Religion is like wrestling when it was kayfabed
The kind of immersive storytelling that is A grade
We became trapped
In the Walls of Jericho
Separated on the map
From the fields of marigolds
Shinier things catch our eye
Like Goldust in the ring
Not of Mankind
But McMahon's kind
We start to see behind the Big Show
Until they introduce the Boogeyman
Manipulating until progress is slowed
All according to plan

Jake the Snake offers the apple to Eve
And into calamity we are cleaved
This was something I never agreed
But Christian pushes me to Edge
No room in discourse to hedge
Swanton bombs fall in cities
The Million Dollar Man cracks a smile
Unable to feel pity
The billions of bodies start to pile
And I haven't seen the Hart Foundation in a while

These ideas pin us down
And we can't kick out
We end up indifferently submitting
To the Big Boss Man
A legacy we're cementing
Like the Ku Klux ****

I'm from Kentucky
Where biology is taught in the context
Of where it fits in with Christianity's teachings
I wonder how many people this knowledge is reaching
When we're trapped in Wrestlemania
We cheer for the Undertaker's victory
Because we're constantly wrestling with demons
Transcendence is only something we can dream of

people find it hard
to believe happiness
because for many,
it’s much more of a myth
or a hazy recollection
than it is something real
and rational and
to be aspired too

love and hope
and dreams
have taken on this air of
imagination
in recent generations

for a brief moment,
they were truly believed in
by the adults
by the people in charge
by the whole wide world
even as everything they knew before
had crumbled and wrecked
to a state beyond
their power to
repair

but it was that desolate place the world was
that drove the people to believe in such fancy
and frivolous thoughts

because if they had not,
the world would’ve withered
and died, like a cow so old
you know there’s no hope
or a flower so far gone
that you don’t mind to let it
wilt

those times went though,
like a leaf upon the wind,
as the children began acting
as the adults and followed
their dreams to a land so
few actually reached


and as the adults saw their failure
and the children saw the adults flee
the belief in love, in hope, in dreams,
in morals, in rites, in traditions, in
togetherness, in family, in belief-

failed

and

sunk

the last tip of the ship leaving the surface
with the first person who believed in the
infomercial

we do not know what we can do
because we do not believe we can
do anything

happiness, as I started this all out with,
is not a bed-time story

it is very real
and it is very
powerful

but in each average person’s life
they get to experience only once
or twice, seeming like a random
occurrence, and thus cementing
in so many people’s minds that
it is

but it is not

happiness comes from knowing how to be happy

it’s not about sacrifice
or faith
or hard-work
or dedication

it’s about knowing who you are,
what the world is,
and how you
can make
the best
of it

this is not some secret art

it is a simple idea:
that happiness can be controlled

and it’s execution is even simpler:

how can I be happy?
how can I be happy,
forever?

I’ve been labeled with a term that begins with P and ends with oet
But I owe it to to those listening to explain the steps I’ve taken
225 days of mistaken tippy toes and battles fought arresting a demon to keep him caged thirsty
He stays thirsty
Drips of thick liquid that bring cure to others make his body sick but his mind goes at ease
The random shocks of pain that jolt throughout my body telling me to get more is a reminder that this struggled battle will never be over
This devil on my shoulder is whispering terms of endearment while the angel is tirelessly hanging off my biceps trying to whisper his words of truth
There’s no other way around it
I live by the standard ‘once an addict always an addict’
I am an addict
Before that fact jumps down your throat to join the heart that jumped up in it, let me explain
Addicts like me work long *** days breaking their back to break bread and emerge victorious in their ocean of mistakes
Instead of treading H20, it’s theraflu and pepto,
I used to be drowning but now I’m only waist deep
Slowly, day by day, the drain taking it away makes the level of pepto low
Soon, maybe I’ll be able to say I’m in a puddle getting my tippy toes wet in OTC’s
Then it’ll dry
My tongue shall stay dry
Like that of the demon that stays
Caged
Thirsty
Waiting for a day that my mentality meets frustration so great that I’m attempted to sling that syrup down my throat so suddenly that my stomach acid is left in wonder
Silently slipping into a comatose state that no soul may recover from
To prevent this, I’ll pin praying hands to my nose and speak to a God that I’m not even sure is listening
As I apologize from straying away from the path he’s set for me, I’ll look forward and realize that the hurting is gone
Indeed, more will come
But there is no fear in these eyes
My mother’s soft touch on my shoulder
Friends cementing their hands to my spine to make sure I stay standing
I feel safe and secure to stand on a cliffs edge while the oceans muddy water rushes at it’s walls
I will not fall
Because I just showered
And I intend on staying clean…

The rose is obsolete
but each petal ends in
an edge, the double facet
cementing the grooved
columns of air—The edge
cuts without cutting
meets—nothing—renews
itself in metal or porcelain—

whither? It ends—

But if it ends
the start is begun
so that to engage roses
becomes a geometry—

Sharper, neater, more cutting
figured in majolica—
the broken plate
glazed with a rose

Somewhere the sense
makes copper roses
steel roses—

The rose carried weight of love
but love is at an end—of roses

It is at the edge of the
petal that love waits

Crisp, worked to defeat
laboredness—fragile
plucked, moist, half-raised
cold, precise, touching

What

The place between the petal’s
edge and the

From the petal’s edge a line starts
that being of steel
infinitely fine, infinitely
rigid penetrates
the Milky Way
without contact—lifting
from it—neither hanging
nor pushing—

The fragility of the flower
unbruised
penetrates space

I've called this ghost town home for far too long.
Spent my nights drinking with the dead.
Each sip cementing their existence in my head.
Listlessly taking shot after shot.
Whiskey,
the water of life,
commemorates the spirit of the deceased.
One
for those who passed away in peace.
Two
for those taken prematurely.
Toast number three shall be a farewell to me
but I am not ready to no longer
be.

