Gunning down horses, gunning down tails,
Gunning down archaic forces
That follow my nightmares through the eve
With its eye on my hilt and its back to its siege

I run and I run and I am never done
If I stop now, I stop for eternity
I lay waste on the Cimmerian horizon
And I drink to the gaps in my vision.

Fire crackles, sizzles like a tortured
Monk; Charcoal smoke lifts the air,
Turns the trees black and navy blue
As putrid smoke buries itself in my hair

The fire is my only hope now
I tell you they can’t see it
Their eyeless sockets will never know
And they’ll never find me here.

Long time coming
Long time gunning

Man dead on the ground
the soul still running

Flamed too ashes
Like a cigar filled with tree

Flamed too ashes
So there’s no more misery

Atleast that’s what he thinks
But to his surprise

He’s got grave problems
On the other side.

I urge that we make ourselves proud… of us
I urge that we go into and come out of these polls sober minded, responsible, uncorrupted, without ‘fight’ or ‘fuss’
Uncorrupted
I urge that a joyous feeling of an evolving nation moving forward be the only thing we can, in hindsight, say erupted… this upcoming Monday, the following Tuesday
I would like to state that a people gunning for peace in these coming days is the only topic I would like to be following in the news today
We should see what’s coming as the change of guard it is… and not as a dreaded doomsday
You may be black… I may be white, or vice versa… and that’s alright
We shouldn't even be asking ourselves “Who’s grey?”
I will vote with one heart for one country… my country
A country in which I’m confident can keep the peace, you see, we’re kind of good at this
I know this because we've had quite a bit of practice
I know this because deep down we all want to make peaceful transitions be the Kenyan way
I know, I hope… and whenever necessary, I pray
Happy voting.

this night has
      melted into too many
      casualties trying to reach the
edge of dawn
        where beaten voices
                  still believe in summer
                  dreaming about ages in the sun

w/ loaded gunning thoughts
tomorrow will never fade
                painted hands broke the ground
                stones reflecting off sapphire
                bombs always explode
at the most random times like
         when memory is sleeping..
           (my memory is wide awake)
& sometimes it screams so loud that I
can remember everything

what would it be like?
just a second of silence?
maybe it's like being thrown in that bomb of
gemstone safety..

smiles for yesterday,

          the future is running toward
          its own shadow:

a new song in this vein..

--And do not be indiscreet or unconventional. Play it safe.--

Listen here. I've never played it safe
in spite of what the critics say.
Ask my imaginary brother, that waif,
that childhood best friend who comes to play
dress-up and stick-up and jacks and Pick-Up-Sticks,
bike downtown, stick out tongues at the Catholics.

Or form a **** Club where we all go
in the bushes and peek at each other's ***.
Pop-gunning the street lights like crows.
Not knowing what to do with funny Kotex
so wearing it in our school shoes. Friend, friend,
spooking my lonely hours you were there, but pretend.

tea leaves and a bowl of mints, you're craving a time that left you years ago, now you're seeing yellow every time you blink, but life's not a filter on dreams and if you keep eating pomegranates without salt it could be a problem, your fingertips are already purple from holding too much ice so what will happen to your insides? sparks eventually die out, fires do too, but sometimes they don't, they just take longer to forget and you can't cut flames and smoke with chainsaws like you try to do with your feelings so remember to hold your smile in place and climb every fence it takes for you to slowly learn your red painted constellated lessons

they want me to be serious, to take it seriously. To look at sunrises calmly and seize coals and watch over red-blooded, man-fueled wars about bravado, integrity, and land. To look at money, a simple representation of labor, and see what it drives other to do, to do for me.

to crush cigarettes and testicles under my boots,
to crawl through mud and barbed wire, smiling

with grit in my grimace
salt rolling, sweaty brows
twisted locks of dark hair
tobacco-brown spit, ground
and filthy, caked in mud
teeth bared like an animal
white eyeteeth crunching

Scorching earth where my feet touch down.
A cigarette put out on a tongue. No more talking.

They want me to see and that, in the dark of the night, in the light of the day, when the sun rises and sets, there is pain, always, elsewhere and everywhere. So I will not tarry or joke or be frivolous with the battered souls of others and to think, to think about applying anything I know, to run along with the vigorous social constructs they ask me to dissect and then revolutionize, because I am young, and I will sprint faster, against accusations, and only briefly.

