It was a sliding scale,
and its not,
we arent,
we love in fear,
or play out the jaded concept,
of what love is,
we avoid emotional intimacy,
like a ****** transmitted disease,
we bathe ourselves in,

and we are scared,
we chose the empties,
so desperately afraid of something whole.

we are the generation popping pills,
like the tic tacs of choice,
we numb ourselves to the point of loss,

BUT ITS OUR RIGHT! ITS OUR CHOICE.

and we lose consciousness while breathing in,
worrying about what we once were,
and what is now,
afraid of the dark, we try and bathe ourselves in flourecent light.

shackeled to the shame
of the emptuiness of our years,
pretend we dont hurt, push the feelings aside,
just to belong,
we love in fear,
to escape the consequence of decisions,
but we are forever deciding,
and indecision is a choice even though its still deciding,

lovers lost in a war,
fighting a battle of selective memory,
and we drink amnesia like it's the cure
(it isn't the cure)
and we give ourselves away,
without dictation of the currency,
in which we exchange,
and we'd be lying even if we handed out the quotes,
and please dont tell the truth to slander my life of lies
because it could ****** well **** me,
it becomes a ticking time bomb making changes i really cant commit too,

I wish that I was braver – a little less shy. But genies are a thing of make believe, so this wish remains inside

Of my mind

It is false like the sheep herder who calls,
Out about a ferocious beast who feeds on his sheep,
Even if there was no ferocious beast at all.

But at least he cried wolf, at least he cried out.

While I sit here in silence with the worst case of cotton mouth.

I've been struck by a drought, Words dry up faster than my ability to speak.

My tongue has been barren for days, no sound, genies are a thing of make believe.

I fear what might happen, meaning I embrace deciding not to take action. But when it comes to hoping, all of my thinking is wishful.

So if a genie were to be reading this, may he grant my three wishes in the form of spoken word delivered from my lips to her ears:


You're really Cute.

CARELESS LOVE SEQUENCE

* * * 1

HE CAN DO HIS OWN ****** IRONING

She sits feet up
(at last)

with a strong cup of tea
(the way she likes it)

he and his weak tea
( pisswater she’d call it )

she’s ignoring him
because he’s ignoring her

(he can’t say she didn’t
call him)

she’ll be annoyed if
he’s forgotten to bring

her washing in
now it’s raining

(he can do his own ****** ironing)

always tinkering with something
in that old shed of his

(just like his father)

probably never even saw
the sunset she wanted him to see

how many times
did she have to call him

always a puncture to be repaired
or a neighbour’s radio

that needed to be
mended

“Give it to Jim...”
people’d say
“...he’ll fix it! ”

as if he were an old adage
or proverb or whatchmacallit

too vain to wear
his glasses

his eyes almost closed
her laughing at him…watching him struggle

half way
through the ads

she falls asleep
mouth open snoring.

Jim only looks like
he’s sleeping

a neighbour’s dog
finding him

in the early hours of
the morning

his hackles
rising.

* * 2

YOUR NAME UPON MY LIPS…YOUR NAME UPON MY LIPS.

The heart attack
a moon

pierced
by the silhouette of the hill

pain a wolf
howling your name

as each heartbeat
a naked fleeting footstep

running through wet grass
frantic to reach

the lovely lady who laughs

at the stupidness of
your question:

“My name is Death
...why do you ask? ”

Your own name
in a slightly foreign accent
lingers about her lips

vanishes
in a kiss.

* * 3

HE GOT THE OLD GRAMOPHONE TO WORK AFTER ALL

The heart attack
carelessly yawns

unimpressed with
the beautiful sunset

an automatic sprinkler
watering the lawn

the grass wet against his face
as he clutches the earth

trying to hang on

as if the Laws of Gravity
have been reversed

the tic-tic-tic
of the automatic system

lost every now & then
in a dog’s bark

water droplets
staining his skin

like washing on a line
that somebody’s forgotten

to bring in
out of the rain

blue and yellow pegs
lie scattered on the ground

a favourite blouse
that horrid lurid Mexican shirt

run around
together

before deciding to elope
with the breeze

an old fashioned
gramophone

playing: “Careless love
...oh careless love! ”

the glisten of the shellac

the music stuck
in a groove

repeats itself
repeats itself

until it
winds down

his wife’s voice
searching for him

room by room

“Oh, where’s that man
when you want him? ”

“Jim...Jim! ”

her voice echoing
at the end of Summer

a skein of birds
moving as one

wheel across the sky
first one way and then the other

taking her breath away

Jim’s favourite programme
is about to come on

the night listens
to her calling him.

I ask for direction but only the spirit knows,
the semantic is lost in one ritual or another subroutine.
We breath in violable biology to voice a movement
that joins u to me and together we point there,
somewhere without realizing that I consciously exhale.
A relaxed breath in but two ways out.

There is no committee nor panel of experts,
endless discussions, of morality of us all;
There is only me deciding how to exhale,
which way to breath out.
There is no wrong or right, only the slow,
controlled, submissive, submission vowels
or short, percussive consonants full of sound
and fury signifying the falling
golf *****, scattered on off-target greens,
a lawn of flamed bogeys.