You see,
if I were to dream eternally
and sink deeper down the fiery well,
those infamous nine levels of hell,
I would forge fresh footprints through the ash covered ground.
Walking with boots of compressed gunpowder,
the trail I leave behind is always primed to catch up with me and
spark the time bomb I walk with.
The seconds
tick
tick
tick
away.
The clock is always heading toward zero.
I tried to be a hero for many,
yet couldn't save myself.
My desires put upon a shelf.
A self inflicted penance handed down from the only one
I was foolish enough to call
god.
I am too far gone to be saved.
Grave stones mark the decay of my hopes and dreams.
The etchings on each marble tablet will eventually fade away.
The soil I am to be buried in must be overturned if anything is
to grow where I could not.
Mother nature always finds a way to nurture even the worst of her children.
Like any good matriarch, she refuses to accept anything less than her child's full potential.
Even in death.
Though I refused nourishment and love,
mother earth still holds me close.
Embraces me in a final attempt to squeeze the last drops of good which
were buried deep and thought to be dried long ago.

Ignoring her guidance, I've lived as if I would never end up six feet.
Deep were my thoughts,
dangerous my actions.
Though I lived as if I couldn't be defeated,
my first true test comes as I fight for control of my soul.
Angels and devils are now my judges,
each making their case for my demise.
The scales of destiny weigh my past actions.
The outcome holding my future.

So I'll fill my glass one final time,
and toast to those who left before me.
I'm coming home.

Galaxies, solar satellites, the very Earth and its plates.
Whatever matter spins the reality, each one rotates.
Every unique universe growing its own ebb and flow,
Same as an ocean shall pummel shores then pull undertow.
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

Backwater cementing a new variant of tributary,
Friends become fish in this river of machinery.
The roiling rubber current proves to combust with currency.
Success succumbs to numbers as the economist counts me.
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

Gingko trees employed rats until society's reaction
Assimilated this lineage and reset its traction.
A different dispersal mechanism does not merit lament,
The managed are mute within the worker's woeful testament.
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

Sometimes a quest of faith begets a set from a cartomancer,
What good would it do to bribe the tarot and fake her answer?
For doctrine to deprive a man of god's hero in himself,
To trial and tribute his death to ascend on our caste shelf.
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

Your cards at hand, as is any fact of fortune, are from you.
All around are landmarks to map your light, vibration, and hue.
A presence is an action amongst quintessential stage props,
Weathered roles rehearse their sonorous loves watching ripples drop.
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

Turbid fury has no footholds on the great movement in your mind,
Gears that we hear were once a pursuit to prosper as mankind.
To disarm the victim's rights and loosen all nooses may seem odd,
Yet Devil deviates design and is forgiven by God.
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

Cities yearn to scrape skies built on products at the world's splendor.
Though trinkets become trite as we glorify a greedy vendor.
How could one commend such a clear farce for the multitude?
Selling milk to children's bones while our livestock store false fortitude.
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

Lifespans expand within this ****** twilight of barbarism.
History obscures so we light turned pages with euphemism.
Often forgotten is that our memory is amorphous,
Generating our boldest fears and cheers to those beyond us.
When its the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

Pessimism or optimism; are not rivals of ones structure
Secular submission denies despair's innate rupture
It is built by the hopeful to share love after given grace
To construct a profound unity above pride's titled race
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

We are taught to worry for unruly folk until weary.
Doctors like leaders treat symptoms not seeing sickness clearly.
They stress the distressed to disseminate imminent spines,
Shattering that last vestige of a will searching between lines.
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

The commandments should have demanded there always be one more,
As truth evolves in jollies or follies, being rich or poor.
Always a witness to your lemons that could squeeze a profit.
Limits can be more than second hands surpassing the minute.
When is the time? Are you a counter of clockwork?

Thus old cogs and smog of our familiar faculties rest
On the zealous peals of those who know at the hour of our best.
It is not easy to lift volition past sadness so steep.
As each day would raise a mile, we may grow to smile when we sleep
Now is the time, are you a counter or clockwise?

Pyres of cityscapes burn contingently in the distance
ever drunk with blood of a mother, a nurturer who asks
nothing of the morose, self-consumed existence
she cares for. Her brow cocked,
wrinkles descend like
rain that tears down
a window.
Pain.
You're bleeding out! But she'll never put herself
forefront. How could she? Sitting, reflecting.
Tormented by incompetence, her soft
voice silently flutters the leaves.
Drearily an extension of her lips, the words
escape the cusps like a cautious prairie-dog.
Smog obscures
the senses, a haze
darkening the pupils of your celestial eyes.
I still see You
drooping in the rocker under a hard light. Retaining know-
ledge of past and present, through spectacles.
Her deflating ****, secreting
concrete into the sucklings, cementing fate,
as the clock that hangs above her falters. I shutter to think of the
future that's afore. When the one who's raised me is not.
No more.
Your timber limbs look awfully thin. Restless and alone,
she's tired. "Abandoned"
we're all alone,
but your company means more to me than a sustainable
stone.