They want me to look at the world like a runner looks at the red track,
with their toes and sinews coiled as hard as steel, a pinnacle of human
at the height of athleticism and possess the ruthlessness of a rabid dog
drool rushed into foam and mad from dehydrating, my brain swelling

with my hormone driven
red, hazy, athletic rage,
gunning my ambition
for some organization.

No.

I will fight, yes, but I will not fight for a name on a card, shield, or building.
I will fight for the sake of fighting because I am contentious and I am wrong.

I side against hero and villain, because I am the ambiguity,
that languishes, resides in no-man's land, antagonizing both.

Being disliked in purgatory is sometimes more easy than chomping at the bit,
for blood and the power of cracking a black bull whip, so I can avoid this terrible avarice and corrupting beauty that comes with working hard, especially for the greatness
                        that I did not ask
                                       to be ****** upon me, while I wished to remain enigmatic.

Straight outta Ex Dee,
Crazy mother f@cker named Blatchy
Dropping sick beats, rolling hard in the backstreets,
Watch him roll dough as he hailin' a taxi,
Fancy f@cken suit, he's livin' in luxury

Fedora tipped-top on the tippy-top head
Gunning bad gangstas, better red than dead
Shooting spree, smilin' with glee
Don't wanna f@ck with a guy straight outta Ex Dee!

Whenever I taste your sweet menthol on my lips,
I inhale the desirable into my lungs,
And I exhale the tragic out of my soul.
But in reality, I breathe in death disastrously,
Filling myself with chances of possibility,
Artful ideas of being successful and extraordinary,
Forgetting any remnants of how I feel honestly,
With wishes to destroy every lightweight dandelion seed
I planted within myself, easily whisked away by a breathless wind,
Pushing my inner horizon farther and farther down the skyline.
Every minty swirl of hazy exhaustion I release
Finds me additional pieces to my jigsaw masterpiece
Countless shapes and sizes available for me to lease
But only one is correct and allows me to cease
My everlasting journey to find what I need.
A finger flick on a flame lights up my brain,
Igniting passionate affection for creativity,
For building up my future full of sovereign devotion
To assurance and indisputable positivity undarkened,
A clear-cut, twinkling vision of self-affirmative action,
Establishing a reality only seen in my dreams, me, chosen.
I always view the future haphazardly,
If I’m not a scientist what the hell will I be?
I just want to do is create and inspire and explain me
Looking through scopes and writing down numbers is not enticing
And I need some sort of stimulus to keep my body sane and happy.
My whole life I’ve wanted to make an impact, a change
Just now I know how that’s going to make way,
I want to write, express, let others know they’re not alone,
And if that is unsettling, I’ll just let your mind be blown.
My ever-expansive appetite craves for adventure,
I yearn for travel, for maps, for experience, new cultures
The globe is my home and I want to unlock every door
So my thirst will be unsatisfied until you give me the key for more.
Now I’m not trying to move mountains, stop war,
I just ask for a peaceful border, for safe travel and legal cigars.
Our society is mesmerized with beauty and love
But we lack the propensity to settle down and be content with ourselves
And if we can’t covet ourselves, who are we to judge?
She’s a little sad, he doesn’t curse,
Who is anyone to say that they aren’t worth a poetic verse?
Without a simple change to the way we perceive, we’re held back –
We, ourselves, block the borders to love and to peace,
Gunning down possibility,
Wearing away the concept of wholeheartedly,
Only accepting work done effortlessly,
Forgetting the importance of personality,
Living systematically,
Mathematically,
Temporarily.
We need change.
Escape the man-made Inferno of what we call society,
Climbing up the ladder of knowledge and inquiry and creation
Until we reach the omniscient sun and the moon,
To the stars and beyond.

In my New Day I arose from my
screen-tent-squirrel-hole-flimsy-bomb-shelter-for-my-soul
and walked down to the banks of the Missinabi River
at the Mattice Landing
with dog’s leash in one hand and my right hand
leading lady’s in the other, hearing and feeling tall grass
swishing against my pant legs
and the crunch of course sand under my feet
that once trod fields of green tall grasses swishing
against my pant legs in the meadows and rocky woods of
my childhood and youth where I spent summers working

at my Aunt and Uncle's farm in
New Liskeard, Ontario and in the woods and along the banks
of the Lackawanna River just over the **** behind
the house of my childhood and youth in the Anthracite coal
country of Northeastern Pennsylvania, which is light years away from the land of my birth where I now live in this Northern Ontario port in the middle of a deep
                                     cold sea of countless
                                     converging
                                     never-ending
rivers
lakes
trees
swamps
bogs
muskeg
and mountains of snow
where snow white and black flies freely fly.

