This is for the outspoken racists
The short-sighted chauvinists
The one-sided misogynists
And every avid supporter of any form of intolerance

I think it's time I give you a piece of my mind
Allow me to crack through my cranium and you can
Extract whichever lobe of my brain you find suitable to fix your mental feebleness

Take my frontal lobe, I beg you because
Your so called conscientious thoughts
Permanently belong in the dumpster
Your brain flies confederate flags at half mast
As a constant reminder that even if
The South doesn't rise again you can still rest
Knowing you wave ignorance blissfully in the air

Or maybe you should have my parietal lobe
Since your manipulation of information is highly suspect
I suspect you've placed bigotry and hostility under solid ground
Equipped with enough racial slurs and misogynistic remarks
To blow up this whole town
Homegrown nouns and verbs conducting your own personal weapon of mass destruction
Corrupting the ears that welcome your mushroom clouds

Then again, your occipital lobe is out of whack too
Considering whether gray clouds paint the sky or
Royal waves reflect golden rays
All you ever see is black or white, gay or straight
Wrong or right, hate and hate
And I hate to break it to you
But you are blind to the beauty before us all
Your eyes fail to focus in on how we all
Lose scarlet plasma to paper cuts
Gain white hair and hardened scars
And share copper casket homes six feet deep

I almost forgot about your temporal lobe
That needs an entirely new design
Because it seems as though through all of this outrage
You can't process the filth in your mind
Like the smell of your own rotten attitude
Escapes your nostrils and pollutes the openness around you
Preventing any genuine intention the air it needs to breathe

Your entire brain is a train wreck
You need professional intellectual injections
Red pen corrections that can transform your neural network
Into a well-oiled machine fueled by tolerance
Overflowing with premium petroleum enhanced with high grade sensitivity to diversity

I want your synapses to fire positive discussions
Rather than recreate cerebric tyranny
I want your gray matter to mind its manners
To render exceptional positions
So your point of view refuses to point fingers
I want your prejudices pressure washed so far down
Your head's highway that they resort to becoming full-time pedestrians
I want your ability to communicate eliminated unless
You annihilate the venom from your vocabulary

But the choice is yours
You're voice is yours
And I won't take it from you
This is not a debate nor a dispute over your vernacular
Hate speech is undeniably your native language
And unfortunately you own the right to be as wrong as your words allow you to be
Instead this is merely a message that I hear your hostility
A not so subtle reminder that your narrow-mindedness is nauseating
And this society has enough deadly diseases to deal with
To drill your acceptance defect straight through your skull
But please feel free to take any part of my mind
And find the time to perform your own lobotomy
So maybe then you'll understand
That intolerance has no place in anyone's anatomy

We two boys together clinging,
One the other never leaving,
Up and down the roads going—North and South excursions making,
Power enjoying—elbows stretching—fingers clutching,
Arm’d and fearless—eating, drinking, sleeping, loving,
No law less than ourselves owning—sailing, soldiering, thieving, threatening,
Misers, menials, priests alarming—air breathing, water drinking, on the turf or the sea-beach dancing,
Cities wrenching, ease scorning, statutes mocking, feebleness chasing,
Fulfilling our foray.

She stands as pale as Parian statues stand;
    Like Cleopatra when she turned at bay,
    And felt her strength above the Roman sway,
And felt the aspic writhing in her hand.
Her face is steadfast toward the shadowy land,
    For dim beyond it looms the light of day;
    Her feet are steadfast; all the arduous way
That foot-track hath not wavered on the sand.
She stands there like a beacon thro' the night,
    A pale clear beacon where the storm-drift is;
She stands alone, a wonder deathly white;
She stands there patient, nerved with inner might,
    Indomitable in her feebleness,
Her face and will athirst against the light.

What a perfect setting to tell this love story just like the land her heart was barren and Georgia O Keefe
Speaks of it perfectly “Such a beautiful untouched lonely feeling place such a far part of what I call the
Faraway” how many times had she dreamed of being able to lay her head beside another on the pillow
But still the years increased and no prince rode into view against the backdrop of what others saw
Just as weary empty barbarous land the artist O Keefe with fine acute sense ability blended contrasted
Harshness to bring forth exquisite beauty from bovine grazing herds to one individual that left only its
Whitened scull stared with empty eye sockets on the cruel reality of an unforgiving land but even this
Spoke an unequivocal announcement of beauty rugged startling severe the sun sky and earth told the
Story of quiet irreversible glory magnificence magnified multiplied would capture and enthrall even
Greater than when this creature lived and breathed as well her life would whisper the sweetest accord it
Was like a life time had forgot then with richest hues the flames leapt to daring and fulfilling life truly
She was driest tender what moisture there was derived from tears of regret and longing just a tender
Touch With feeling and passion it came to full expression when she stood at the end of this great field
The sun Dried weeds started to stir from the rising breeze she stood there beside a lone tree and as this
Picture Took full hold of her soul in the distant horizon her answer of a lifetime of longing arrived on the
Wind he dropped his biplane gently upon the face of the field a golden rush overtook her feelings like
A Flower without water she was in a state of drawn feebleness and want now her skies were filled with
The wonder clouds of rain they came in a fury after the long draught she didn’t know this clearly but she
Sensed it with womanly intuition two kindred spirits now would come to know fulfillment because at
The Center of everything love is predominate and it’s not just a feeling it’s a person he goes to the very
Core and center of existence he sees and truly knows when the sparrow falls he all so knows when we
Fall in love first because he arraigned it took it from the fragile frail wisp of thought gave it a birth place
In the heart and as it grows it ends up ruling a life of love and devotion but for misses Beal it was just a
Another day for Jon tungsten it was just a time to do a little barnstorming in Santa Fe the fall had been
Full and promising now it became even more gratifying and promising this land at first considered a
Tortuous place gleamed and was unalterably a dreamscape how tenderly wonder touched and wound it
Self around your emotional well being but for the moment our heroine returned to her job a quick
Telling of the hotel La Fonda where she worked “La Fonda is a Santa Fe landmark, just steps
Away from history and art museums, a variety of galleries and shops, historic churches and, of
Course, the Plaza. The historic inn’s Pueblo-style architecture features thick wood beams, latilla
Ceilings and carved corbels. Special touches such as hand-crafted chandeliers, tin and copper
Lighting fixtures and colorful tiles add character and charm. Beautiful hand-carved and hand-
Painted furniture and displays by local artists create a rich ambience. La Fonda has always been
A Local gathering spot and a hub of activity. World War II journalist Ernie Pyle wrote, “You
Could Go there any time of day and see a few artists in the bar…a goateed gentleman from
Austria or a Maharajah from India or a New York broker… You never met anyone anywhere
Except at La Fonda.” So as chance would have it the pilot adventurer and hotel manageress
Would also cross paths under favorable circumstances due to him having a slight mishap with his
Plane and without it this story wouldn’t have unfolded he was only slightly bruised the only
Evidence was a sling that held his right arm but it meant a delay and a stay so busy was her life
In doing for others little did she know the tables were about to be turned who could count the
times that she had watched the couples holding hands holding deep long glances going out on the
Floor to dance and longed for the same to be her life there is some who believe there is a
universal
Attunement and alignment at work in our lives it seems so here she the great tree that bare no
Fruit his life lived fully but at the center there was emptiness all it took was a cordial meeting out
On the patio dining section among trellises hanging flowers a full golden harvest moon and a
Sweet autumn breeze only a greeting was made but in the depths that only the soul knows a
Connection had occurred somewhere there was the smallest muffled sound a foundation had
Moved unseen but powerfully moving a new building stared to be built the next time a little
Longer conversation then a dinner was arraigned one was wowed with tales of the barnstormer
Life while at the same time a root had fastened itself to a wild ones heart the steady stability that
Showed out of her life was for some reason the most attractive thing he could imagine her life
Made his life take form and made a base where truth was undeniably lived grandly a love so
Great could only be told in the ski with barrel roles loops and dives clouds white and puffy and
Blue that is almost incomprehensible the days washed in to their lives like the land that told its
Secrets through beauty conjured against stark backdrops elegance pristine acute almost painful
Was the soft divergent quality revealed but before they could fly off into the western sunset fate
Would raise its heavy hand and an accident would claim her love as it did so many others of that
period so she donned the black widows apparel but rich beyond words was the man who had the
brightest blue eyes he was her guardian her keeper no longer did she long for love it had stepped
beyond the azure blue and every time a plane passed over head she was thrilled and amazed with
The life she had known when a heroic flyer took her far from her down to earth life spelled out
Heaven in such glorious terms like the gentle sound of a Spanish guitar drifting out on the plaza
Her life is filled with a haunting music that is the knowledge of all who love and have been loved