Sadness
it's strong stuff...
I've had so much I can't walk
without falling
I can't talk
without stalling
And slurring
Can't think
without blurring the lines
between problems
and mere actualities.
Lacking the faculties
to sort factual reality
from the masochistic fantasies
that lurk at the back of me;
Passively, I watch them attacking me
ransacking stacks of ****
that once brought me happiness
laughing mirthlessly, cursing the birth of me,
tormenting, caressing,
augmenting the worst of me,
Cementing self pity, bitterly nursing the urge
to revel in misery. Rolling in muck
and mire of recent history,
desiring nothing.
In anger I pander to these base demands,
Mistaking mere sickness
For something more grand
Avowing the charge of my own propaganda,
Allowing this world that I loved
to be slandered
Cowed
My friends are pulled down to an
unflattering angle. From here they appear
(no matter how dear)
to be traitors and thieves,
with knives up their sleeves.
I'll believe every lie my sick mind can conceive.

Don't give me the keys
'cos I'll drive off a cliff
Don't give me a pen
Cos I'll only write this
There's nothing unique in the words that I speak,
and this piece is nothing but
cliches,
mixed metaphors you've met before
similes sing of sick malaise.
Tongue out of cheek,
Dazed.
I'm released from policing
my verse,
Sad soul knows no quality Control,
As the heart beats crazily, I proofread lazily
sentimentally, hazily.
Without a **** to give
I chuck away the voice that says
“Don't write if it ain't great.”.

Days achieving nothing
but self inflicted *******
Gouging self-inflicted chasms
between loved ones and I,
apoplectic rage in spasms,
fits of fleeting normality
Bridge defeat, despair and insanity.
Weaponised hatred for all of humanity.
A small inconvenience
becomes a calamity.
Then revert to intertia perverted by vanity.

Next, corner a companion and
complain away the pain and drain your glass again and again without restraint

Explain the ways that your to blame, oh the shame the shame,
Dissect regrets, reflect until you've bored yourself to death,
(let alone the poor sod who kindly nods and slyly checks their watch, before they stammer out excuses,
Hints which I'm too hammered and useless to hear,
Too wrecked to check myself. They've done their duty as a mate, but remember,
steer clear of the fate,
Of getting ****** down into the vortex, of depression and regrets.
We've all got our problems. He's out of cigarettes.)
Whilst here I  reading aloud
still sore texts, to detect traces of affection.

Sad ****, sad drunk, alone again,
Get my coat, forget my phone. The inconvenience provides some light relief,
From the background grief.
Now tomorrow's replete with distraction s and tasks to complete.
The horizons' brightened with the prospect of splashing some some cash, and so much to choose!
Afternoons busy spent perusing reviews,
Megapixels, memory, which brand do I trust?
But I know I'm just
buying time,
Before the consumption high subsides
and I'm back with this background mosquito pitch whine saying "maybe I'm better off dead".
Bite you lip, hold on, its temporary. and whilst it feels scary, remember
Your not sick, you're not dying, your just heartbroken,
trying to move on, and maybe occasionally crying.
And that's healthy.
The weeping ain't that bad,
It's the cold light of day. It's the misguided logic. That's says "you had the best time of your life, now you've lost it,
All that was worth having,
Is behind you, and may I remind you,
You ain't getting younger, it's starting to show,
And times flowing towards the end, the time you spent on earth was wasted, getting wasted, not facing life head on and you'll never change. It's not strange that she's found someone better"
etc etc

You've been here before and each time it gets better. If you could write a letter to your younger self you could share a wealth of knowledge about Dealing with horrors from within.
Emotions invade us, but we can repel them. But you have to embrace them before you expel them.
So whilst it's not fine yet
And whilst I still pine, yeah, I'm resigned for the time being,
seeing the bigger picture.
And we're designed to recover then remove the stitches. No plans go without hitches. At last, whilst they might not go as fast as we like,
In the night take respite cos
Like the drunken high, and this ******* Hangover
This too shall pass
And one day you'll wake up sober.

I remember the first time I discovered poetry,
bolts of electric affluenza coursing through soft fingertips
and into the skinny blue lines of fascination
meaning nothing at first, yet transforming into the spillage
of emotion, the invention of color,
the budding metamorphosis of the artist’s apprehension.


I remember telling everyone about the honey-tainted metaphors
that exhaled yellow pigment through our film noir madness
of ravaged years cementing over irises
and I remember the revelation, saucer eyes and trembling hands
after discovering the faultlessness of magic
that tore at heartstrings and furrowed brows,
the mumbled prayer of stitching entire blankets of words together
to keep our souls warm even as the frigid ice of Time
burned in desperation to freeze our heartbeats.


You are a poet
but to the world, you are wasted opportunity
you only know of words that slip through tied tongues like silk
and mending excuses to make up for heartbreak
You are a poet
but they never stop reminding you to keep your feet glued
To hollow ground, shaking
To find something that tastes of reality, the human flesh
sweat of long lost longing
You have to stop living in your head
In the spaces where you breathe life into promises
You are a poet
But that has never been enough.


