A white porcelain
Porcupine

Sits atop
The stool

Beside a resting
Toilet and silent sink

Drains are clogged
Must be the fog

Airing up
Inside the room

Thick and heavy
Full of cream

Like a hot
French Pastry

Soap melts
Into a fine cappuccino

Skin is soft
Not smooth

Rugged
Tired of the water's touch

Lips separated
Leaking drool

An earlier soft drink
Makes its appearance

Sake makes my soul
Gold and sublime

A snowball I received
To the face

Magical cocktail
Island tragedy

In Paris
Couped up

Stuck in a bathroom
Head bobbing

Up
And Down

Swaying
Side to side

Direction unchosen
Ears sweetened

By a tranquil
Heavenly sound

A song
Heartfelt poem

Layne's voice
Shouting from the void

Guitar strings
Beats of a drum

Native quotas
Unremembered

Just peace
No hate

Possible gain
***** to be given

Snowflakes
Fall upon my brow

Hissing in the heat
Chilling a man-made sea

Fingers tingle
Fabricating a jingle

Eyes swell
Blochted art on the walls

Feet numb
Deciding to stick around

Like a sore gum
Withered with gin

My armor
Solid arms

Continue to fall
Down with my divinity

I am Lucifer
Shining meteor of false hope

Chest heaves
I begin to grieve

Hope for a dawn
Pray to hear a new song

But here he comes
I am bleeding

Shaken by the storm
Overcome

Laughter
And crying

This means
I am dying

But,
Is the time right?

Learned more from this pain than i ever did from a church.
Listening to your gut but make sure you detox it first.
**** be killin me softly, leave me in a Hearse,
Never a good thing when i hear from you first.
Be careful what you see,
even salt look like sugar,
Maturity is not throwing salt when you know you could've,
And not smackin ******* when you know you should've.
People Be like "oh i miss you"
**** i miss me too.
Had to use these teflon tissues to get me thru,
You not alone, **** i wanna be with me too,
Deadass On some days , smiles were too good to be true.
I be business minded when i be minding my business.
And ****** be ******* and ******* be on some ***** ****.
Overcame this novocain,
Recasted the impression of depression,
Ring around the rosary,
Never relying on religion.

Im from a home of funny bones
And My elbows been ashy,
I knew It would take more than macaroni art to kraft me,
And i been itching for this platform
If you ask me,
I used to wonder if i was a real person.
I used to wonder like what's my real purpose?
When i was young ,I taught my shadow to stick to my toes,
When lifes a battle, I fought to stick to mottos.
As a poet i never looked at it this way,
I never booked myself for this reading.
I was overbooked.
I bookmarked my favorite moments ,
I been forever overlooked.
And never understood what "more" ment,
I been overcooked.
The preheating of this season left me bleeding.
This farenheit left me heavy breathin
No fear of heights but Excuse me while I fall from
- grace -
me with your presence and
These broken promises,
Never been transparent to this degree,
Had to leave that monster house.
That was my American horror story.
I used to be couped up,
Had to tell double d to get outta my laboratory,
See mfs want my jazz but not my blues,
They Wanna be in my class but aint payed they dues,
Yall be Morally incorrect,
....More or less...
Lately i been Moralless,
Need to get saved no church bells ,
Put me on the zach Morris list,
These rhymes be like my confessions,
Front row seat to my ascension,
Carry out this life to which we've been sentenced,
Delivery me from evil - with even more incentives,
I dream in MLA format.
Double spaced a letter to my younger self,
Just some **** I wish i told the older me
A ***** laundry list of things I thought ought to be owed to me,
My OCD be blowin me,
Need all my ducks in a row,
My prolonged silence been leading this Crescendo,
Im not playing NO GAMES, fuxk you and your Nintendo.