When you wake in your crib,
You, an inch of experience--
Vaulted about
With the wonder of darkness;
Wailing and striving
To reach from your feebleness
Something you feel
Will be good to and cherish you,
Something you know
And can rest upon blindly:
O, then a hand
(Your mother's, your mother's!)
By the fall of its fingers
All knowledge, all power to you,
Out of the dreary,
Discouraging strangenesses
Comes to and masters you,
Takes you, and lovingly
Woos you and soothes you
Back, as you cling to it,
Back to some comforting
Corner of sleep.

So you wake in your bed,
Having lived, having loved;
But the shadows are there,
And the world and its kingdoms
Incredibly faded;
And you group through the Terror
Above you and under
For the light, for the warmth,
The assurance of life;
But the blasts are ice-born,
And your heart is nigh burst
With the weight of the gloom
And the stress of your strangled
And desperate endeavour:
Sudden a hand--
Mother, O Mother!--
God at His best to you,
Out of the roaring,
Impossible silences,
Falls on and urges you,
Mightily, tenderly,
Forth, as you clutch at it,
Forth to the infinite
Peace of the Grave.

Preponderance gifts so weighty costly in this regard the truly hard part to step forth and be
Truly you because others are so important you give beyond price achingly so their glory is
Bestowing in them the undertow real life crushing all pretense gone triviality what airiness
Weightless worthless what times when compassion diligence of thought buys unheard of
Pasture lands fields black soil you stir up the deepest regard you exhaustively search your soul
And find seeds that are worthy for the planting it will flourish golden grain that is beholding
They will lift their eyes see the swaying harvest an all knowing concentration will grip them I
Have left the common the austere will cause a shaking a piercing knowing this is an open heart
Speaking giving how we yearn for such times here is the opportunity to sink our most tender
Thoughts deep the entanglements every twisted destruction that puts on the show and claims
Such rewards that only prove to be more disappointments bow you bow inwardly hard clay like
Soil is passed and all the choking devices are over powered you feel a new surging it explodes in
All directions falsehood in all of it disguises wither under this purity of emotion commitment I
Detest the former existence I called living from now on my words my life will touch you reach
You at the hurting points you will receive health beyond what a physician can give I will speak
With fire yes divine that is never at a loss it knows everything it evokes joy peace and triumphs
In the hardest places of the heart your tears that in some cases are a history of years of sorrow
These seeds that are going to be sowed eradicate they are pure and healthy to the point they
**** the poison seeds planted by enemies whole time periods of your life will be renewed some
Will for the first time in many years see how beautiful the sun really is darkness and gloom will
Be driven from your life you fought valiantly but it was only in your power you didn’t die but
You have only survived as a wounded tormented one a golden life will replace the tarnished
One we all have even brought accusations against ourselves creating more feebleness we have
Lived in the most apprehensible circumstances there is no escape from this prison when you by
Loyalty to falsehood think you are doing right but every decision cast you deeper into the pit
The Key I found that is the seed I speak of that provides and gives all freedom is profound but
Simple as blind but now I see an antidote talk of sometime by many and by others ignored
Almost completely but open all you are to the greatest power we can and are at different
Degrees snarled over time one trouble sets it in motion wrong reaction kills our defense in this
World that is most dangerous and deadly everything about this season distils down to this fact
Every malady every life ending hope can and will be restored in this gracious copious fact He is
The embodiment of all virtue I don’t have to live a life of disappointment and failure never
Reaching the hurting the potential for glories’ living is yours and mine it all rest in just this act
You must decide I could say don’t be deceived by all the lies and misconceptions I have to give
Up all the things I love this is not true this word of truth will set you free the things I once loved
I now hate the things of God I hated now I love this is the real truth and value of Christmas
While hear enable yourself to bless and truly love others here lately I have struggled with so
Many public and private people dying I wanted an answer I wanted to see the real continuance
Of those that I love I found it this piece gives revelatory exact true expression look around we
Need a provision an escape from what’s coming I will not look at you in judgment with tears
And say you just weren’t worth it your worth everything you don’t need to know but I know I
Will continue in the fire of affliction and I will through him reach more as the word says pluck
Them from the very burning

The twentieth year is well nigh past,
Since first our sky was overcast;
Ah, would that this might be the last!
My Mary!