The poet is used to this--
the knowledge of failure always shoved under the doormat
numbers that collect under crumpled paper,
the rotten look of misunderstanding as they wonder
where the science of living went missing
When did art decide to invade your insides,
Leaving no room to calculate meaning with mathematics?


Oh, but only the poets understand
That there is no formula to meaning
No theorem to calculate suffering,
Only words that get stuck and disintegrate into whispers
only all-consuming madness, write me a storm
That rages through afflictions
Write me an ending where
We are older, in the house we dreamed of, buried
Under blankets in the forgotten fog of Decembers
Write me an ending where my voice is steady
Instead of constantly wavering past the silence of goodbyes
hellos
heartaches


Love me
And I will love you
Lose me
And I will turn you into poetry
stretch your bones into feelings,
follow the lines in your palms into futures
Where we end up together
I will hold up your eyelids
so they will never feel heavy at the sight of destruction
I will shelter your heart to keep it beating
As we watch  as the words I could never say
flutter at your fingertips like moths
with broken wings


The world does not understand love


nor the poets that create it.

Laying in the land of lies.
Kissing broken butterflies
Knows what she wants.
A tigress on the prowl.

Howling and squawking.
Howling and scowling.
Pawing, cat calling.
Pussycat growling.

Love laid roses on the path.
Tangled thorns and demon horns.
Thought she'd have a laugh.
Love she chooses lonely pawns.

Howling and squawking,
Howling and scowling
Pawing,cat calling.
Pussycat growling.

She snatches sweethearts.
Creating works of art.
Living on cupcakes.
Cementing works of art.
Breaking hearts and crushing bones.

Howling and squawking.
Howling and scowling.
Pawing, cat calling.
Pussycat growling.

Fingertips tips as razor blades.
Razor blades are on the ****.
Love dies screaming silently.
At wicked women's will.
Said goodbye.

Howling and squawking
No more talking.
Pussycat cat cuddles.
Snuggles and kittens.
(C) LIVVI

When my guilt paralyzes me,
when my shame makes me cower
under the piercing lights of discovery,
my shoulders melt.
Bone becomes fluid, leaks into cavities,
pools around my organs in puddles:
puddles that fill crevices, then freeze.
Molecules grow closer, fit to form,
cementing my fears together
like negative space on a statue.
My guilt and shame were read to me
like bedtime stories every night at nine.
My quilt was littered with secret hurts
to cover with shrugs and a stoic face.
I wasn't just taught to take the blame
and accept responsibility for that which I can't control:
I was taught how to bury it in the backyard,
how to papier-mache a mask
over my reddening cheeks,
to soak up my salty woes
and further solidify the facade.
As the years passed and practice made perfect,
my entire body became encapsulated in fear and pride.
Independence burned bright in my self-descriptions,
but all I truly had to offer was an island,
desolation built upon an inevitability.
I was taught to hold secrets like water,
a never-ending flood of pieces of myself.
My reflection once told me to stop:
there was so much debris, I was manic static
over a vital broadcast.
That hunger took hold,
ripped the pain right out of my lungs
like warm breath on a chilly morning.
But self-awareness dissipated just as quickly.
Acclimation; Stockholm syndrome.
I came to covet the shell,
unbreakable like the vice over your heart.
I was taught not to burden;
I was taught not to trust.

The rose is obsolete
but each petal ends in
an edge, the double facet
cementing the grooved
columns of air—The edge
cuts without cutting
meets—nothing—renews
itself in metal or porcelain—

whither? It ends—

But if it ends
the start is begun
so that to engage roses
becomes a geometry—

Sharper, neater, more cutting
figured in majolica—
the broken plate
glazed with a rose

Somewhere the sense
makes copper roses
steel roses—

The rose carried weight of love
but love is at an end—of roses

It is at the edge of the
petal that love waits

Crisp, worked to defeat
laboredness—fragile
plucked, moist, half-raised
cold, precise, touching

What

The place between the petal’s
edge and the

From the petal’s edge a line starts
that being of steel
infinitely fine, infinitely
rigid penetrates
the Milky Way
without contact—lifting
from it—neither hanging
nor pushing—

The fragility of the flower
unbruised
penetrates space

My body was once a temple,
And I, the Goddess.
I tended to the needs of my temple,
treating it with care.

My body was once in ruins,
And I, the shunned queen.
I weeped in the mess that was once my temple.

My body is a work in progress,
And I, the hard worker.
I am cementing the walls shut,
So as to not fall any more.

My body will be my temple,
And I will be the Goddess.

My temple is plastered with scars and stretch marks from years of wear and tear,
But it is my temple,
And I will love it once more.