Humanity's, large mammal's extinction, racing towards us
from our future, seen on the horizon, dictated by the corp.
structure and it's devolutionary direction, must be stopped.
First, now, you ask how?  If you don't build it, they won't
come, on and off, from a decade before the World Trade Center
was undone, by planes that "they didn't know could fly into
buildings", according to C. Rice, as if they never saw a boy
play, I warned of their doom, in twigs of poetree, etc..  Also,
I told of the terrible two's, bi-polar axi of supposed power,
the republican and totalitarian global conspiracies, dividing
and conquering the world betwixt them, like two sides of the
same materialist coin (un)becoming into one another, racing
towards each other, humanity, life, the Earth, the coin between
them, disappearing as they go, decades before other twigs told
of the bi-headed false-god, mammon, of avarice and molloch,
of war, extreme violence, grinding up the seeds, kids, the
future cannibalized to replicate 'la machine' and it's past
profits, the actual religion behind all masks, fronts, studies,
religions, worldviews, including supposed sciences, atheism,
neither head able to realize their exigent potential without
the other, and how each of the Twin Towers was a temple to a
head, the West, hiding, blindly worshipping, sacrificing all in.

Yet, instead of replacing those twins, temples of doom for
future's broom, "...we(e),..." re-imagined our future, built
the Freedom's Tower, though, we didn't realize that "more
perfect" expression of our nation, where freedom would truly
ring, for it rang true.  Confronting the 'use' of duality and
dichotomy across the multi-media conspiracy to brainwash
people into self-subjugation to the convolution's rule n'er
took place, and with haste the 23 flavors, in this Baskin
'n robbins of supremacy, merx for more through to mercs for
unending unnecessary worldwide war divided, conquered
and cannibalized the country, everyone increasing their piece
of the American tax dollars pie from the purposeful non-
prevention of anything, everything, in perfect harmony.
Thus, when the alt-right-universe invasion successfully
couped, "...we(e),...", weren't de-programmed, awakened
enough to dispel and defeat it outright, so we devolved
into haggling for more, better place in the empire instead.
But, our king-kong sized terrible-two's, Utin's ****'s
apolitical criminal insanity forced us to grow in evolution's
direction, towards unity.  We turned back their invasion, will
we build freedom's re-assertion by "...separating" that false
"god from the State" as our Constitution dictates, will you?

My face has left
With the sun,
Leaving the moon in my chest
To rot with the
Dark in the rain.

A sickness has stricken me,
My body upside down.
A breathless existence
Couped into a rain cloud.

Seraph and Ephedrine*
     or *colliding, and by ash

Blond rain, hot, braising a brunette burn.
The stage was taking turns when she turned up
beneath me; meek petite, turned out to be
a wishing well while I adored the ring-
song of another southern belle. "Fall in,"
our notes implored to me and I, delighted, did.

She astride, we twisted up in splendid
flow, the baby blue's and sultry auburn's
nightly sojourns. Tucked unknown inside
her chest's soft comfort, lazing, I'd wake up
and glow. Two autumn lovers racing spring's
escaping tide, colliding, and by ash besnowed.

Scottsdale found me prey in unbecoming
news of winter crimes. I learned of didoes,
sickening grit, soirees of summer scoring
lines and picking pits and nursing burns
and being crooked all the time. Upside-
downing and dying, still, I bided her decline.

Bushy tailed and bright eyed, I entertained
elides not all bright white inside. I climbed
Sioux Falls and foraged for seduction. Lit up
and afflicted? Fix: a sick and sordid
sort of wickedness, a Pyrrhic forfeit's burnishing
reduction. Spurred, I galvanized, ceased her ringside

and matured. I'd drift immersed in suffering,
so, and surface shown not shore or certain
earthen berm; soon I earned my sideburns,
emerging taciturn, eternally, to her. Beckons
chirped at first, then mewed, then roared, candid
advents went ignored, an epoch couped

with cruel and sober sword. I suppose
the years assuaged the ache enough to wring
my rage awake and tough; seeing the iodide
wraith herself, withered and rough and raked in
such concern, she saw me unperturbed
because I finally wasn't shamed how things had burned.