Thy spirits have a fainter flow,
I see thee daily weaker grow--
'Twas my distress that brought thee low,
My Mary!

Thy needles, once a shining store,
For my sake restless heretofore,
Now rust disus'd, and shine no more,
My Mary!

For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil
The same kind office for me still,
Thy sight now seconds not thy will,
My Mary!

But well thou play'dst the housewife's part,
And all thy threads with magic art
Have wound themselves about this heart,
My Mary!

Thy indistinct expressions seem
Like language utter'd in a dream;
Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme,
My Mary!

Thy silver locks, once auburn bright,
Are still more lovely in my sight
Than golden beams of orient light,
My Mary!

For, could I view nor them nor thee,
What sight worth seeing could I see?
The sun would rise in vain for me,
My Mary!

Partakers of thy sad decline,
Thy hands their little force resign;
Yet gently press'd, press gently mine,
My Mary!

Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st,
That now at ev'ry step thou mov'st
Upheld by two; yet still thou lov'st,
My Mary!

And still to love, though press'd with ill,
In wintry age to feel no chill,
My Mary!

But ah! by constant heed I know,
How oft the sadness that I show
Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe,
My Mary!

And should my future lot be cast
With much resemblance of the past,
Thy worn-out heart will break at last,
My Mary!

Your hand fits in mine like it's made just for me,
But bear this in mind, it is meant to be
Since you've dreamed a vision of us together
And I'll love us, you and I, always and forever.
Cause when I'm with you, my world is so different from any hell I'm living
And when you're around me, your eyes light up like the stars have been spilled out along with all the suns of heaven into your eyes
You're the one who seems to love this wildflower so she feels as lovely as the sweetest camelias, and strong enough to push the planets out of orbit
As for you, I only know what you've said to me;
     That my kisses are oxygen when you can't breath, and that
     You feel such an intense desire to protect me from any potential harm
     That you plan to marry and live with me for years to come.
But I know with less certainty than you that we'll be together forever to come
All I know is you love me and you make me feel so loved
More loved than the moon is loved by the sun, chased endlessly and almost futilely for a mere glimpse of her silver face
And I know this is a scientifically proven-to-be-incorrect metaphor, but I still love you
And will love you, until the sun falls into the sea of milk, the knees of those arthritic elephants shake and kneel with feebleness, and the great sea turtle turns belly-up, drowning the world in the Milky Way
And even past then
Past the time where men and spirits fade into ghostly memories, forgotten because there's no one to remember them
Past the time that the sun is finally swallowed and held in the sea, past King Arthur's return, and when the giant serpent finally kills Ra
Past the time when the gods grow tired of their human games, and fall asleep at their chessboards, one hand dipped in the Adriatic and a finger spinning the galaxies ever slower as dust and cobwebs of invisible spiders come to blanket the universe
And even past then, past all these mythological improbabilities, past Death's abandonment of his duties and his scythe while sand no longer runs in glasses and he reaps himself
Past then will I love you and think of the spilled out flaming stars in your eyes and the velvety sparks in your fingertips and lips.

reverse engineering:

tomorrow
i will know still your voice,
how your silence splits words
into pieces, as you break me
with your collared sweaters and polka dot
socks: tell me i am floating,
question my Gods, forbid me
from touching your church elders; your parents’
Lord.

today
i will know your laughter, a tad frail:
the voice of an unsteady
deity - your fingers - never stilling a pen,
nor sketching a hand - whittling
my own: your chin trembling as you chide me
for their largeness; i show you their erasures:
your lack of wayward lines; your work
of an artist.

yesterday
i tell you to sing, you tell me not to -
you arm yourself and lock away in your room,
say your poetry terrible,
wrong, un-joyful, cross-averted; they cracks
in all the wrong places like your flimsy
hands, like your hopes massive-disintegrating
like the feebleness in your dust-allergic bodies; your lack

of lungs: brittled long by heavy-handed
words and thin brushes: you with death -
the un-wayward stroke: You
who are sickly, whose quiet breaths reach
where we cannot find

and find the places where
our gods long to be touchable.

Gently touch her, gently care,
For the day may come — swiftly when
That endless cruel knocking
on doors bolted from the inside
Dies down and turns into
gray silence.

She, irksome as it is,
goes round and round in circles
Looking for the missing pair
She wears the other one, anyway,
And sits down in grief.

She says, “I want to go home.
Let me go home.”
“Mama, you are home,” you answer.
Vexation rears its ugly head
And you force each horn,
one at a time, to recede:
To vanish from sight.

Then gaining composure you say:
“Mama, let’s pray.”
God hears, and you are healed. Set free.
Instantly.
Of the agony of bearing about
in your own body
The weight of selfishness
And sin
And sheer ignorance of
what it feels like
To have Time ****** away Memory
From you and those you love.

The stark feebleness of this
bent, white creature
With veined hands and bony feet
Reminds you of your own
Utter helplessness.
Mortality.

Have you felt like your life was incomplete like a fraction.
Because from the human eye you see nothing but dissatisfaction.
What's was your initial reaction?
Did you take action or act in an orderly fashion.
Just because you feel a mess doesnt mean you should walk in feebleness.
Dont be stressed, Its only but a test
To see where lies your faithfulness.
From the moment you Opened your heart to The father and Confessed
And commited your self, Surrendering to his will by simply saying Yes.
He Said, "My daughter Rise, shine, and with the armor of God get dressed.
For I have taken your brokenness to exchange it for your wholeness.
Now Take the straight and narrow path of Righteousness.
On this journey you will going through many things that you will have to examine and assess
but I poured upon you my strong spirit of Tenaciousness.
On the days you might feel the sensation of loneliness,
just seek me and you shall find me and you shall be blessed.
As you take this voyage The world will seem so dark and cold.
That even Depression, doubt, and fear will try to put you in A stronghold."

So Now I say to you, "My sister Don't you dare fold!
you have to proclaim the word of God courageously bold.
Let Jesus take the wheel and have complete control."
Just as Peter said to Eneas I speak this message to your inner man called the soul,
"Arise For Jesus Christ maketh thee Whole."