Because of you
I'm all here
Buried all the pains
Dug a new chapter
Imported new feelings
Seeded hope
Exported all the grievances
Took hold of the promises
Watered the heart
Cementing the broken pieces together
Laminated the smile
And on the wall I nailed it
Began a tireless journey
Wishing for the best
Trusting the eyes
Enjoying the sweet melody
A lullaby I need for a lifetime

Remember those days?
Acting silly and stupid
The ignorance we entertained
The confusion we embraced
Embroidering the hatred
An the mist of pain we got lost
Turning our backs on each other
Anger reddening our eyes
Silence that became a graveyard
Silence that almost murdered our hearts
Intoxicating our feelings
Destroying the taproots of our future
I remember that days
Buried now

Now I smile
For we hold it
In our hands we are molding it
Together moistening the clay
That long ago cracked
With no hope of being a palp again
We have it
We repainted the wall
A new dawn of hope
A beginning of a new chapter
The chills of winter all gone
Summer says hello
With its rain we will puddle
In the mud together
Yes the mud of love we will ***** ourselves
For we buried the past

Depleted-
I feel depleted, emotionally, physically, mentally-
I don’t feel like me-
Like a shell of what I used to be-
This tree of life grows so continuously-
In this undefined times-with these undeveloped rhymes-
I grow so empty-
And this potentially could be the end of me-
Heaven set me free-
Free to fly so casually-
Happy-feels like a casualty-
And I’m just hammering-
At myself-by myself-
My health depletes so erratically-
And magically I’m still battling-
The enemies are gathering-
In my head-in my bed-
Better off dead-
So demanding-
Here in front of you Lord I am standing-
Commanding you presence-
Are relationship is so adolescent-
So co-dependent-
Just demented-
And I am repenting-
Descending into a world of pretending-
Where the smile is vile-
And the eyes are the lies-
Of all that I am inventing-
The façade is cementing-
This is not my intention-
Expression is only expressing-
Meir fraction of my aggression-
Positivity-I could use a lesson-
But negativity is just not letting-
Me-
Be free-
Freedom from demons-
Is how I’m dreaming-
Like I said-I’m simply depleting-

To this life,
replete in unconnected fragments,
           you are glue,
                       bonding disjointed existence,
                       exhalting impassioned communication,
                       raising love beyond visible heights.
                                       There are no sounds without receiver;

what good are nimble thoughts,
           without the same --- a lover
             with whom to share?
                       Every separation is a link,
                                making closer the rendezvous.
                       Every revelation a mortar,
                                 cementing admiration in opposites.
                                           I need to know

the unknowable you,
            dissimilar as we are,
            routinely disagreeing,
                        reinforcing our mutuality.
                                             O delicious paradox,

delight me,
           in the not knowing
           in the riddles
                     of relationships.
                                          We both appreciate

Carroll's Rules of Jam ---
         Jam tomorrow or jam yesterday,
                      but never jam today.
                                           My trusted ally,

who but we,
           shall prevail against such logic?
           Let's share
                     *six impossible beliefs
                                         before breakfast.

I remember all of the stupid things.
The gap in my first love's fringe
that appeared only when she was flustered,
or torn between *** and G-d.
The nursery teacher who resembled
Jane Goodall and sat with me
whilst my hayfever was too potent
to play out in the sun.

I remember the exuberance of heat
on the concrete slabs in my first back garden.
How my mother would take
boiling water to the empires of ants
that would find life in the cracks
and crevices between my footfalls.
I remember how silent they were
through oppression and death.

I remember my first sight of the ocean.
How serene it looked in the distance,
how unforgiving and cold it was
once I threw my whole weight into it.
The shivering donkeys on the beach,
agitated by the ice-cream crowds;
the man who handled snakes for a living
and persuaded me to touch a killer.

I remember my first guitar
and how I stared at it helplessly
for two hours, like a teenage boy
on his first sight of a ******.
The first sad song to deliver a feeling
never experienced, but communicated;
how adults failed to answer the questions
that music gave forth effortlessly.

I remember when you started leaving
kisses at the end of your messages,
the formulaic gaps in time
before I would hear from you again;
your costume of nonchalance.
The way you appeared in the wasteland hours,
playing the therapist with your kind words
and history of neurosis.

I remember the sheet of plastic
that shielded me from the rain as a child,
the rubber wheels of my carriage
buckling through puddles and gaps;
the first exposure to nature's lullaby,
as I fall asleep through storm and traffic.
I remember how easily sleep once came,
and how I resisted it all the same.

I remember my recurring nightmare.
A big red button and the doors of hell;
some spectre of infinite density
that caterwauled for the destruction
of all things human, all things new.
The way my mother's arms were infallible,
the priest's glare, omniscient;
the revolting concept of a cigarette.

I remember all of the useless things.
The rings around my grandfather's eyes
on the only occasion I saw him cry.
Kissing Rebecca on the lips,
cementing our love with tree sap
and the promise of an endless summer.
I remember the first time I felt sad
without having a reason to be so.

I remember the shine of the room
when I took pills for the first time;
the incorrigible thirst for water
and the racing confessions that followed.
I remember how it felt,
the first time I trapped someone in a poem;
how easy it was to forget them
once reduced to words and half-truths.

Texas, you ran on me like blood,
miles of road building up for an anticlimax.
Sun on her back, begging for rust,
wringing herself for another hour of daylight.
Green and golden grass through the windshield
speckled with red.

Made me want the coming dust,
made the vibrant greens of the humid East
seem like anthills worth cementing over,

Golden red. Wind whipped through the car windows,
nostalgia in a place I'd never seen.
I wanted to break you. Time was too still,
change was too slow for me. Southwest America had my name
drawn in dead bug splatters and drained coffee cups
somewhere ahead.