I was always proud of her suffering; her ruin in bedlam by design,
but burned-up notes and buried bedding didn't seem so tragic at the time.

I expected a chariot,
was trained to hold reins,
feed horses,
and know when to whip them.
Hours I spent shuffling across sheer faces
to teach me the balance necessary.
I took notes from oaks on how to keep my feet firmly planted,
legs bending, never breaking.
I suffered the hurricane
to learn to not blink with wind in my face.
I humored Time, to learn from its spinning wheel
so that I might know my own.
I turned to the trust of beasts
thinking they might one day guide me.
I glared at charioteers,
My coliseum competition.
I sat, eyes closed, by the ocean
To acquaint me with a roar
I would expect from an audience.
I stripped myself bare
So that I may learn the choices of judges.
I was prepared for a chariot.

But what arrived was a ratty coup of unknown make;
a wheezing, rusted contraption with wobbling wheels,
a cracked, insect-stained windscreen,
valves of leaky ichor,
a missing cigarette lighter,
a lockless glove box,
a tailpipe that belched black omen,
windows that rolled by hand and got stuck,
seats of the kind of leather your skin sticks to in the summer and froze in winter,
and an AM/FM radio filled with static.
No spare tire.

I was livid.


This vehicle was to carry me to my onward days,
to the paradise of my imagination?
I was to collude with my romantics in the passenger seat
of this rolling mausoleum?
To commute to my place of wage
and not have my vessel reflect my value?
To pass my days of leisure
knowing a bunker of my perturbation watched from the driveway?

I tried to hew a chariot of my own,
but first the wood of the trees of my garden proved too weak.
Then my crooked wheels seemed to want to separate away from each other.
And the only beasts to pull it were dogs,
made fat from the gristle of my meals that I threw them
in my days of anticipation.
I conceded to the coup.

Misery so often my chauffeur,
I plotted and plodded along with the wheels I was given,
Diverting my eyes from Apollos in the sky,
Pulled by glistening pegasi.

A friend,
also couped up,
Told me to make the most of it.
So I’ve been trying.

I tried to take its namelessness as something to which I might give a name.
As it wheezed I heard it breathing, liable to collapse, but
Alive
nonetheless.
The warped wheels wove their own way,
and I imagined the invisible burden of unseen beasts
with greater senses of direction than mine.
I saw the insects in front of me as company.
As the pipes oozed, I conjured hopes that they were like a gallbladder,
concentrating bile then removing it.
I sensed that the missing lighter meant I shouldn’t be smoking.
The glove box lacked a latch for ease of access,
and I read from the messages scrawled in smoke in my rear-view mirror.
The effort made to breathe through the manual windows
made me appreciate the breaths I took.
The broken sound system taught me to make my own music.
And the lack of a spare tire taught me to drive very, very carefully;
There would be no second chances.

The coup is a symptom of my broken hopes for my future’s reality.
But,
unlike the chariot,
it is real,
and its state of breaking can
Hopefully
be fixed.
I can sit when I wish to be seated.
I can bring others with me wherever.
The direction is dictated by me and not the whims of beasts.
The AC stutters, but it’s there.
There’s a trunk where I can put my memories.
And,
also unlike the chariot,
I can go very, very fast
if I want to.

It is an era that need be forgotten, yet not be forgotten
Isolated by the rest of humanity for forsaking humanity,
The lives of no mere mortals were sacrificed on the promise of freedom,
While in some town couped up by hate, anger and despair
Families were left an unsolvable puzzle, in infinite pieces
It was an era that they told us was over,
And yet in a trench somewhere near the tip of a continent
Men whose bodies are covered by a dark pigment no different from mine,
Different to that of the man commanding them to dig deeper,
Whose behaviour and attitude seems no different to that of his father,
And his father, and his father’s father, and their forefathers
On whose behest a mark on a people was heavily branded
A sense of nostalgia overwhelms my body
And so while I walk past these men working in the trenches
I look upon them with a face contorted by disgust
Not toward them nor the pale skinned man who dictates their every movement
It is towards those of the same pigment as the men in these very trenches
Whose stomachs have been fattened by the labour of these very men
Whose every lie they have forced them to believe
With the talk of an era that still instills fear and instigates hate
Misdirected towards still figures who have as much life in them as the men they honour
It is an era that is still not yet over

