the rain has come
finally
first in thunderous
clould burst
big fat pregnant drops landing
labouriously on
the dessicated dirt
leaving craterous footprints
as evidence of a
glorious dance

more fall to the cloud's internal beat
a steady rhythmic fall
into the mudpit dancehall
that once was dry dusty street

the rain has lessened
now wavering
between drizzle and mist stragglers late,
to raindance fall ball.

This place seemed strange
like home never was
nothing more than
a halfway house
caught between dimensions
a cell to open your eyes
to this lucid nightmare called reality
hopelessly lost
without the slightest hint
of a cause
as to why
the ground is pockmarked
with craterous scars
as the foliage  falls
bled dry for another shopping mall

but all is well
in the fertile lands
of the democratically free
even if its democracy at the end of a gun
jobs are on the rise
the army needs boots on the ground
paid for from the taxpayers purse
of course
the night is dark and full of terrors
so you better pick a side
after all
it's not like terrorism
was figmented in the imagination
as just another means of control

while freedom hangs overhead
like the illusion of a carrot
as the donkey
desperately avoids the stick
consuming the soil
for capitalistic gain
apathetic to plight
empty..

nothing more than a synthetic mess
a big mac wrapper
thankful the global elite
cares enough to feed the drones
marching conformingly
to the drummers beat

when did the darkness burn so bright
while everyone sits idly as the light fades
why did no one intervene
who cared to know
what happened here

You challenge me to stretch
my mind like taffy,
so it only gets sweeter,
and stronger ,
allowing me to flex
my literary muscles.

Taking normal words
to another level;
from the sea floor,
to the beach,
to Mount Everest's tip,
To as far as the Earth's gravitational field.

Then I'll drop you back,
to your reality.
Away from images,
that can take you as far as the moon,
with it's craterous surface calling to you.

Be that as is may,
you can visit me again
and we will take a tour,
of another new land,
or experience.

Are you ready?

Craterous deep
I worry about your sanity
How many got it wrong to the one who got it right?

The sun rises early
There is no mind
It just bugs a little because night is so sumblime
I can see maybe 126 different points of existance
And have them twinkle twist with a thousand years
They hold their presence with confidence befit a head of state
Royal rocks of alienate


It is day and now I must jump into the stream
Put on my overalls and cross -pollenate with the hive
And drop a pebbled throw into the blanket of thought
Spark quick and be forgot

Certain songs keep playing in my head,
reassuring my mind I'm alive, not dead.

Doesn't make it any easier,
for the lyrics, they make me that much queasier.

The bass keeps my heart pumping,
the lyrics speaks to the soul...
and maybe if I fix these issues
I would be more than a great craterous hole.

The songs of misunderstandings and ire,
of running away and fire,

natural disasters and lives of the tired.

At least someone has been here before,
on their own path past the unknown,
please let this break be more than bones,
she can't take her own cast stones~

You're left in awe
of the majesty of it all
But I'm just a craterous soul
a gigantic gaping hole
In remain from projectiles before
A knowing eye will abhor.

and the river unfurls like a heart attack at work, his body a bomb captured on camera.
We are watching him from the banks waiting to see
     the unraveling, waiting to see if anything happens, waiting for the smell of
fresh blood on the sand, for the ocean cold longing to spill
                            out and over
as he tears his body in half.
                                      confetti falls from the sky and onto my
tongue,      glimmering wet,     the ground is
craterous where the paper falls
and the trees
                         shiver away
  their leaves.
water spills down the canopies like
something half holy,
his body shaking and seizing on the ground,
the river winding around his form like a snake.
is constriction freedom or oppression or are we just waiting for another storm to pass? i am watching the tornado **** my house up from underneath an underpass. i am ******* bricks and it is a very dark morning and i can still see the stars in the sky like tiny pinpricks of light spilling through a velvet curtain.
have you sat in spilled milk yet or licked up the shine from the floorboards?
there is something
                                   pulsing under mine,
under my pillow. there is something whispering his name in my ear i do not want to think of his body in repose i do not want to wonder on the motions of rot.
i have a snake tattooed on my arm
          it is eating its own tail
                     it is removing its mouth from its *** and slithering up to my throat: a shiny new necklace made of emerald to flaunt.
my therapist asks me if i have anything to say and i say nothing at all and curl tighter around myself like a duck-patterned blanket and the man on the riverbank retreats from the waters and sits up right and carries his blood back into himself, him and the river two whole circular separates.