Time doesn't translate to these long miles,
it's just you and me and something new, something old.
Me and the windshield and the dead bugs,
and flitting thoughts of North Carolina,
repeated songs, hard silences,
and something chilling about these dead towns.
Some salty Pacific air already on my tongue.

Something nameless to remind me that being young is bittersweet,
and I don't know what I'm running from

"Buy a Star!
Own a Star!"

The sales are brisk,
For cross-eyed lovers,
Cross-hearted, lost,
Beneath the spinning constellations
Burning immortal exhalations,
Desiring forever oxytoxic bliss,
Burning ******* and hearts
Yearn longevity of stars....

PT Barnum saw his opportunity:
Sold cotton candy,
Hawked elephants,
Gawked dwarves,
Hid the razors from
Fierce bearded ladies,
Even sold the elephants' dung,
Provender to exotic gardens....

Barnum's packing up
The Pachyderms,
So Hawkers have us
Gazing on the stars....

"Step right up! See the stars!"
Purchase your fire in the sky!
Your lover's name,
Fixed in the firmament  
A million years!

At least the cotton candy
And the elephant dung
Served some earthy, earthly good,
Paid dentists' children's college,
Fertilized the family food.

So now go claim a distant star,
A million, billion miles away,
Its light must make its journey
A thousand years or more
To greet your eyes, and yet,
Your lover's sighs predict
A hundred dollars' better spent
Than on a good Chablis,
Cementing mortal love in
Distant stars so permanent,
Visited through telescopic glass
Atop our rented tenements.

A piece of you..IS ENOUGH..

My dearest,it's a privilege for me to have known your heart.
It's been an honor to have heard your past,your thoughts and even the normal to chaotic things that's happening in your life but best of all it's been a blessing to have loved you.

I am not asking much of you my dearest..
Only this moment to make you feel loved by me. I have no expectations..
The fact that you have love me in return is ENOUGH.
Enough to say to myself,****,i am lucky..because i have loved and love a person who had given me more.
Do you know what you gave me dearest?
Not just the gift to be loved back..BUT YOU GAVE ME one thing that i lost so many years ago..MYSELF.
Time and again i have said thank you to you,many times i have shown you my gratitude because i am truly and entirely grateful to you.You gave me back my life and even changed me..

I am like an old house,renovated completely by you.
Everyday,you had fixed me.Every broken window of my soul,every cracks in the walls of my heart and holes in the ceilings of my life,you change it and fixed it.
In return,i am slowly rebuilding myself..and will never stop rebuilding myself till the windows of my soul is completely open to invite fresh air of adventures inside my life.I will never stop cementing the cracks of my heart till its clear enough to let something wonderful inside it forever and i will never stop repairing the ceilings of my life till its good enough to withstand the strongest storms and winds that will come.

You gave my life a GO..and i am pushing forward to be better.I am not asking much my dearest.
A piece of you is enough.A piece of you is enough NOW.
To have you in my life now is whats important to me.I am here,even if you lash out hurtful words or give me the sourest mood because you had given me yourself in the time i am totally ******* up and when everyone in my life had whipped me painfully and wiped me out of their lives.

You have stood by me and taught me well..
Yes you had given me the hardest tasks,i cried several times when you get mad at me for failing your instructions..You pushed me so hard and break me..But in the end,You gave me another thing back and that is my voice..My voice which can now speak bravely what's in my mind and what's in my heart..

A piece of you is enough..a piece of your time is enough..Enough to make me smile the whole day like a fool..a piece of you is enough to make me happy.You make me happy.I hold every little piece of you and your time here in my heart everyday like a rare diamond.

You might say i am thinking only through my heart but whats the use of thinking with your mind?a mind can deceive a thought spoken but a heart does not.So here i am speaking to you,with my heart on my hand with only three words on my lips..I LOVE YOU..I love you and i love you enough to tell you,your past doesn't matter to me..I love you and you and whoever close to you matters to me.YOUR HAPPINESS MATTERS TO ME.

Forgive me my dearest if i tell you my silly dreams.Dreams and wishes that one day,someday,i got to be where you are,make silly plans for me and you.Silly dreams that i can take care of you or make you pancakes in the morning..Hold you close at night to ease your mind,kiss your forehead when things hurt you so much and squeeze your hand just because i want you to feel my strength beside you..Just to say "baby,things are gonna be okay..in the meantime can i buy you an ice cream just to take your pain away?"

Those are silly dreams my dearest from someone who loves you dearly.I am not expecting it to happen..those are just dreams,nice and sweet thoughts to let you know that somewhere someone wishes for you..someone cares for you.

I can't offer you much,just this dreams and my heart.Yes,those are dreams my dearest,dreams and plans are two different things..I do want to make plans with you but we definitely don't know where life,our lives are heading too..

Sorry my dearest,if i scared you with my plan to go to where you are..But like i said..With or without you..Please be glad that i am moving forward.I don't expect much,i don't expect anything at all..To love you now and have this moment with you now is ENOUGH..

You need not to worry if you're going to hurt me,because you're not going to hurt me.And if you may hurt me,that's okay my dearest..Only words bleeds..nothing more..People come and go in our lives..But what matters is..they came.What matters to me is that YOU CAME..