My overactive imagination roams tapping into the rhythmic vibrations of the Multiverse. With each passing moment I converse with my Inner Child "the pure spirit of freedom from worldly views able to only love deeply yet without favoritism forgive all trust all be kind meek and humble to all having a gentle touch towards humanity and their flaws" the Mature Man "a augmentation of millions of ideas, information about what we know and what we think we know about God and it's celestial hosts...combining reason, wisdom, discipline and complexity to what our Creator has made simple for us to understand believe live and abide by....forming a TRUE Relationship with his Only Begotten Son Jesus Christ" and finally our fictional and surreal yet real and "Instinctual Self" pure living conciousness the epicenter of where our child mind develops to a mature mind our IMAGINATION & DREAM Self. In between this transference I had a revelation that my Inner Child and my Instictictual Self where far much greatly developed than my Mature Self and I knew then due to my knowledge of the unknown had vastly growed in massive proportions. High price to pay though for being hypersensitive and deeply gifted with the speciality to bend energies visualize auras foretell Destiny Numbers and write draw and do anything I set my mind to doing outstandingly well over others. My overactive imagination couped with hypersensitivity and able to tap to spiritual dimension freely able to transmit healing or cursing to others thru words of power and Tongues Of Divine or Demonic nature have created a conception that I was born a Schizophrenic and to that I do NOT deny its existence within the inner mechanisms of my conciousness and perception towards Life and reality. It's true I am schizophrenic but I have learned to live with my mental disorder...yet I see it more as a Gift than a curse. Self pity, victimizing myself, self loathe, self deception, self sabotage and grandiose illusions created long ago by my Inner Child is what I deal with in my day to day basis. Visual, Auditory and Inceptive thoughts become real to me combined with excessive amounts of free time and sedentary lifestyle I choosen to adapt to molding my current situation I have become too comfortable with this style of living. Deep inside I want to do different I want to mature and be a full grown man and take care of myself but am so afraid of failing I have given up on trying something new for a change. My reward is slowly self destructing because I feel unworthy of having a different kind of life than the one am currently living. Am terrified of the consequences I'll have to face if I fail at becoming my own self sufficient person that I so much want to be. Nevertheless, God I pray to thee you will empower me to take on this challenge and change and become what I want to become a full functioning Grown Adult taking on a job, financial stability, a wife, couple kids and a happy life. In my case NOT all is lost but I have realized I do NOT like responsibility,  I don't know how to take the right steps forward to be what I envision to be but not all is lost I will keep persuing my dream on one day being able to become and be what I envision ...A happy full Grown Man Mature and wise enough to do the right thing. With God's help and me communicating my current struggles to someone I can trust I can start taking small steps on changing me and my life and lifestyle. So help me God. I realize that for me to finally reach my end goal is a lifetime of progress not perfection. Is committing myself towards doing something different and sticking to the plan layed before me. I have an extremely difficult time going thru change because am so used to being spoiled, taking the easy way out, living a double lifestyle and having ways to prey and use my gifts to exploit others vulnerable emotions and use them as pawns to fulfill my own twisted sense of altered life and reality. This I need to work on day and night to use my gifts to help others instead of how can I benefit from the arising circumstances and situations I am dealing with and what can I gain from playing with people's time, emotions, perception, and energy cues...that I can easily tap into and administer small changes day by day till they start to feel the need to do things how I want them to do it by implementing small radical shifts of change in their primal energy pool. Devicing ways to slowly set them to pay for their time being spent on being disobedient towards theirselves and converting them slowly to become more distant towards their Mature Self in time becoming more disciplined towards self perdition and destruction leaning on a touch of Godliness with extreme amounts of self indulgence towards this World and it's carnal temporal luxuries we all partake into practicing. I want to instead begin to heal them slowly listen more carefully and attentively empower them to be focused on God rather than themselves...on the spirit rather than the instant gratification gained from the temporal carnal pleasures and enjoy the experiences of a deep and personal relationship to a higher power that they can tap to and call upon when in doubt or need. I am NOT saying I haven't done this before with others either but when I have tried they push me away because their afraid of a pure change of mind heart and soul. We are all confined to a prison within our own minds and we are doomed if we don't release them "the mind" from it. True Love is what matters and with it we can truly change the world. May God be with you always. Thanks for reading.