I am always trying to go deeper into the trees and bush
burning deep inside my heart of hearts to follow the Moses
that is in all of us. This eternal Voice in pebbles crunching
under foot and tall grasses swishing and canoe parting
water that flows deep in my mind and spirit once only
winding past burning villages where man rapes and pillages
but now also following a more
pastoral             idyllic             and super-natural course.

A vagabond never quite understands the working-class
woman and man living their small dream with their offspring and slice of land. I thought they were all ostrich with head in sand. But I now see that we can't all afford to brood as I often do over the daily news. They must rise early the next morning, alarm clocks not set on snooze.                                             
Work ethic
Family hearth and home
Days of scent
of freshly mown grass  
barbeques                                          
campf­ires  
coffee brewing  
children playing  
TV and music blaring
dishes rattling
in sink or
swim in the lake.

Loosen the watertight mind drum and just dive into the
crunch of pebbles under foot treading fields of green tall
grasses swishing against pant legs. Not only wishing
but going deeper into the trees and bush burning
speaking to our primeval consciousness.
This eternal Voice in pebbles crunching and tall grasses
swishing . . .
The whooshing sound of wading in a stream streams
through my soul as I savour the body taste of wet gritty sand
between my fingers and toes, crouched down wet-crotch deep waiting long enough for minnows to tickle fingers and toes as mosquito’s pin-prickle skin.
Watching creatures much smaller than I gliding,
even walking on calm still water that we humans can only dream of doing in our motorised  sleep.

I think I now understand . . . to not be constantly mourning the plight of man isn't being ostrich with head in sand.
I must keep gunning-off addictions alluring stare.

I must taste life
    Smell and feel life
        Enjoy life outside of my troubled mind

against the backdrop of the latest holy war
and the imploding creations of our kind.

--Daniel Irwin Tucker

her patience was starting to wear thin, impatience growing as one of the pervs from the table across his eyes preying on her. she gave him the finger and her hardest glare.

where the hell are you  she typed out, texting him

be there in ten i kinda just got out of bed...sorry

she just sighed looking out the glass panes that gave a view of the busy street, letting her thoughts wander. sam was waiting for her bestfriend, noah to show up. she was going to help him find a flower shop that caters black roses. he was going to give it to jean, the girl of his dreams as he liked to call her (sam just knew how much of a cliche he was underneath; they barely had a conversation in which he didn't insert her-sam stuck up with it and listened to him, always assuring him that he's going to get her who wouldnt)

"sorry im late" he says, panting as he arrives, varsity jacket slung in his arms

"you owe me" sam says cooly, ignoring the drum pounding in her chest. he looked like he always did; and gave off the same effect to all the girls in town (he had quite a following though he didn't mind)

playfully he rolls his eyes at sam and the two walk their way into his beat up camaro (which was very good at overheating and taking too long to start)

"bet this thing would come up with its tricks again" sam started with their usual banter

"oh hell no it's got my back"

"your flat back"

"my bootiful ***"

sam scoffed "wanna bet?"

"game on" noah smugly retorts with the smug smirk on his face that showed off his angelic structures

"on three two....." sam had her fingers crossed please don't work please don't

noah tried gunning the engine a few more times, turning the key into the hole over and over again but the engine kept dying. he tried for one more time;it was a miracle that it did. he faced sam who's face turned down into a frown. "ha you owe me now"

"i owe you none" she says slumped in her seat though deep inside she was enjoying this. their friendship had alot of these immature playfulness which she usually started.