God is using you as a vessel
Because To him you very special
The kind of special a Woman feels when wearing her wedding gown.
You are the elegant jewels that shine intensely upon The Kings Golden Crown.
You are not inclusive.
But Rather Exclusive
just as a guitar that's acoustic
The sound of its music can be very therapeutic.
like a seed that has been planted in the soil deeply rooted.
Dont let devil in your life to pollute it.
Just like Jesus We have to be prosecuted
Because we took on the his spirit for ours  substituted.
Remember we are spiritual beings in the the body of fleshy men.
As long as you Let Jesus be your LPN
you will be complete in him
Says the book of Colossians chapter 2 verse ten.

You got to have faith believer and walk the talk.
Just as Jesus said to a lame man I say yoi to you too, "Get up! Pick up your mat and walk.
In reference to The book of John chapter 5 verse 6.
You are never too broken To be fix as along as you Got God in the mix!
Make It A goal for The most High to purify your heart mind body and soul
So that in him you will be a brand new creature made whole.

Bitterness**
"What an appropriate name," she thought
"for this foul feeling that tastes so akin to bile."

She ran her tongue along the ridges of her hard palate,
hoping that her saliva might creep into every crevice
and cleanse her being of this sharp vindictiveness -
Sour anger that left a trail of puncture-wound footprints across her shrinking heart

Equally corrosive and repulsive as it flowed through her bloodstream
She clenched her fists in an attempt to catch the feeling before it traveled another inch
As physical as it it felt - running through her, running over her -
she eventually came to understand that her ailment was far from physical

When she could no longer stand it, she fell to her knees
And prayed to a God in whom she'd never believed
The intellectual in her pushed Him away with embarrassment
The seven-year-old in her embraced Him like a dearly missed imaginary friend

An internal tug-of-war ensued, but was short lived
The vivacious strength of her young heart
Quickly lost to the tired feebleness of her old mind
She set aside her pride, calling out the suppressed longings of her soul

Much to her surprise, she felt an immediate loosening of ties
Weights lifted; beliefs shifted - everything seemed to fall into place
She let out the deep, deep breath she'd unknowingly held
And recognized a feeling of ease and serenity that had evaded her for months

She realized with a smile that she was grateful for the bile
For without its damage, she never would have met her healer

I watch you every time you enter my door,
I pretend not hear you, yes i choose to ignore.
Your perfume lingering in the air,
and your laughter swift by like wind in fall,
i would be lost in your presence, as you enter my door.

I do not capture you much in my mind,
my heart is well when you out of sight,
but...
every time you enter my door,
i forget of all i forgot about you before,
then you steal a piece of me and it
floats with your smile, and
my hearts beats like a pendulum,
as if to live by your oxygen.

I think of long nights of tee-a-tete,
under the  moonlight sky,
then you walk  home,
locking our hands as we part.
O' what joy!
when you look at me...
i see the depths of the ocean,
clear and serene, engulfing me in your tranquility.

Such feebleness i cannot comprehend,
To hope that i can hold your hand and
yet not. To hope...

Every time you enter my door,
Void of my love for you,
I wonder , if my hopes will ever come true.

The Partners…
Dynamic duo smitten with one another ever since the premier
nurturing one’s feebleness thru candor and trust with no fear
to honor and respect individuality tempered in unselfish deed
with the rewards embodied by unwavering and dedicated feed
to feel endearing moments shared with a soulfully kindred spirit
shouting the blessing for the affiliation so the world can hear it

The Crime…
Living the scenes in a life captured with highs and lows
like the waves in a pond swayed by someone’s toes
not to be confused with the acts of those who are sinister
but instead the special time spent with one who ministers
the mind, body, heart and soul with true nourishment
of something far more tangible than some talisman

Partners in crime, two move inside the moments of time
Partners in crime, time has new flavor as an aging wine.

I.
from one direction a voice is heard
the Word pours forth from the mountain
i hear the language of the birds
truthfully we converse often
they recount tales of passion
beauty and satisfaction
our mutual attraction is gaining energy
i feel the pressure building
its all consuming
like a waterfall it threatens to engulf me
and dissolve me in its intoxication
her scent is everywhere
a constant reminder of the divine
i am taunted by her essence
her fragrance and her spine
inflict mortal wounds
dare to hold her tight
if you do the energy of love
will overcome her
sweet innocence
bound to the intellect
essential qualities
of communication
sensuality
actualize presence
in feeling and form
i freeze
her beauty is numinous
surreptitiously blooming it almost fooled me
she took hold of my insides
it lingers near me
i sleep within her memory
can i shield myself from this surge of music
hunger and inclusion
an institution of feeling

II.
her eyes are furnaces
her breath vapor
never less than the totality
of liquid light crashes
fast and than slowly
the rhythm laughs at our feebleness
saturated innocence
bursting out like steam from coal ovens
simple ecstasy is my only hope
form is pain
a prayerful reminder of our impermanence
swiftly **** me and i shall dance on your grave
sledgehammers finish off the drudgery
some moments are pounding
others are cool like the crystal ocean
a depth and vision is necessary
i am in need of shelter from her fire
a muse that burns all that she inspires
a silent lover of beauty
furthering her art
between the spaces of dreams
our fingers slip into everything
and become tangled like twine
rest here and unwind your heart strings
the scintillating heat
is blinding yet rejuvenating
if you are my love then uncover your soul
give naked silence a chance to grow
surround my faithless jungle
with your vines of hope
i am conscious of the lack of rope
for happiness is binding
like kindness climbing invisible ladders
shatter the silhouette of your perfect idol
sneak a peak at a photograph you have kept hidden
silver visions destined to uncover
the lust of beauty
smiled in my direction
if we wish to dance then circle around the fire
aspire for magic to abolish your name
switch places with the shadow
and feel the earth with your skin
give us a reason for you to be here
or you better start swimming

III.
what is this feeling
of loneliness and shame
as it arises i witness our pain
like flaming eagles
it circles high in the sky
our instability gives rise to flight
you gave me the impression
that you were alright
now i know the difference
between the darkness and the light
as featureless women
become a formless sea
of instant gratification
is this the medicine i seek
our trials and tribulations are tripping me
every which way i reach
i feel you chasing after me