1 2 /3 4 /5 6 /7 8/ 9 10
I count my steps as soon as my feet leave the bus and carry me home, not thinking of my path, it's ingrained in my body
4 counts of ten and 3 to the traffic light
Balancing on the kerb-edge, anticipating the Green Man - the only man to keep me safe in the dark
7 steps to the other side, a small blessing of lockdown is the lack of noise and stale ***** and rowdy laughter spilling out of the four pubs I'd pass, no swerving or increasing my speed, shoulders up at earlobes and eyes trained on the concrete, whole body screaming
Please don't notice me
The streets now are eerie, the silence brings no comfort
Only heightened awareness of every rustling leaf in a city battered by easterly winds
And I can't catch my breath
6 more 10s and 8, 9
From the corner of my eye a shadowbeast grows and on instinct (self-preservation, conditioning, societal training) my hands are bitten by metal teeth in my pocket
A painful protection, the irony is not lost on me that my only protection outside my door is that which keeps others away in my absence
But the shadow is someone moving to their car so I relax infinitesimally
There are still more steps to go
Coming up for the park, what they call a hot spot but hot for what, all I feel is cold and alone
It's badly lit, filled with teenaged hoots and hollering, kids letting off steam and who can blame them couped up and schooling at home
But their shouts and laughter ricochet sinister and all I can think is What if no one hears me scream?
Finally hurrying past the playpark and the swings creak with too-big boys hanging from too-old frames
I look away and press on, my feet subconsciously pounding with the music blaring from a phone
Disembodied voices decrying the ******* and hoes to silent replies
Another 60 steps and the rats scurry in the bush, I used to shudder but now I recognise their twitchy anticipation, ready at a moment's notice to drop their morsels and run for cover because the intention of the passerby is not my perogative
And the underbrush serves rodents well for hiding in the dark
My own camouflage comes in reflective patches seen by the street lamps, a token honing beacon to oncoming pavement traffic and cars on the roads
I Am Here - See Me
But also don't, let me merge with the stone and concrete that I may pass unnoticed, unwatched, unlabelled
The earphones hang heavy, empty, a prop in the farcical show - blasé ownership of the ground I travel
This is my space and you won't take it from me
This is my body and you won't take it from me
This is my life and you won't take it from me
Not a statement but a plea silent and screamed and etched on my body and painted on my face
But you won't see it in my eyes because they are married to the cracked tarmac and tree-root rebellion pushing against obsidian skies
At night there is no connection with strangers unless their feet fall like yours
pretend power and child-in-mother's-heels certainty
These are inherited steps, a legacy of communal mourning and communiqué
The last street to cross
Cars are few, but ritual demands I take in this T-junction
Safety First
I am king of the road, watch me step
1 2 3 4 strides to the homestretch
So now I count the doors
Only 9 chances of being pulled into a close
8
7
6
5
I'm blinded by a car at full beam
The secure garage door opens and I am trapped
Rabbit-hearted and deer-spooked
Unsure who's behind the wheel, if I can pass ahead
I wait, lungs filled with lead until only brake lights are visible to me at the road end
I'm jumpy tonight, I note
4 doors
3
2
1
And I turn into the carpark
Sticking to the lit pavement
Weaving quickly between vehicles and I'm at the building door
Two flights of stairs and a landing between take 29 steps, I skip a few in anticipation
8 more strides in pitch black - none of our door lights work just now and despite the secure entry system I still speed up
Until the sweetest sound of all
That familiar metal click
786 steps to safety
And as I rest my head on the cool wood interior, I count myself lucky that in here I am promised security
Unlike the thousands of others whose homes are no safer than the streets
A sure sign of the long road yet to be travelled, whose destination may promise a world where we matter

fortunately thwarted courtesy
mine tall tale telling flair.