A brief pause in silence aftermath, memories
of honored and vicious executioners
before I pick up the next eddie current,
the next randori in forgotten volume,
in brownian space, in distance maai,
in movements unthinkingly remembered.

there are some things that everyone simultaneously knows and acts in spite of
and we live in a world where pointing these things out gets you labeled as a try-hard
it's ***** in a bucket syndrome

the ***** instinctively bring each other down
because competition is all they know
cooperation is foreign to them because they are scavengers
most people are scavengers

you've got the scientists and engineers bringing truth down to earth and making meat of it, you've got the market cooking that meat and packaging it, and you've got the investors deciding which meat is the best and which meat to make more of but also eating most of the meat in the process of making that decision

the rest of society just gets the scraps
so anyone who wants a better life is seen as a try-hard, someone to be competed with and brought down

it's a brilliant system developed and implemented by the rich investors to keep the middle and lower classes fighting amongst ourselves over whose scraps are less filthy instead of claiming the meat for ourselves
or better yet putting our efforts towards turning more truth into more meat

but, because of their intention to keep things as they are, and despite the fact that most people are very aware of this
pointing it out gets you labeled a conspiracy theorist, or a crank or something.
you don't get to both speak truth and be taken seriously.

no one cares because they were brought up not to care

it intrigues me that the truth can be shunned in the first place
those who know the truth should be praised
like why isn't that how it actually works

people are extremely stupid jealous creatures with no vision

WHY
IT HURTS

the majority of people are little better than animals but we must live among them because we have no other company
we keep things this way because the alternative is loneliness and that's even worse
that's why we all pretend
we're afraid no one will follow us off the path laid down by those more fortunate.
we choose company over truth and humans always have.
we are not simply being pulled back into the bucket
we're hesitating to put our full effort towards climbing out of the bucket
because while we're in the bucket at least we're not alone
outside the bucket, who knows? most people haven't even seen over the edge of the bucket.
what if everyone spreads out and becomes lonely out there?
suffering is a common experience which people can bond over. the relationships among the upper class are strained and artificial because they have far less in common with each other than people like us do with each other
they're in an even bigger bucket
but their bucket is one they built themselves, by choice
the bucket called earth, they killed the interest in interstellar space travel
now no one at all gets to leave
we will fill the bucket with excrement and ***** and we will all drown together

and the lord said let there be light. and he saw that it was good.

amen.

I can remember growing up in my car
That year of not so sweet sixteen
As my line of sight aligned with my knuckles and
Further to the cyclops viewfinder windshield
That showed me the world through its
Cracks of heat expansion and cold contraction

I remember getting ice cream with a girl once and
Realizing that high school never was one of Baskin Robbins 32 flavors
Maybe that's why I never bought into it or liked the taste
Feeling it to be a waste of time

I remember driving by the school
Bright and early in morning
Deciding today was not my day and I'm not going
Because I was always too cool
Or more accurately too foolish to see the point of it all

I remember drug filled days passing by in a daze slowly but surely
But in my mind they drift by like a cigarette drag in my memory
Subsequently with each inhale and exhale

I remember the day I chose to walk the halls like a ghost and
Make as little impact as I possible
As far as I'm concerned I was fairly successful

I remember not knowing what it meant to be a sophomore
Only that as the pain progressed I was beginning to feel more and more soft

It's hard being the ****** in the vehicle
It's a vicious vessel to handle

Four grades in a classroom
Three years in my backseat
Two days in jail
One life to live

When I was sixteen
I wish this wasn't the future
Now it's my past

Addressing issues in society.
Maybe in away with people.
If the man you're messing with is taken.
And you knew of it.
Don't complain now.

If he's a hustler, ****, drug dealer.
Simply unemployed and you're a struggling mother.
Don't complain now.
You made your bed.
You made your personal decision.

If your son should meet the wrong end of a gun.
After deciding to rob somebody.
Don't complain now.
Which many people seem to want to do.

For better or worse.
We must journey on.
Because our life continue on.

We all have done something wrong.
When judging others.

I can feel my mind boiling.
Overcoming with thoughts of my past loved ones.
Trying so hard for everyone.
And forgetting the most essential self being.
The raw blisters of an emotional carcass rot as an open wound.
Again and again, done for others as you wish was done unto you.
The only one you ever had that put you before everyone else.
You stabbed, and threw them away.
Even as they are so close. They're far away; not to be as one anymore.
The extension of the small greatness in fact made you all the greatness.
The greatest challenge of a man is deciding.
Live within a world he has made for himself, or live within a world others have created for him.
In a controlled society do we ever truly live, or are we simply slaves to another madman's mind.
Is this a ******* joke, or is this reality.
The harsh reality of we are all just microorganisms in this ****** up universe of an insignificant
planet, but we were given the curse of thought, intelligence.
Is it Man's greatest blessing?
Or shall it be our greater curse we've ever manifested.