A piece of you is enough..I don't know what happens in the future,you don't know that too..A piece of you now is enough..a piece of you that i love.Love enough to say my future is bright..i don't know what the future will bring but i am pretty sure now that its going to be wonderful.I will be better..I will fulfill my dreams.I sure want you to be by my side and hold your hand..And say "baby,look at me,i did well" but if not..Like you said awhile ago,if i bumped into you and you have someone new,I'll just smile and say "hi.i did well and guess what,i tasted the best fries here in Amsterdam because of you."

You need not to worry if you will hurt me I LOVE YOU.I AM NOT LIKE THE OTHERS IN YOUR PAST.always remember one thing..You and i are FRIENDS..we started that way.REAL FRIENDS DON'T HURT ONE ANOTHER.If one changes..the other UNDERSTANDS.i will always understand..Even when you said a while ago that you will cut me off entirely,i will still understand..because loving is understanding and loving is wishing only happiness for one another..The wind may blow in different direction but i want you to know A PIECE OF YOU IS ENOUGH AND A WHOLE OF ME WILL ALWAYS BE HERE,HERE TO WISH YOU NOTHING MORE THAN TO BE HAPPY..ALWAYS..

I love you,a piece of you is enough..knowing you is enough..you are enough.

Expounding on the concept of energy in motion
Compounding to the group like skin does to lotion
Surrounding myself with strangers an commotion
Heart pounding at my nerves with tepid demotion
Abounding to the waves just like riding the ocean
Confounding my words and their goal of a notion
Astounding even myself with this crazy devotion
Resounding thoughts change to words in e-motion

People watching through the glass
Just Inches away, but worlds apart
Remind myself, this too shall pass
Want to quit before I can even start

My mind is muddled as I contrast and compare
I"m left utterly befuddled, as I accidentally stare
So many thoughts in my brain I'm dying to share
I"m alone, I can't believe we breathe the same air

From a rowdy loud crowded bar
To a franticly crazy coffee shop
Stuck on a cramped subway car
En route to a lounge on a rooftop

They will stick to all their clicks
Avoiding all direct eye contact
Like momma birds to their chicks
How dare I even think to distract
May as well be a wall of bricks
Cementing the non disclosure pact

I wanna break the wall down
Demolish all of the barriers
Black, white, yellow, or brown
We"re all red blood carriers

Waves of freedom reigning down with power
Comfortably numb standing under the tower
Free of thoughts on the rocks amidst the ocean
Have nots drift away down a hole with e-motion

Adeptly wading among the chaos and disorder
Decisions being weighed as I stand at the border

Cold and motion less frozen into absolute solitude
Old is all relative and my energy is finally renewed

I built these walls up,
Brick by brick,
When I was just a child.
They kept me safe,
They kept me sane,
They kept me from you.

I built these walls up,
Brick by brick,
Cementing them with the hate,
The pain,
The disgust
That you inflicted upon me.

I built these walls up,
Brick by brick,
Hoping they could shield my heart,
Hoping they could protect me from the world,
Hoping they could stop you.

I built these walls up,
Brick by brick,
A layer for each hour of loathing,
Each hour of self-hatred,
Each hour of torture,
That I barely endured.

I built these walls up,
Brick by brick,
To save me from the world.
To save the world from me.

But then you came,
On that motorcycle.
Speeding down my road
With coldness in your heart.

But then you came,
And tore these walls apart.
And I couldn't bear it;
You ripped them asunder with your bare fingers
Without even laying a hand on me.

But then you came,
And I saw your face,
And these walls
I had built up,
Brick by brick,
All those years ago,
Those walls came shattering down.

You are excess of my goodness when am done with my badness
I love you Africa in excess for your excess of problems;
Poverty, wars, warlords, diseases, hunger, famine
And cataclysms evilest eating away your terra firma
Like a desperate Tiger on a capsized boat,
Your riches in history of slavery and heritage of colonialism,
In the excess of your global bleeding that makes me love you more,
Your excessive black ugly humanity in the explosive population
of useless human beings; barely illiterate and blunt in knowledge
Buried deeply in the starkness of crude and vulpine culture,
These bestow to me the synergy to love you O! My dear tarzanic Africa,
Your excessive cult of dictatorships that glitter in aura of democracy,
Sending your sons and daughters to miserable powerlessness,
Devoid of governance in abundance of power and money corruption,
Financing and cementing torture chambers for the voices of reason,
Building my pedestal on which I stand to execute
My cornucopia of love for you dear Africa, an avatar of Satan,
As you are prone and spread eagled in a defenseless stretch
Against  all the ****** condemning your self to ideological turmoil,
I still do love you in supercilious superfluity my dear Africa.

jumping jumbled thoughts
hop-scotch, double-dutch, criss-cross
getting lost in mish-mosh
scratching a vinyl
stuck constant skipping,
unfinished rounds of loop-de-loop spinning
speeding down stream
leaping across time warping lilypads,
memories interrupted by what-if daydreams.

my brain places haphazard bookmarks
when it runs into a lump,
then hops on a new train
ka-clunk ka-clunk-clunk ka-clunk,
tripping over decaying stumps
and mountains of over-processed junk.
always falling back to distraction,
instant satisfaction
was taught to me habitually,
so i look the other way when
my will bends instantaneously
at the mention of insane
raucous romping renegades.