Mine irretrievable brilliant masterpiece...
all for naught after mental cogs and wheels
I did apply creative juice metaphorical grease
regarding tour de force pièce de résistance writing
forever lost to the annals of human history.

So much for escaping to paradise island
(Garden of Eden) and experiencing zen
Impossible mission to earn untold yen
concerning prosaic poem/ poetic prose titled
The old battleaxe and her henchwomen
irrecoverable linkedin to sinking feeling
hours, days, weeks... all spent for naught
dharma *** - me got doled out unfair

injustice though scoreboard (tabulating
when yours truly acted immoral) oddly even
Steven after I repented against
marital infidelities nearly cost priceless
paternal love of daughters, whereby
their father experienced
suicidal ideations thought
to drown his sorrows
overdosing on fen-phen.

A transcendent awakening
occurred within noggin of one simian
a clothed outlier caged within human zoo
predicated upon his overactive imagination
inextricably favorable ratings did woo,
albeit ephemerally savored renown, and true
value viz his great Magnus Opus,
whereby riches couped courtesy
brief brush with fame and glory
found countless people lined in queue

(and moment of morning glory
subsequently slipped
thru gnarly butter fingers
symptomatic of nervousness
exhibited courtesy an aspiring Nehru
case in point my pal Joey, a kangaroo
dear reader pardon
tardy greeting regarding helloo
cuz decided against formalities,
a nonestablishmentarian he doth eschew
no ghostly chance I merely utter boo!

Unlikely I scared
the living daylights out of you,
nor would that be intent
regarding self taught amateur
practitioner of voodoo
I rarely if ever cast spells,
nevertheless yours truly
still under probation
and peer review
so breathe easy, cuz Matthew
Scott Harris would hate
to tarnish reputation of Guru,
that charming humble fellow
he taught me wizardry.

In an ocean of secret holders
who anchors down their deep waters
crashing waves of thoughts
torn veils of skin sails
sunken ships of past
rusted memories
often washed on shore
It doesn't matter if you're a tiny fish
trying to fit among
whales publications
shark authors
electrocuted by eels downsizing your cause
Know, once eminent sailors are
skeletons gone by their acts

Through the dense forest
evil resides
****** into darkness,
the black, the bitter, the better
Succumbed to death,
wallow the mushy dirt etched to scarred skin
Those quills that doesn't run out of pain
bleed sticky gum of slit open trunks,
leaves to the ground,
withered love
It doesn't matter if you're a snail couped in
your little shell,
trying to race amongst the
biggest, baddest, best
Know, every animal has its killer instinct
Once mighty explorers are the bygone era
of dinosaurs
Their work, fossil of proof

In the blistering winds of snow
cracked glass souls
who pens down heaped fears
doubts and uncertainties unshovelled,
crystallised perspirations
It doesn't matter if you're a snowman
lifeless, formless, hidden
Know, once giant ice bergs that stood tall are
slashed, melted, evaporated

Through the light sky to outer dark space
mystery lies,
the power of the unknown
Those that rocket their fascinations
lavitating endless celestial bodies
A moth drawn to a flame,
sparkle and dust
It doesn't matter if you're a little star
unseen by the existing blazing sun
glorious moon, brightest stars
Know, once greatest scholars are
crashed comets, fallen stars
a lost wavelength in time
siphoned by a giant hole

Hush to the others
lashing waters, rustling trees, icy blow winds, sparks of void

Be one of a kind
Let the little minions in your head
do what they best do
write "You".