BY: Cedric McClester

While the internet entices
Those making sacrifices
For Boco Haram or ISIS
Whose platforms are divisive
Here’s what my advice is
Stop cutting heads in slices
While rolling out the dices
Which makes you not the nicest
Saying it’s all in Islam’s name
When you practice to defame
Every prophet who ever came
You’re only poppin’ game
Cos’ their message was real plain
It’s really not hard to understand
Men can’t do what only God can

There’s only one Khalifah
And his name is ****
He’s the only Khalifah
That I know there is
You can’t build a Khalifate
Solely based on hate
So let me restate
(well here it is)
There’s only one Khalifah
And his name is ****

You have to be mad
Or Michael Jackson bad
To declare world-wide jihad
I find it a tad rad
And it really is quite sad
But you’re making Shaytan glad
He’s got you living at his pad
So never mind Riyadh
Of course Asad’s got your back
Inside of Syria and in Iraq
You’ve made a devil’s pact
I know this for a fact
So as you plan your next attack
What will be your third act
And whose head next you gonna wack

There’s only one Khalifah
And his name is ****
He’s the only Khalifah
That I know there is
You can’t build a Khalifate
Solely based on hate
So let me restate
(well here it is)
There’s only one Khalifah
And his name is ****

Just like Teena said
I’m talking square biz
There’s only one Khalifah
And his name is ****
So you need to tell me now
What the **** gives
With you deciding who dies
Or who the hell lives

Allahu Akbar it’s the final test
As another jihadi with a suicide vest
Blows himself and others up
Like you might have guessed
Hoping for the paradise
That his leaders stressed
His picture will be shrouded
Nevertheless
See he never gave it more
Than just a casual look
So he’s hasn’t read the words
Inside his Holy Book
Which explains why he’s a pawn
Instead of a rook
And an internet suggestion was all it took

There’s only one Khalifah
And his name is ****
He’s the only Khalifah
That I know there is
You can’t build a Khalifate
Solely based on hate
So let me restate
(well here it is)
There’s only one Khalifah
And his name is ****

The ******* Taliban
In Peshawar Pakistan
Had the upper hand
And carried out their plan
To ****** like the ****
Although it’s clearly banned
By several ayats in the Qu’ran
They don’t seem to understand
They’re no fans of education
But how do you build a nation
If your sole vocation
Is suicide and assassination
Now the whole world’s losing patience
With the latest allegations
Wondering what’s their motivations

There’s only one Khalifah
And his name is ****
He’s the only Khalifah
That I know there is
You can’t build a Khalifate
Solely based on hate
So let me restate
(well here it is)
There’s only one Khalifah
And his name is ****

They say that Islam is
The religion of peace
Before they blow themselves up
And the madness doesn’t cease
Like someone just released
A heard of savage beasts
And I’m not just talkin’ ‘bout
In the Middle East
Over in Australia a self-made Imam
Showed us just how much
He didn’t give a ****
By taking hostages at gunpoint
Without a demand
After having had
A thirteen hour news span

There’s only one Khalifah
And his name is ****
He’s the only Khalifah
That I know there is
You can’t build a Khalifate
Only based on hate
So let me restate
(well here it is)
There’s only one Khalifah
And his name is ****

While the internet entices
Those making sacrifices
For Boco Haram or ISIS
Whose platforms are divisive
Here’s what my advice is
Stop cutting heads in slices
While rolling out the dices
Which makes you not the nicest
Saying it’s all in Islam’s name
When you practice to defame
Every prophet who ever came
You’re only poppin’ game
Cos’ their message was real plain
It’s really not hard to understand
Men can’t do what only God can




(c) Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester.  All rights reserved.

The 2012 US Military ****** Assault Agenda states that
One priority is to improve victim confidence
In reporting these incidents.
I'm glad in the four decades since Vietnam
The twenty four years since Desert Storm
The military is finally deciding to do something
About the **** monster it has always conceded to.
Tell me
How will you improve the confidence
Of those who have been consumed, chewed up and spit out
By vicious teeth that leave their marks on bare skin
On the torn sheets she was passed between
That are stitched together with fear?
Will you stop telling her that she has
"An adjustment disorder"
Funneling her into PTSD programs because you have no other place for her
Discharging her because you fear a scandal?
Squeaky clean reputations of the men you allow
To ***** their hands not with the blood of their enemy
But by the open wounds of their fellow soldiers
Entitlement is evident
When she sits in her apartment shaking
Because the man who attacked her receives an honor
A big production of a military funeral on television
While she was told lies about herself
Released into the world
Told she was dishonorable
Told she had a problem.
He had the problem
His sickness is now hers in the form of a pill
She swallows it as they tell her she is sick
She is wrong
But he is a martyr
Living in his glory even after death
But his secret dies with him.
So, United States military
If you want to improve the "confidence" of these victims
Instead of breaking their wrists
Try holding their hands.

You have to wake up

Democratic or not
Atheist or deciding

Male or female
You have to wake up.

You must.
By force.

No, this is not a question of belief
No, not one of freedom

You are free.
You have to wake up until

You die.

When do we begin dreading birthdays?
When does the count down to the new year begin to sound like the tick tick tick of a time bomb?
When do days become hours
hours become minutes
minutes become seconds?
When do we finally stop and realize that we’ve lived seven years longer than our best friends?