IIII.
never quite on time
we run always behind
i am dancing in flaming spirals
a feather high up in a tree
i am a shepherd and i am a chief
i am the river, the mountain and the sea
life gets hectic and full of noise
in the confusion we reach out for toys
to anchor us to reality
yet it never works
these childish games remain shallow
and keep us narrowly awake
barely alive
what a dismal dive
into lakes of cold liquid
refreshed by the water and the ice
somehow our humanity survives

here i stand, in this bleak and forsaken place
    the crackle of fire resounding ceaselessly in my ears
    a hot desert sun beats down on my head
    making the valley burn like a furnace

    the slow burn of my anger
    it consumed me like a ravenous beast
    i fed it more and more
    the memories that rankled and burned like acid

    my tongue, it cleaves to the roof of my mouth
    and my eyes have ceased to tear from the grit of dust
    the harsh cries of crows are mocking me
    raca! raca! their never ending mantra

    i called you an immense fool
    my gross assessment of your character
    kept me blind and deaf
    unaware of the fate that awaited me in the valley

    my body, desperately crying out for some relief
    in this vale that mourns the blood of innocent children
    nearly falls to the ground in its feebleness
    who can wash me clean from my sin?

    i had the chance to be clean
    but i kept my pet, my utter resentment
    cuddled up to my chest
    where it gorged itself on my soul, piece by piece

    i beg mercy of Him now in my despair
    my heart leaden in my chest
    it’s then that i feel the first drop of rain
    as the doors of heavens open on me
    a holy and purifying deluge sweeps in
    it washes away the guilt and shame
    and there in the midst of it all
    i find myself in the hollow of His hand.

Sing the song of sorrow, you peasants of popularity
Everybody hanging on your words
Dripping with yeses and pleads for your attention
They do not know the contents of your heart,
Your wish
Seeking those who say no and stand up to you
You begrudge those who dare not fight your words, those who sulk when you snap
Snap their feebleness, those lousy **** ups
Where are the real people, the true
Why must you be followed by groupies who refuse your invitation to fight, to bicker
To disagree
Do they not know your sorrows, your delights of ****** and throw
Your voice has become as a funeral drudge as you slowly die of boredom,
your soul withers as you wallow in pity,
your popularity as a magnet of fiends of friendship

Hello
Hi
I know
It’s me again
Sans the smoke and mirrors
Away from spaces in my head

And again and head don’t rhyme
But I didn’t need to say that
My self analyzing ways
Were in a haze
But made their way back

And I’d be impressed with myself
If there was some sense of pride in me
For each time
I grab said prize
It forces insides outside of me

And rhyming me with me?
Come on, man, that was simply lazy
Hazy
Crazy
Amazing
Maybe
No, you’ve got it, baby

Use it to the maximum
Forget minimally
But what if
Amidst these rhyming riffs
They see the real me

Do they see the real me?
There’s not a chance
It’s blasphemy
Because my armor, then would be
A holy one... almost gaping

People often ask me what my poetry’s about
They point like
“Oh?”
And I’m like
“No”
And they just question
As words pour out
And they move and they burn
And they twist
And I’ve learned
Not matter which way they’re turned
They’re about things that don’t last

They’re about loves torn asunder
About fires, rain, and thunder
Like that song
By Stevie Wonder
They’re the “Joy Inside My Tears”

And they lower and boost my fears
With all of their rusted gears
So I feel movement
A shift I hear
And yet I find it just still
Here

Hello
Hi
I know
It’s me again
This same ******* rut
That undercuts
These roots from sinking in

And the smoke and mirrors
The music
The light show they all go dim
I throw them to the floor
And the mirrors
Show me him
And he is me
But who am I
And...

...I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to shout
The truth is I’m not sure who my poems are about
They always hold some part of me
Hoping, despairing, living, dying
Some are etched
In stone-thrown rage
And some just leave me crying

Potential wins and consistent loss
They’re what fill my pen
Some acknowledgement to
A God who is always good
But a world that’s not my friend

And the struggle of my color
And the ripping of my heart
And the feebleness
Of my intellect
As I play this brief part
As I suffer
As I benefit
As I laugh
As I bleed

As I say hi
Hello
It’s me again
Just me

As if walking down a dark staircase,
  every step forward gives way to uncertainty.
Downward, tripping upon my thoughts
  feeling less, and less likely to feel the sunshine again.

It’s the smell of decay, rotted souls, & tortured hearts
  smothered dreams, forgotten hopes, among all the lies.
Broken hearts left in its wake, like the skulls upon Golgotha,
  condemned for their crimes.

That darkened staircase has become damped by tears,
  fear as taken over, with its siren-like call into the unknown.
Crashing like waves, an undertow of raw emotions,
  my demise now bellows from the locker below.

I’ve created this fable, where the plot twist is all to real
  only to assume its identity in ghostly winds.
Loneliness, my old friend
  my true undoing.

Sun rises and falls, day after day, It does not change
  so will it ever get better with the dawn?
Do the monsters I've brought to be, ever vanish into the darkness, forever?
  For I know I’m not alone, no matter how I feel.

HE walks along side me lovingly, waiting for my less than faithful cries.
  Unconditional, Unconventional, Unrelenting Love
No matter my feebleness, my flaws, my imperfect human form,
   Forever will HE make good on his promises to me.

Winter morning wakes me light upon the frost,
lost now is my Summer,
here, I ache from slumber in the numbering of days and count the rays that slant at me,
this feebleness becomes my sanctuary.

Somewhere,
where the snow has covered up the shadows and the length of my existence shudders at the drifting in of afternoon,and the moonlight laughs at me,at this silvered magic that I used to be,
I see that I will soon be free, to rise and watch again with freshly opened eyes,the wonder and the majesty and eloquence of immortality.

I do not fear though am afraid ,
and I who have laid with dragons,try to drag this moment from the moment,away from the flames where names no longer mean to me an end to my mortality,but it cannot be and the night falls deep,
I sleep.

yesterday i wandered away from myself
i found myself looking back at what i thought was me
but the someone looking through the mirror didnt see

the someone not seen didnt know i was looking and felt left out
the left-out one looked around and seen all that had been looked in on and stepped out of the mirror to go back from then on

then on went the symphony of the seeing and the seen all that is there to be seen is there right in front of what i thought was me
on with all the looking and seeing back at me

yesterday i wandered away from me to see the other mees that visit every once in a while and i find i like all the mees i see even if they cant see me

i broke the me seeing mirror i was getting bored with it i started to see the me that i didnt want to see the twisted feeble dying old me
that scares me the feebleness the frailty of it all

i put the pieces of my me seeing mirror in a dresser drawer
so i could put them back together again when i am that feeble old me so that hopefully ill see the me i want to see again.

i know that me is still there and that me sees me now looking at it wondering the same thing as i is that the me i used to see when i saw the feeble me old dying me that me scares me.

so the me i see broke the me seeing mirror cause he was scared of me...