i throw hand grenades
to prevent unfinished fragments
of insight from cementing.
wishing my words would
spit themselves out,
or dive off a cliff to utter calamity
cause effort is lost on me -
passionless revere
and bottomless see-sawing.

just stick me slack-jawed
in front of any cookie-cutter size of
plastic rectangle-god,
they all repeat the same chant
commanding me to stare endlessly at
screen after screen after screen after screen after screen -
my screaming pacified by flashing lights
and buzzing jibber-gabber.
infinite scrolling consumes isolated nights,
meticulously crafting a self-projection
made from inverse other-reflection
to deflect nagging fear of
detection and rejection.

can you really hear my inflection
from this typeface
and condensed pre-packaged mind-space?
i feel like i'm speaking,
but feedback is empty and misplaced
only muttered out by thoughtless mistake.
well once i pin me down
ill stick you beside,
and we can melt into cork board
a collage of disintegrated insides.

An exercise in line breaks.  See below

Give me notice (Version One)

Give me notice
For life is short
I might have more to do
Than rest on your doorstep
Hoping you will open the latch
Greet me with a smile
Suggest we spend the day
Viewing the community pond
Feeding the ducks
Cementing our bond

Give me notice
So I will not
Fall in love alone

Give Me Notice (Version Two)

GIVE ME NOTICE

Give me notice
Life
can be short

I might have
more to do

Than rest
on your doorstep

Hoping
you will
open the latch

Greet me
with a smile

Suggest we
spend the day

By the village pond

Feeding
the ducks

Cementing
our bond

Give me
notice

So I
will not
fall in love
alone

I, nightmare, will take this deconstructed lie and rebuild it in to grace.
Every brick can form the wall of what you fear to face.
The truth cementing things in place, during this post- trashed haze,
The shadowed wall, clock-collage consuming all your space.
I’m sorry for what I’m about to do: destroy that beauty face,
But all these past few weeks were to you were decorations for a calendar page.
Just tear them out, another gone. Time no doubt, will move on.
No, time won’t stop, clocks wave to you.
The second hand has fallen through.
The time has divided, or so you’ve added up,
For the years that spill, leaks will fill you up.
I promised you in a green July, that I wouldn’t be that girl.
You asked me what I meant by that, I said, the kind you swear to stay in touch with,
And never will.
I saw the liquor in your hand, a disguise I’m not used to on you,
When you were asked about it you said “All we have is what we do”.
Once we stop, there is no life.
There is no past or present time.
So hold your title, you know this well:
We all have an identity we must sell.
You told me how we all have a story, and it bears a cover,
Just that some are more concealed than others.
Oh, imposter, I promise you,
I’ll say lies that you’ll perceive as true.
You’ll mean nothing to someone who’s nothing at all,
We’ve built up this high to watch ourselves fall.
Coming off track, the air makes you sick.
A sulfur concoction of emotional wreck.
Dreams waiting to play out, but you can’t fall asleep,
Feel like its lies as you pray for your ‘soul to keep’.
Don’t know which religion the static wants to side with,
Years spent as congregation just left you undecided.
So, you think you’ll believe in science, death as an art,
That the world started off as a carcass, floating in the dark.
Then exploding with noise, dust, raw sun pollution,
The world evolved to ‘here’-your simple solution.
And I need to see what makes you tick, since the clocks won’t give in,
Our time here is impermanent, and with years, they will win.
Captivating tendencies, a secret for all,
It lies in a cloud, a spot on the wall.
Twin stop-light once green eyes find their way to mine,
Despite your pledges to quit ‘after one more line’.
Well, I do lines too, but of a different sort,
The kind that create images for your eyes to distort.
These words just keep molding my lines, forming poems,
About you and your lives, multiple personalities, homes.
I promise I can’t take these bi- Polaroid pitches,
Boiling down to descriptive word play glitches.
Confusion taking on forms I never knew it could,
Confusing confusion in the way that it would.
That sickening planet-spinning has really got to you.
You heard the tales, now your head spins the whole night through.
Blinking lights doing something in the back of my mind,
An ill omen, bad signals, as we watch planets unwind.
“It’s just- this is getting too long..”
“But there’s so much to say!”
Those words accompanied harsh looks as they took you away.
Didn’t know what to do, you got caught on a steep *****,
Said I’d write you a letter, encoded envelope.
I guess, maybe, my words aren’t as good as yours once were,
But now you gotta hand it to me, they beat your chemical slur.
I wanted confirmation, conversation,
But I’m left with a deal of word contemplation.
I drew a good hand; love’s just a card game of chance,
Can you beat my number with something higher in your hands?
Or does your palm of snow cover every card?
I’m sorry I asked, but I liked making this hard.
You got yourself caught up in a blizzard of “us”
But you threw in your hand of ingredients, reduced visibility to dust.
Status just a ghost of what could have been
As you drown all the pasts and the truths you have seen.
Now they’re rising up, lift their hearts to the sky,
It’s just truth that holds them down when you want to be high,
This is reality, its low, only chemicals create rise,
But this dead and dying bedroom left a nightmare for your eyes,
That water’s turning icy – clichéd – like your heart,
There’s nothing left but to promise you,
I helped with that part.