Time is a fickle mistress

She moves so slowly when you’re young
When you want nothing more than for her to rush up and greet you
Then
in a blink
She’s gone before you can even utter a “Hello.”

But how are we to appreciate something we cannot feel?
How are we to gasp at the presence of something we cannot see?
How are we to sing a beautiful melody we cannot hear?

I wanted to see you today.
Catch up like we always do, but don’t do enough.
But Time, I guess, had other plans.

Assignments were filling up my inbox, papers just couldn’t be ignored any longer, and I was tired from not sleeping well the night before and my cat had to choose today to knock over the T.V., shattering the screen, and my mother called, you know how she can just drone on and on, and then I had to stare at my fridge for at least twenty minutes before deciding the chips in the pantry will curb my hunger fine, then this emergency at work and this thing with my sister…

Then
before you know it
it’s two in the morning
and I need to go to bed.

But those are all just excuses, aren’t they?
A bunch of moments to distract from the guilt from not seeing you.

You see, Time is a man-made creation
not some external force of nature.
Sure, the sun and moon glide across the sky,
but the meaning of that was assigned by us.
The day doesn’t begin when we open our eyes
there are plenty of cheap coffee mugs that say otherwise
So it doesn’t have to end when the light in the sky dies

Time is not a fickle mistress.

She’s in the gray hairs that grow with our wisdom,
In the wrinkles that are carved from our laughter
In the aches in our bones from dancing just a little bit too long

We are time.

And I’m sorry
I’m sorry for not making Time for you.

Tree stand high, temperature low
this hunt has never been so cold.
     This mighty forest bare no more than two souls,
     Destined for one another, someday? Much hope.

Much hope.

Tree stand high, temperature low
the hunter starts to grow.
     Becoming one with this mighty forest, oblivion melts
     like the snow on the pines. Peace.

Tranquility.

"the game is one of great trophies, to boast, to play."

Oblivion is bliss, and the hunter grows humble.

Tree stand high, high, high above the pines, temperature ever so luke.
Gray skies become orange, as the sun breaks through.
     the hunter puts down his gun, deciding to break tradition.
     The longing for the trophy melts like the ice on the creek.

This mighy forest is beautiful. Tranquil. Peace in silence.
The hunter climbs from the highest stand in the trees.
     Stumps, moss, grass and mud.
     Is the hunt more than a game? But one of true love?

Peace.

The hunter stays quite, at the foot of the tree.
True love became more than a silly trophy.

Carrying a sleeping baby.
Cleaning after a successful party.

Camping beyond mountains more mountains.
Playing trumpet on the streets of New York City.

Eating although the food supply is deeply compromised.
Flying with Democrats and Republicans, evangelicals and atheists.

Flying like a fruit fly that won’t quit mating.
Cool as a hummingbird in the stream’s wet spray.

Abstaining wholly, absent from worldly life.
Two dogs fighting but not biting hard.

Chanting as if the planet were mending.
Gourmet dining, devout prayer, loving Mary.

Evenings watching tv. Scotch and Star Trek.
Taking off Emily Dickinson’s clothes.

Meeting in the meeting house, arguing and praying.
Planning a legacy as if you knew enough to control events.

Pursuing happiness as a naturalist or humanist.
Spinning with the planet, performing the history that surrounds us.

Killing many Germans, saving many Jews.
Doing less until one thing’s done well.

Fainting from staring at candles through stained glass windows.
Morning, a billion trillion nuclear detonations per second warming your
        bones.

Manipulating symbols, solving equations.
Disregarding tweets and facebook persuasions.

Sitting with a tiny Buddha near a rushing stream cutting a gorge.
Running, disciplining myself, making myself healthy.

Ingesting drugs, throwing die, drinking sludge.
Growing varicolored corn.

Participating in the cause because it’s impossible not to participate in
      the effect.
Running over a chipmunk, groundhog or a skunk.

Lying face down in the emergency room facing doom.
Waking up Monday thinking Sweet Saturday! but soon remembering
      your trick knee.

Turning the towering young thunder of my anger against my sons.
Regretting the callow dispassion with which I met my parents’ quietus.

Lawn mowing, leaf blowing, yapping dogs, napping old people.
No jets but a rooster mornings, cows and goats.

Al is painting an apartment. Sirma is cleaning the floors. Felix is taking
      out the garbage.
Deciding tentatively I slightly prefer Heifetz’ to Oistrakh’s Sibelius.

No cedar waxwings, no chickadees, but beautiful moon!
If you’re alone as you get, why are you crying?

Do you remember?