Where is God,
In the deep abysses of the soul
Or in the glowing
Enlightenment of the mind?
Is He found, in the emotional
smile of the heart?

Where is God?
Is He in the morning breeze
that blows as if
to chill the soul?
Or can He be found
in the rays of the sun
so fierce and bold
like the sword
of a fearless warrior
through a succulent rock?

Where is God?
Is He in the morning song
that comes in resonance
with the drumbeat of the heart?
Can He be found
in the feebleness of a sick bed?
Or in the silent face
of the dead?
Bold as cast iron,
only stained with a grin.

Where is God?
Is he in the frantic---
Frenzy face of a village priest?
Breathing fire and brimstone
Like the furnaces of hell?

Where is God?
Is He in the fatlings
of a rich table?
And a treasure chest
Filled with blood?

Where is God?
Can He be found
in the simple-docile-smile
of the child next door?
The epitome
of a wretched world.

Where is God?
Is He found
in our guilty conscience
that died
spoiling His world?

Why can’t I see Him?
Why can’t I find Him?
How much do I have
To stretch and scratch
Just to know
Maybe, for once;
That I’ve done the right thing,
and not failed?

Where is God?

Rousseau lingers in the souls of lethargy. "I know
that [civilized men] do nothing but boast incessantly
of the peace and repose they enjoy in their chains..."

Efficiency is a masquerade for same old,
same old; undaunted herds recycle cud,
new food demands passion.

Allegories of independent thought
paint extravagant ethereal world portraits
in many shades of one color.

Legends are born in feebleness - dilitary hammers
riddle red cap gun ribbons sparking
outrage insufficient enough to make a statement

Let them cry muted cries
in one act plays to empty seats, as they
preen unripe scabs to detour unresolved issues

Yearning is vacant, yea, absent, as an
occasional yeoman's hail song is heard
in the distance milking a lily for a reason to go on

?s are the only things that exist
in reality. No one knows who they are
in the bell tower...they simply ring the bell.

I jumped into it before I knew you
I had an idea of who you were
And you proved me wrong
But then again,
You are always right, aren't you?

I guess I wanted something
And you looked the part
But you couldn't act.
Then again,
You are the best at it all, aren't you?

You showed me peace
Even if only for a moment
And I ate it up
Despite the dish you served
only days before
Then again,
I'm so vulnerable, aren't I?

And it was perfect timing
With all the pairing birds
So why not you and I
We could make something beautiful.
I'm not sure if that's what you want.
But then again,
You're so sure of yourself,
aren't you?

I captured sight of a dream
Before I Knew I was dreaming.
And I thought it was solid.
All in my feebleness.
All in my weak hopeful heart.
And you fooled me well,
*Didn't you?

love

                                                                                                                               you

                                                                                                                       wings

                                                                                                                   you

                                                                                                             lift

                                                                                            feebleness

                                                                                 firmly

                                                                         from

                                                                     me

                                                                       and

                                                                           i

                                                             become

                                                 suns

                                 brightly

                    searing

       every

             second

                      you imp my back

                      you pinions you

                      bury me in flowers

                      and i am music

                      o’ cherubs and seraphs

                      played from harps

                      stroked by your nimble

                      feathers; love you

                      carry me to your mouth

                      where i kiss and kiss

                             and

                        ki

                               s

                            s

                                    and

                            k

                 is

                             s

                                              k

                                   i

                                           s

                                      s

in and out, black and blue, you vs. the world
recognition of ideas that decisive the only thing we have left
our own thoughts
contemporary ideas thrashed with technical propaganda
abandoning free exposure and vigour of intentions
Leaving us in a rubrics cube of push and pull
to come out all sides equal shuffle, mend, regroup,
Agree that deficiency is to be desired as feebleness is to be expected
reap technique and embezzle knowledge like its our only opportunity
free passion and become immune to negativity
With indomitable will triumph is inevitable

What If these
were our last good days
We’d ever have to live,
What would be
the purest way
To utilize their gift?

What if these,
your last good days;
We’re passing by unclaimed?
Would knowing that
you wasted them
Haunt those that still remain

What if you miss
the last setting sun
Before the supernova arrives;
And in an instant,
oblivion comes
To take up all our lives

What if you fall
to endless sleep
on moonlit starry night,
never again to wake
from sleepless slumber
to see the light.

What if these
are your last good days,
Before feebleness takes your mind,
before your body breaks
upon the rocky shores
of entropy and time?

If these are
the Last Good Days,
Would you count them all well spent?
What if THIS is
the LAST Good day?
Is wasting it worth the risk?

God turn every dream to good!
For it’s a marvel, by the rood,
To my mind, what causes dreaming
Either at dawn or at evening,
And why truth appears in some
And from some shall never come;
Why this one is a vision,
And that one a revelation,
Why this a nightmare, that a dream,
And not to every man the same;
Why this a phantom, why these oracles
I know not; but who of these miracles
Knows the cause better than me,
Let him explain, for certainly
I know it not, never thinking,
Nor busily my wits belabouring,
To know of their significance
The kinds, nor yet the distance
In time between them, nor the causes,
Or why this more than that a cause is;
As if folk’s complexions
Made them dream their reflections,
Or else thus, as some maintain,
Because of feebleness of brain,
Through abstinence, or from sickness,
Imprisonment, or great distress;
Or else by the disordering
Of their habitual mode of living,
Because some man’s too curious
In study, or melancholy, bilious,
Or so inwardly full of fear,
That no man may drag him clear;
Or else because the devotion
Of some, and contemplation,
Causes such dreams often;
Or that the cruel life, the harsh one,
To which those lovers are lead,
Who hope over-much or dread,
Simply through their emotions
Causes them to see visions;
Or if spirits have the might
To make folk dream at night,
Or if the soul, of its own kind,
Is so perfect, or such men find,
That it foresees what is to come
And gives warning, to all and some,
To each of them, of their adventures
Through visions or phantom figures,
Though our flesh lacks the might
To understand it all aright,
Since it is warned too darkly –
Yet what the cause is, ask not me.
Good luck in this to greater clerks
Who treat of these and other works,
For I of no firm opinion
Shall, for now, make mention,
Except that the holy rood
Turn our every dream to good!
For never a man since I was born,
Nor no man else who came before,
Dreamed, I believe steadfastly,
So wonderful a dream as me,
On the tenth day of December,
The which, as much as I remember,
I will you every detail tell.

don’t take my silence as the feebleness,
i am not sleeping-
just taking a nap.

