I had to call her
And ask her out.

But I was nervous

And so
To calm myself down
And buld myself up
I went to the fridge
And got myself a beer.


I'm not usually a big drinker
But I gulped it down
Quickly
And it did the trick.

Suddenly
I felt as if I could do anything
And so I picked up the phone
And dialled.

It rang
She answered
And then
My words
All the ones I'd wanted to say
For so long
Just tumbled out.


I'd done it!
I'd actually, finally done it!

But

...She said no.

I'm still not sure why.

Was it my eagerness?
Was it my frankness?

Or,
Could it possibly have been
My hiccups?

“Trust me,” it says.


Momma never let the kids in. Daddy never came home. The dog won’t stop barking. There is no help for the graceful kids at the wishing well. The grass keeps growing, but where has all the water gone?


//follow me down the rver, past the trees wthout wnd in ther sals. There are rocks there to buld a shelter together. The place where love lves.

To all who may hear me...

Get it straight from the heart
From this poet
Who dreams as dreamers do,
Watching the clock of time tick away
The hours so new.
And yet we are or seem to be far from u,
Just take a look in the mirror
Look what do u see?
And your response is 2 me that I SEE U!

To all who may see me....

An artist,
A teacher,
A little hope in someone's life
To brighten like days of sunshine and sunrise and sunsets
The nights and days,
The happiness and sorrows of it all
I see u before yourself.
Check in the mirror....
What do u see?
What do u see?
I asked u once more and u just looked at me with eyes of pain
And just sighed looked at me with great sadness.

To all who may BELIEVE....

Father, Son, Holy Ghost!
No one comes before or between them.
Just those three alone is all we need.
Do u believe?
God is Father,
Jesus is Son,
Holy Spirit is the Comforter,
Do u believe?

To those who HOPE....

Peace in this world,
Peace to u,
And peace for me.
Will there be peace?
My hope is buld on God's peace
The peace He only gives us through the Holy Ghost.

To those who love...

Poets and dreamers and artist and musicians
All talked of love and hope to bring it to this tastless, dry
Unforgiving world we live in
And so with that thought
I ask a simple question,
WHERE IS THE LOVE?
I
poet
Gives
This
Poem
To
The
Masses!

Copyright (C) 2002

January made any movement feel extraneous, as if something nudged to
haunting irresponse.
Sing Sing Prison was beyond all that, but
never more there--yet not even its
manifestation would have it.
The Mahicannituk (Hudson River)
followed the land two ways--to conceive
more than water.
Ruth Snyder saw that as Sing Sing walled
alive--smothered her prefume, crouched
over lights & coughed out iron.
Queens was a place, this was not--food ate her, water drank her.
A place to make out surroundings that
don't want to be seen, that are put forth
just for deprivation.
"Ruthless Ruth" appealed to her thin frame, dropped it like a hankerchief on
the cold floor.
Almost convincing herself that one's true
nature is unpunishable--as she stood up
again.
"Old Sparky" (name for the electric chair) was seated across from an indefinite coming--its unapproachable presence growing into its features.
Ruth was roaring with the twenties as her lover tried to go thru her--while her
husband wagged his tail somewhere.
So Ruth enlightened his sexless naivety,
with a couple of cold puddles outside of a
long lay.
Her lover (Judd Gray) smacking back his suspenders in answer to a Who Done It.
Their body-exploring-finallys & whispering hot sophications--saw a door
kick open to the rest of the world.
A lot came on in, Ruth needed luxuriating, to writhe on high-end furniture.
See again: "Old Sparky", now it's all about
"Old Sparky"--it was never not about
"Old Sparky".
Led by the hand to a modern-day witch burning, of course there was an audience--they arrived in cathartically shaped veils.
A latched heap, held by safety--holding their peace.
Figuring into the law, & willing to watch
a subcutaneous thunderstorm.
Especially Tom Howard of the New York Daily News, who had a camera strapped to his ankle--expressly told it was for:
Private Eyes Only.
His Life's Work was strapped to his ankle--as The Mahicannituk's current flowed.
He lifted up his trouser cuff & squeezed
the shutter buld, then ungripped it.
The room met the designated height of the switch as it was flipped, its current
flowed.
Ruth conceived something more than electricity, as she made hairpin turns--
blowing toward unsuccessful ejection.
She cocked her head calmly as she watched herself beat leathered husks,
her scalp smoking like twigs.
The witch they came for surged upward, & was restrained as if she were reacting to Latin commands.
If she had the **** for a last meal, a menu put to taste congealed & what thirst there was ran dry.
Tom got his picture, & Ruth was blurrily
venting mid-fry on the front page of The Daily News.
Which read: "DEAD!", the first public picture of its kind.