Do you remember hanging out during the clinic?
We all got on the bus, heading to the clinic. K- and G- tried to make me sit next to you,
filling my seat with violins, trying to force me to sit next to you, but I resisted,
so embarrassed. I listened to my mp3player and talked to K- and G- and Sa- and J-. K- and I played punch-buggy and she got me way more times than I did. You and I  more or less ignored each other. We didn't talk for a while, until there was a break.
I don't remember how or why, but you ended up with one of my earphones,
and we were listening to my music, (thank god we like the same stuff)
and K- and G- came over and invited us to that elementary school game,
where you get in a close circle and grab hands with two people and try to untangle everyone without
un-clasping hands. I just grabbed two people's hands but K- and G- forced me to grab your hands
and I'm sure I was blushing.
Fast forward a while, 'til we were breaking again, all of us from P- High School huddled in a corner,
K- made me sit next to you, elbow to elbow, thigh to thigh. She was sitting half on my legs and you were telling me about the time that Br- ate your pizza and why you wouldn't give him any of your
Mountain Dew that you had in your backpack. You showed me the seven cans you had and the
power strip you brought to charge phones. Then you gave me a Mountain Dew and we talked,
and I was showing you the video that I always hoped no one saw me watching because of how
creepy it is, and we walked to the auditorium and
my heart was running a million miles a minute and my hands were shaking as we talked
and we sat together in the auditorium, listening to our Zune's and you were telling me about
how you had several seasons of Adventure Time on yours and then we watched
"Burning Low", the episode where Finn is going out with Flame Princess and it was so cute
but then G- ruined it by coming over and pulling out your earphone and watching the video for a few seconds. But he went away and we talked for so long and you made me laugh so loud that Ms. R-
shushed me.
Eventually we went to lunch and I didn't really eat because of my hypoglycemia and we talked forever over pizza and Mountain Dew.
Skip forward a few hours, going home on the bus, sitting side by side, singing along to songs, until we got back to the school, hanging out until our respective adults picked us up.
You and I were last, listening to my Zune, and I was standing on the feet of the piano, so we were closer
in height and I was petting your hair (the first time of what will be many) and we went outside to wait, listening to Caraphernelia as my aunt pulled up, deciding to "punish" me for not calling in time,
yelling out her car window that my "***** looked bigger." I glared and yelled that I didn't think my band-mate really needed to hear that and she laughed and I waved goodbye to you.
Not long later, Sh- called and we were talking and she said that
you said that you definitely liked me.
One of the happiest moments of my life, until then.

By: Cedric McClester

Is it safe
For us to assume,
That something happened
Inside that room?
Which has prompter her
To come out and say
How he forcefully
Tried to have his way

Is it safe
For us to assume,
That her detractors
Will attempt to resume,
Getting on
With the vote anyway,
Regardless of
What she has to say?

Is it safe
For us to assume
It will be swept
Away like a broom?
Will her allegations
Receive credence,
In light of the
Hearing’s impedance?

Is it safe
For us to assume,
He’ll count the votes
In the back room,
Before deciding
How to proceed?
In keeping with
His conservative creed















Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2018.  All rights reserved.

seeing him took a day
deciding my feelings took a week
getting to know him took a month
spending life with him took an eternity
but loving him took only a second

i stick the plaintive letters
of friends and family amidst
the pages of my favorite books
they mark choice passages
concerning our species and the
fate of this ancient universe

one desperate plea for me to
return to the hypocrisy of Christianity rests in my copy of Camus's essay "the Rebel"
tucked nearby Dawkins'
"god Delusion" and Bakunin's
"god and the State" which share
a space with unholy texts on science
art and philosophy on the top row
of my overflowing
alphabetized bookshelf

on a silent Sunday drive home from
church some years ago i
once asked why it was such
a crime to believe in myself
my father imparted it was
an insult to my 
invisible creator
well here’s a ******* to 

my mythological maker
i don’t need you
i’ve got two feet 

planted firmly 
beneath me
i stand strong beside the ones
who resist a culture of misanthropy

i am what i am
a wanderer waylaid in the chasm
of gray matters
i no longer see the world in
shades of black pitch and white snow
your absolute truth is sharp
and out of tune with the
empirical realities of nature
i am not a zealot inculcated
on the drug of elitist predestination
i refute the elixir of everlasting life
heaven is a dream that keeps
us numb to the hellscapes around us

i face the unknown sobered by a
measurable cosmos which wasn't
made just for me to see
but spawned all we call
reality in the throes of a fourteen billion
year old eruption that flung planets
and stars into existence

we are amiss upon a floating rock
adrift in outer-space and instead of
utilizing our capacity for ingenuity to
cultivate a sustainable community
we looked towards the skies
and fashioned gods in our own image
we made god compassionate—a benevolent  
creator who breathed life into nothingness
we made god hideous—a malevolent
dictator deciding the destinies of the unfortunate
we engineered division where once was
sanctity and instigated violence on the
premise that one faith was better
than the other but
they all ring hollow
if you ask me

i am not a sheep and your Christ
is not my shepherd
i am not a timid and pitiable creature
stumbling along after some imaginary master
Jesus of Nazareth was a revolutionary
executed for instigating rebellion
against the Empire of Rome
he said nothing about waging endless war
in fact he urged his followers
to turn the other cheek
i imagine he'd be rolling in his grave
if he could see them know—provided
of course
he hadn't so famously vacated it

riddle me this
why do you hate two men who cherish
each other when your savior said
the greatest commandment was just
to love and be loved by one another
if the etymology of Christian is
Christ follower why not cherish the
lines of red in your holy book
your god bled and died for

even the most progressive of faiths
pale in comparison to the certainty of
evolution or the terror of global climate change
why mythologize that which we don't
understand when history shows that
we only learn more and grow with time
when we question everyone and everything
why dwell in circumstantial metaphysics
when we can just as easily admit
we don't have the faintest clue

i arraign myself against any warped faith
that privileges bigotry and arrogance
i reject the religion of atheism and
buddhism and Christianity
i stand apart from the ethos of
Hindus and edicts of Islam
i have no gods and no masters
my conscience is my only authority
i'm the only one who can
save me from me

in my father's latest letter
packed safely away in Carl
Sagan's "the Demon-Haunted World"
he informs me that i'm
the prodigal son that some
doting deity awaits me
at the gates of heaven
to put a ring on my finger and
slaughter a fattened calf for my
welcome home dinner but
how did an omnipresent god
not deign to ascertain
i'm a vegetarian