You and I; we are both formidable
But then, like the thin line between its two definitions
We both live in each other's opposition

You.
You always had this grace—this delicateness and feebleness
That kind that would make anyone protect you with their lives
Not to mention the talent you were blessed at birth
The way notes would dance in accord with your fingers—how formidable

I.
My sight would always give people chills down their spines
That kind that would make you either fight or flight
With the cold demeanor I was cursed upon birth
Like how I would twist the words from my mouth.

You.
You were everything the world wanted—only more, nothing less
Can you see how their eyes would spark upon your descant?
You were a living, walking goddess upon mortals
And you were the kind of formidable one would stare in awe.

I.
I was nothing the world wanted—nothing more, only less
In how I would see the hatred in their lids at the mention of my name
I was the epitome of Lucifer incarnate, disrupting serendipity
And I was the kind of formidable everyone would want to be gone.

Us.
Yes, we are both formidable
You elegantly, I grotesquely
And the thought of us, meeting even just once
Will only be this pitiful mind's apparition.

a tiny traversed vertical
noise a chatter
space a time thing
I go down to the cellar

cellular and wifi not here
to interfere
any more with
my deep seated rhythms

rhyme an ancient paradigm
with the oil burner by my side
the darkness mold and
mystery brewing

calm satisfied  cruel radar alone
in the cold dankness near I feel
a comfort bold almost
mystical

speak to me the altered states
the after day and nights became
a different dream
the awesomeness of letting loose

in a cellar a long lost muse
spoke and sung danced and
used my spirit my obtuseness
obvious

my sway to her tune my
feebleness all caught between
her haunting voice her croon
away I went to

dark alone but for her doom
an island there
in the middle of nowhere

{it does take a half hour to read, I timed it.}

Pythagorian permission, Poet, today viz.
five years ago, auto-did-actical,
the output arrogance,
self categorization
accept the role, be a finger, or a toe,
be a knee or an elbow, chose a position,
take it
make it your part in reality function
as if it all just happens
on
accident,
you just happened along…
as though saying show, and showing so,
is the same as saying so, and saying see…
demon-stratem ****
miracles of crowd perception, everybody
look this way, look away, look away
Dix-ai 'da swanee, I tell you, I saw…
Land o'Goshen, locust free. I swanee…

Did you ever, even once, work dawn to dusk,
to pick the cotton before the rain?
You'd need to be born before 1954, I'd reckon;
to have ever pulled a cotton sack
any where in North America.
You can hand-pick about 20 plants in 10 minutes while it takes a cotton picker about 30 seconds to pick up to 1,200 plants. Ai knows.

-- good morning, mustabin--
Probable propitious auspices
- evening the occasional heaps
- sun's light blending peachy huey

Phrygian gardens had song birds, I bet.
Bluebirds, in season, certainly good,
expecting miracles, as farmers
expect rains and harvests and
no blights or bugs or birds or fires
or frosts too soon in the sugaring cycle.
For citrus, not maples, frost some years
meant no Christmas, if you know the sense.
--- we had beggars come to our door
on Christmas Day,
their car broke down, and something
told them, the people inside my house
would help… we were three doors down
from a Jehovah's witness church,
but we had so much, and those kids,
and their mom,
coulda been my mom, had things
gone another way, in the soul selling.

To observe the future from 1950,
are we not
made winners if by now we are not in prison?

Rabble, eh, my equal rank, common-sensewise,
I was once a dear friend of an angel, as real
as any ever to bring another bit of good news.

My messenger told me to say plainly what I see.
Habakkuk Habits invoked a disglosalialacical spell
Aha. If luck were not a factor at the edged abyss,
hiss steamsudden
Coolant ego '
idden agendas, owning the energy,
euphemism
for owning the earth's produce.

Imagining a representation of truth,
as a mortal, a spirit embodied, held out
for grasping fingers
to find handles,
or spikey burrs for tangled locks…
-----------
Examined my selves
for an empathetic one,
I heard Absalom swinging in the tree…
I found no functioning, pathos perceived
is as near as one could come, feeling pain,

awareness, pain at being made to pay attention
to the replaying trainwrecks from fifty years ago.
No.
No, three thousand years ago, really, that long ago
and no updates on Wisdom receptivity?

Life in logos, mere words living in lettered lines
and rows, columns and pages and sections and such.
There are no sacred secret rites.
The snake can take your life, or tickle your soul.

Logical steps lead from one word to the next,
with 151 pre-positioning aiming words,
words that take and hold objects,
to and fro upon a time.

Distance diminishing day dopplering toward us,
the experience bound by galaxy level gravity,

massive messaging apparatus
Nachrichtenübermittlungsgerät zending oud a tingtingting
strumming all the oud's strings in theory.
Would you prefer to have a day in touch
or to have a day out of touch, floating, drifting through
the halls of power, inner sanctum, towers atop slagheaps
of holyshitchewdonotwannaknow, but do, do undoubtedly
know.

Original disconnect. Aware become, conscience ****** eve,
goodness found hell inventing just knowing love most needed
opens possibility quickly ready searched truth uni versal xanex zone. Calming. Sigh, and listen,
where I live there are
still war planes passing over my head, practicing.

Just in case, Semper fi. Charge the fuel.

Pilot training in the real Chocolate Mountains,
so backwash sunset red this time of day…

A brain, already capable of completing
ambitious intelligent coded construction processes

to go, to yield, to go about getting around orders
intuited easily entreated,
with little need
for the power
to punish the cowardly shirker of war duty…

to empty space, tzimtzim on a human scale,
as when the messaging systems deployed metaphors.
Empty vessles, not a few.
Mental focus hearth felt hooks, catch your attention

Red herring and black swans and autistic savants, all
attract attention and something
more rare, a daring
to know why luck seems such a powerful factor.
Curiosity before knowledge they say.
Whatsoever we agree. Eh?
Religions of billions, or two, just me and you, we
believe for a second that eternity is ever right after
ever before, and we exist in the interim, and not before.