I awaited my mother in the hospital,
For hours I stared at the wall.
I was but ten, and grew bored of this quickly,
Deciding to roam the halls.

The doctor approached, and called me by name.
"I have news for you," he said.
We made a sharp turn into the adjoining room,
He told me that mother was dead.

He informed me of the comlications,
Yet I felt it wasn't true.
Now, years later, I struggle to believe
That there was "nothing more we could do."

There was chatter reflecting off the water just like the moon. The Milky Way was swimming with us, wrapped in algae and moss. We had no swimsuits, only spontaneity and laughter. We were far away from trivialities where there was no light pollution, you could see so far outward into everything. We were not looking up, we were looking out at what we are part of. Light, so much light. When our thoughts were finally chilled like iced lemonade, we ran through bushes and flailed in the mud to the car. We drove. Once sitting on our bed, a delicious thought bubbled into reality.
              We discussed it, unanimously deciding on this nights adventure...we'd enjoy the first rays of the morning while seating comfortable at Sacajawea Peak.
              Eager legs kicked and finally slept…too soon later, a buzz of a telephone awoke us, then another. I bounced out of the covers and to the kitchen to prepare a hurried breakfast of peanut butter and fruit roll ups for us, nutrition was priority. Then the clock blinked 3 AM.
Whines squeaked from tired mouths, but excitement prevailed. We packed into our seats and struggled to keep our eyes open, but the drive was bumpy and our sore butts kept us from forgetting the purpose of our trip. We were there to make our lives radical, and you can’t sleep in moments like these. 4 AM screamed at me, we had to hurry. I plowed my way up that mountain as the sun painted the tips of the mountains red. We crossed streams, tripped on rocks, marveled at climate change and the disappearance of the snow we had skied on just a week before. As the incline increased to nearly vertical, we met up with the mountain goats. Their tiny hooves danced on the faces of cliffs and I stood on the trail not more than a meter away. They smiled at us, said good morning, and we went on our way, huffing it up the face. As the sun’s light began to engulf the sky, we watched as the snow capped ridgeline shined pink and gold. A mountain shades us but as we reach the peak, the sun splashes our face, I felt godly. The sun has risen, and so have we. This is why we are alive; this is why we are happy. The valley below us still dozes, and we sit on top a mountain wide-awake. There is no item I could ask for that could ever give me this happiness. I do not climb mountains so that the world can see me, but so I can see the world…and it is so beautiful.

A blue green marble
Suspended in black
Darkness
Enfolding the
Blue green
Though the
Darkness
Surrounds it
It does not
Compare to
the darkness
Within
Just below
the surface
Of the clouds
A race
Of evolved
Animals
That think
They've come so far
But hasn't really
Your seven deadly
And three deciding
Control over their
Power and hearts
Innocence
Never lasts long
Of twists and
Of harsh words
Their minds
Are easily
Bent our of shape
Born different
Wired unusually
Acts out
Strange behavior
Mad
Crazy
Genius
Insane
Labels they call
Those who are
                                 Different
There's a darkness
That surrounds that
World
But on it
Are more
Horrors than
What surrounds it

Many reasons why
Most times to think
To cleanse my soul of guilt
Empty my barren status of senseless killing
The morning light creeps into your eyes
To believe you're right
Deciding how to feel
About the noon of your changing spirit
Take the whole of the body
And mash into ******* gulps of fresh air
No I do not and nor will I
I want say these words
My faceless behaviour is ****** and meaningless
It shows no spine where desire is the lead
Fair enough to live in your world
But don't suggest a change
Unless it goes through
Contempt for empty promises
So stay silent or describe nothing
Make your move or keep quiet
Position yourself to reflect beliefs
Soaking up the message is poor
Make no mistake it's seen to be useless
Helps no one and certainly not you
So much to gain from that step forward
Respect and relief, sleeping nights
Daytime journeys have the right to make
Your heart feel light
It's changing times, changing times.

Remember when things were simple?

When the most complicated thing in life was deciding what flavor juice box you wanted?

Everyday, I wish I still had the innocence of a youth.

Before I knew anything of drugs, or alcohol, or relationships, or love.

When I still trusted those close to me.

Remember when things were simple?

Those precious moments are slipping through my fingertips, poisoned by reality.

You said, “Ask me what I am thinking”
Obediently I did
Swiftly you kissed me
Tongue, lips, all of it.
And suddenly,
I felt
E v e r y t h i n g.

Chills up my spine
Arm hair raised
Stiff and straight
Senses heightened
Heart beating
Stampeding
Like a band of thoroughbreds racing.
Intense sensations
Swarms of tingling and tickling
Like someone softly blowing
On the back of my naked neck.

A shock wave of pleasure
Feelings immeasurable
To anything I’ve experienced.
This was no ordinary kiss
Warm, gentle, firm
Just enough wetness
To keep motion fluid.

Lasting only 10 seconds
But feeling endless
Like falling into an abyss
A bottomless pit
Deeper and deeper
Rapidly dropping
Picking up speed

Until your hands released my cheeks
And all the warmth left me.
Overtaken by an icy breeze
Compared to the heat I was just feeling.
Like pulling covers abruptly off a body
While in the middle of a slumber.

I never liked the feelings of being stripped
Unwillingly, unexpectedly
Especially
When the everything was so inviting.

You kissed me without permission
Then the position I was put in
Decisions I had to make quickly after
Because what I say now
Outlines our future
Defines our label
Of each other.

You put that pressure
Onto me
I wanted nothing of that responsibly
At least not to that degree
Don’t ask that to me
To state what I think we should be.

10 seconds ago
I only asked what you were thinking
I was unaware,
Completely unprepared
To know I would be deciding
The fate of our relationship
This now sinking ship.

I can swim
But I feel like I'm sinking
Having to live with the dreadful feeling
I’ve hurt another person again.

I got to be the lead
As I’d always dreamed
I never expected my role to be
Heart Breaker.

I want to go along with it,
Put up with the charades
Be the good actress
And pretend things didn't change
Say for your sake
I feel the same way.

But for this show to go on
For my role to be authentic
I must be honest.

I guess some friendships expire…

Even the best shows don't last forever
Enjoy the run for what it was
And say goodbye
Because it’s for the better.

"MARBLES...PYJAMAS AND JAM!"

wake up at 3 of the clock
eat jam in my pyjamas from the jar
play marbles with an imaginary friend

he wins...again
this the grown up world
of a four year old

acting like a grown up
time mine to play with

*

And then there was the childhood declension of sandwiches.

1. "Raw bread" Just as it was bread on bread....squashed flat and not...even air in between. I love bread me.

2. Bread and butter...your basic staple sandwich.

3. Bread and butter and sugar...now yer talking.

4. Bread and butter and banana...sprinkled with sugar.

5. And yer king of all sandwiches . the "Blood Sandwich!"
Bread, butter and Tomato Ketchup.

These were the sandwiches of my life. The kind even a child could make in the middle of the night when he wasn't supposed to be up and eating sandwiches.

"Marbles...pyjamas and jam!" I chanted to myself to announce the new me I have become.

I remember getting out of bed in my striped pyjamas and  going downstairs and eating the jam out with a spoon( forget the bread) and then having a game of marbles by myself...first taking one shot and then moving over and becoming my invisible opponent and taking his shot. My imaginary friend winning all the time.

This was at 3 in the morning and felt very scary and daring and so grown up because I was deciding what time and what to do for myself even if it was 3 O' ****** clock in the morning.

I had envied grown ups and their not having to go to bed by nine and be able to stay up and be themselves. I could hear them laughing downstairs...having I supposed....the time of their lives.

So now I sang myself into my four year old adulthood with "Marbles...pyjamas...and jam!"

Because that's the kind of kid I am.

Now the wind wails through the ruins of the house howling that "Home is...an absence." My new mantra.  And outside the house (that isn't there no more)( invisible to everyone but me) I would have ghost girls jump to a skipping rope chanting my "Marbles...pyjamas and jam!" as a rhyme. Skipping in time.

"And this one's OUT!" they all shout and scatter away like little marbles being hit by a sacred scared twa.

**** me quietly in the current of the Caspian
That calloused-caviar undertow
Petroleum-pierced fragmented bone
You whispered things no child should know
And I was no child then
Trembling hands I emerge from the lion’s den
Wearing memory like white lines on the insides of my wrists
Until I forget they’re there
Blue eyes, blonde hair
Painted mouth and vacant stare
Here is who I have become

So kiss me quietly in the white-capped waves of the Caspian
My lips a promise sealed in black oil and blood
Hear the water tank trickle fill and flood
See the volcanoes burst with sacred mud
And feel my skeptical smile
Spectacle-clad you read my file
It’s been a while since I relived all of this

And I’m deciding if it’s far too late or far too soon
To begin to deconstruct our interactions
The repulsion, the attraction
The actions and reactions
That defined that interim allotment of time
I sit here now retracing your lines
On the rickety map in the back of my mind
Memory, so mute, so blind
And ripping down the track so quickly
Thrown back so sickly-bitterly
Like salt-lime-tequila

My memory has been mutilated
Slaughtered, drained and skinned
Treated, chopped and trimmed
And now I place it on a table in the street
Tell me, can you hear the pattern of its late heartbeat
As you grip a fleshy dripping pound of it in your hand
My memories are no-man’s land