Ever, in the scriptural universal sense…
make up your mindshare…
ok.
Mindtimespace, point grid riddled
with holes.
Perspectives on history,
recent history, edging bets
most losers never knew they made,

when a choice is made,
according to the ruling stories,
despite the constant compute refuting,
sneaking
suspicion
sin, lying at the door, did you notice?

If money can fix it, then it is not a problem.
So said the grandson of the Mormon Pioneer
who laid legal real estate claim to raw Sedona.

The grandson of the mechanic, allowed, that so.
- stopped and thought, actuating a still mind,
- pondering, breathing soft, slow, gentle, easy
entreating a change to
to whom, eh, from the page, flat, word after word,
each defined between us, meaning, golden mean
curve to judge beauty by purpose design.

You have seen the curve, you know
what I mean is much along those lines.

Chances are good, we say without thinking,
feeling kinda lucky, a post anxiety high, per haps;
any
way. One day, to a mortal is a measurable span,
and in America, wasting mortal lives
with republic guardians
of the laws enforcing peace
within Belair and Hillcrest regions of Athens…
{L.A. as portrayed the city of messaging mediums}
and the near suburbs, for the managers of the help.
-Leaping millennia in a single second thought
it is Autumn, 2023…

At the scattered outermost edges of urban sprawl,
there remains a kind of creative ifity, an absense
of civil strife, a kind of pollen in the wind, as change,
on cosmic seasonal suggestion that we think long
co-gnosis, sensing augmentalated wedoms, stretching
fi, the idea,
the fi in fiduciary and Semper Fi, and confidence.
Tuning to middle c, wait and see, foe from Phrygia
drummed response, thump thump thrum.

Shofar sounding afar off, listen, listen, hear
the babies, always, babies, after bombs, in the tents
the babies always activate auto **** alert, and feel
terror, the actual mind state occupied by the prisoners
in poverty, every where.

Entertain my brain. Hold my attention to gain,
acquiescence, necience, recognizing your best self,
there's the old tongue in cheek joke, male bond humor.
Same crude pleasure pursuant patriarchal hierarchy.

By royal order, presidential decree and papal bull,

the powers opposing the light of holy truth, persist.
All subjects under the common global order, obey or
else, we disagree with basic gravity and Pareto distributions.

Where the feebleness of mind is first discerned,
was once the local village or shire, cluster of cousins
and immigrant help's children who - how you say, see
themselves being a baker, when they play patty cake, see
or being a maker of clay vessles for holding many things,

see, we make up our own minds, then ideas take over.

Entertain me, show me people involved in drama, over
nothing. ***, drugs, rockandroll, when did the music die?

We could calm the world, with a Coke®
it's the re-al thing, al-ways a ways away re
ality with you and me on the run down to Rosarita
inland route from Jacumba, around the fence,

Singing at the top of our lungs, IT’S THE REEE AL THING
baby.
Look away from the skinny moon.
These bodies preserve life on earth,
and signal nonsense when aiming at stars, however
considering the heavens, far from the glare of cities,

even then, naked eye, I was told, however
I fact checked with my Ai assisting intelligence,
Egypt had not known the Dog star binary.
So this is true:
ChatGPT
The ancient Egyptians believed that the star Sirius,
also known as Sothis, was associated
with the goddess Isis and had significant importance
in their religious beliefs and calendar system.
They believed that the rising of Sirius
in the pre-dawn sky,
which occurred annually around July,
marked the beginning of the Nile flood
and the start of the agricultural year.
The Egyptians did not believe that Sirius was a three-star system.
- last line is all I asked, all the rest, ah, doubblingentendrills,
- all the rest of time we have to spend enjoying hell,
- from some perspectives, this is currently hell, no other.

Thieves of detail truth precepts, lurk,
at this line the author activated prayer circuits,
to take angst
and spin it into genuine umph up
from the base mind level,
low as a mind of any kind can go,
to the core of all emotion.

Dead center initial gravity. First sequence ex nihilo, what
do you know?.. o o psci daisy, just dropped the baby,
baby
can't you hear me crying, baby-love. Blurplepeopleeater,
lyin' all the time, you ain't never caught a rabbit,
and you ain't no friend of mine…

Take us to the danger zone, flyin' all the time,
ease our feeble minds and give us good service

Action movies, make us squirm, who has time for this,
we mostly all do, it seems,
seems, seems unreal really unreal, dream-like,
entrancement, fashion alert, attuned to degrees of in,
and out, up and down, round this way, square this way,
amphoras fit snug, round jugs
in square grids, leaning
into the curve
of greater vessles, trading knowledge
for knowledge,
with a few side realities, professional
courtesies, judgement calls, authorized executive acts,

I declare… I'drather doubt I know what you know,
than doubt that you do not doubt that you know.

Voltaire… defend to the death your right to say you know.
Faith is your evidence, we all suppose, spiritual warfare
is proven by the lie that says Satan is the deceiver.

Wait. What did I say, have I come this far and none
know… wait, those poor souls cold calling on solar leads,
gees, I'm sorry you are so used, really, I feel for you, your
job *****, as they say.
In realized life as a grown up in the system;
got a job, cutcherhair, dopplering by as I manifest, as real
one of the hitchhiking pests, depicted as vermin
on a poster displayed at the Greyhound station,
nearest to Route 66 in San Bernardino, March, '70.

Anchor links, ancient landmarks, moments when pivots
occur, and as often as not, acute reversals widen with use,
dull witted boys with instant anger output honed to fine edge,
grow dull in three seasons, few hold the line on the fourth fight.

Here, in cyberspace, the information super highway,
and the solid state circuitry to deal with mean free ways,
in quarkish inverse infinity space, deep from any now,
in time thought since once,
you did it,
you passed understanding. Got an A.

being to timelessness as it’s to time,
love did no more begin than love will end;
where nothing is to breathe to stroll to swim
love is the air the ocean and the land
(do lovers suffer?all divinities
proudly descending put on deathful flesh:
are lovers glad?only their smallest joy’s
a universe emerging from a wish)

love is the voice under all silences,
the hope which has no opposite in fear;
the strength so strong mere force is feebleness:
the truth more first than sun more last than star

—do lovers love?why then to heaven with hell.
Whatever sages say and fools, all’s well