So caress me carefully in the cool-calm caves of the Caspian
Recall the strange sounds of the early days
Sacred grounds, hot-garbage haze
Sandy winds, the bazaar maze
That made me acutely aware of the incomplete
Not even joyful summer heat
Could keep me from floating feet-up in the Georgian river
Memory smile, convulse and shiver

I intended this to be a reconciliation
Call me queen of counterproductive apology
Let’s redefine astrology
To gain some favour from the stars
Russian salad and white box cars
Deep *** holes in Badamdar
Truthfully I’ve never known who you really are
And I probably never will

But cut me kindly in the clouds above the Caspian
This is as close as we can get
Ignorant prejudice my one regret
But I have not forgotten all the good
And I will try to love you like I should
But tell me, is it better to have memories that lie
Or have nothing at all?
Shall I embrace the distortions or the abyss?
**** me carefully or give me a kiss
Tell me, what am I to do with this?
Cut me open or caress me
Call me child or undress me
Your impassive smile does not impress me
Tell me, how am I to process this?

I’ve swam your sea, I’ve coughed your air
I let you stroke and steal my sandy hair
I left without once looking back
No pillar of salt
No pile of ash
No blame or fault
Or debt or cash
But still the walls begin to crack
I feel the stitches start to tear
Murky-memory drags me eastward by my fresh-grown hair
Forcing my eyes, so-cold and ever-blue ever deeper into you,
the dark heart of the Caspian

Depression
It rips you apart
Skin by
Skin
Bone by
Bone
Cell by
Cell
Life by
Life
Its the 3am thoughts
Mind.
Constantly thinking, hesitating, deciding, wondering.
Anytime sadness seeps my bones
An explosion of emptiness evokes me
alone
I am an enemy of my own
All alone
Darkness

Depression
Its a canvas of negative emotion
The smile engraved on my face
The black hole within me
Not that you care.
The bruises on your knees
The blood on your wrist
The tears in your eyes
The pain
The one last goodbye


Depression is overwhelming
Its dangerous
Its weakness
Its me
So please just take it away.

The hard part
Is knowing that
You either win or die trying
There is no way to get rid of the depression2
Without getting rid of me
Because i am depression
The depression is me
It took over

I ask what your favourite word is.

You say you don’t have one, and
I don’t understand.

See. I’m a poet.

I tried hard not to be,
Rejected it with every
Fibre of who I am but
Words form in ways I can’t
Negate.

See,

You speak and I notice
There’s more in what you say than
You know.

Your voice is delicate,
Not in the way you sound words
But the way you phrase sentences,
Like the subject is something to be
hidden behind premises.
Some people grab chance by the throat,
****** you right into the center,
Until you’re drowning in meaning
And unable to listen to anything but the
Beat,
B-,
Beat,
Of your heart but

Not you.

I can respect that.

You’re all tact and logic and
It’s not about feeling
It’s about thought process and

I still don’t understand.

See, my tongue is clumsy,
It stutters and stumbles and smashes its way through life,

But it finds meaning where there isn’t any,
Notes how you say “Spoke”, not “talked”,
How you dance through every word in the English language because
Deciding on the right one
Has to be perfect.

I think that,
You are perfect.

My favourite word is puddle.

I don’t know why, but
When I say it, my tongue kicks
my teeth and
It reminds me of the way my
Consonants get heavier with
******* in my brain.
It makes language ridiculous,
Because the end of its vowel is so sudden
It should cut
But it’s so ******* round.

Puddle.

I can’t explain, not in words,
But I smile when you say it and
I promise you that sometimes
language is less about logic
And more about that feeling
in your gut
When you look
at me and verbs flow out of your mouth
And for once you’re not thinking
And, -

"I love you."

If you thought, it wouldn’t be true and -

"I love you."

Cogs whir to a halt and,

"I love you."

I don’t trust you for a second because
My mind is now skipping stones across oceans
Waiting for depth to show, yet
There’s nothing below,

but still,

Sail away with me.

Let’s leave language behind and use touch to define
The borders between where I start
And you stop.

We’ll find they’re less obvious than we’d thought,

Because I love you.

Not in the way that I say it but
In the way that your presence makes my stomach churn out musical notes
And I was broken, but I don’t want to seem desperate and
I guess that when you say you that don’t have a favourite
I realise,
Puddle’s a scapegoat.

My favourite word is whatever name you’d give for the
Goosebumps on your skin when I touch you.

My favourite word is the colour of your eyes.

My favourite word is the way your voice goes real high when you’re excited.

My favourite word is how I can feel where you touched my flesh, for days after we last met.

My favourite word

Is you

But I’m too shy to say it.

So here, take puddle,

And run away with it.

We are a little distant with the ones we love
Lying to ourselves to hide from the truth
We are a little twisted and broken and bent
Lacking the honesty we so desperately need
We are all fighting battles of burdens and shame
Suffocated by the enemy and the hurting and sorrow
Do we know how to see the through our own dark ****** up lies?
Do we know how to know how to smile and laugh at the good?
Is there hope for us, is there nothing but rain?
Are we capable of love? Or shall we dig our own grave and lay in the pain?
Am I hopeless? Are you worth it?
Deciding is hard
Are we just enough?
Or is it too little too late?