"just buy me an extra waffle cone and we're even"

"*******"

noah laughed and sam heard the lilt in his laugh that she grew fondly of. they drove off the road with only the radio to filter the silence for a while. sam started tracing patterns on the car window.

she felt something for noah and it wasn't something she expected, neither was it something she was looking for. the first time they ever interacted was in a class they both had. his eyes had that mischievous spark that day and  he wore a devilish grin-sam thought he was the perfect guy to turn into one of her casualties or better yet get his heart broken. but all they did after class that day was hangout and drive around town. sam was quite shocked with the numerous things they have in common. since then, they've meant alot to each other. although it was different for sam. sometime in their friendship she started feeling something for him, someting more than friends do .she hated it; the thought of it made her want to rev her guts out;

she was never the type to like guys or girls and fantasize about them being together or even feeling the same way. she was the type of girl who played with guys for a night (a week was her longest) whenever she felt like it. she toyed with their hearts and felt satisfied when she saw them with tears in their eyes. she felt no remorse for leaving them in the gutter. she was never vulnerable  she was a heartbreaker. she was that type of girl. but with noah it was all different, it was all new. it was like being on the other side of the spectrum

it frustrated her, all of it. most of all the fact that she couldn't do anything about it. she couldn't just steal him away from jean especially now that he stood a chance. plus, he was serious about her, sam could tell-even if she tried making moves on him, he'd leave because that wasn't how he knew her-they went so well together: her being on the cheerleading squad with her perfect friends and her perfect grades, perfect life ahead and him being the quarterback of the football team and the perfect college waiting for him, heir to his father's company someday-they were the power couple. they deserve each other sam thought bitterly. she could be one of the "perfect" girls in her school if she tried. but she didn't, didn't find the need to because why bother? she'd rather be on the outside and deal with her own company and just resurface whenever she felt like it. he had dreams;she didn't. she was just a heartbreaker, a mess.

yet she didn't want to lose noah; couldn't lose noah-it wasn't a risk she was willing to take. around him she let down the high walls she usually was encaged in and instead had vine trellises wrapping around her almost as if caressing her. it wasn't like in the movies but it was a **** cliche which she felt in gradual waves.she could hear wind chimes in the edges of her nicotine corrupted lungs whenever she was with him and none of the nails splintering against board in the emptiness of her house she felt in the dark while her sister slept soundly in the next room, none of the stale unfamiliarity of her mother working herself thin in her round the clock shifts, staggering home the next morning smelling like alcohol. she felt something other than the hollow in her stomach when she's out partying with strangers, the bass sounding too much like her heart breaking and her existence decomposing. she felt none of the filth she did when she slept with guys and let them make love with their exes through her body. she felt none of all the ugliness, heard none of the monsters' calls. noah made her feel pure. made her feel bliss. there was no irony, no catches, no waiting for the other shoe to drop in what they shared.

some days she's accepted that they'd always remain platonic, that it was better for them to stay this way. but today wasn't one of those days, for it was one where she wanted nothing but to plant her lips against his and make him tell her that he feels the same, for him to wrap her arms around her and bury her face in the crook of his neck, drown in all their memories, become the memories become an us. it wasn't love but he made her feel loved.

her daydreams were cut short when noah parked the car infront of the flower shop near the outskirts of town. she smoothed her hair as noah opened the car door for her. she felt her palms sweat, immediately telling her brain that he was really just sweet and it's jean that he likes stop spewing up hurricanes and thunders for every sweet thing he does.

"so first stop"

"i still don't get why you can't just buy her a bouquet of plain roses and spray paint it black. i'll help out yknow" she replies in her usual mocking way as they enter the shop, the floral fragrance enveloping them.

"because you gotta put all your effort and your heart to get her"

"yeah right, hey you gotta put effort in spray painting too yknow like shaking the can and making sure the roses are all covered. we can cover your heart in black paint as well if we still got any left" she replies sarcastically as they start perusing for black roses.

he rolls his eyes at his best friend, throwing one of the discarded dandelions at her direction. she picks one up and throws it at him quickly. it was only a matter of minutes til they were both on the floor laughing, sneezing in intervals, dandelions scattered around them. the florist scolded them when he saw the mess they caused and made them pay for a daisy and a petunia boquet that was haphazardly upturned in their rowdiness-no black rose in sight.

sam laughed as noah took out his wallet and paid the florist who's face was now red. she heard him mutter a sheepish apology and for a moment, she allowed or tried to let herself get lost in the fact that she and her bestfriend were spending the day together she tried to forget that she was spending the day with him to help him be with the girl that he likes.

Pedal to the floor
She prepares for flight
The roar of a gunshot
Ends the lady’s plight

shes only 15 her whole lifes ahead of her
she hates school because the people there discredit her
her boyfriends tries to show thats not how it seems
but everyday she just gets lowered with her self esteem
he lets her know that every night will have a brighter day
she's even tried to overdose and take her life away
shes feeling hopeless there just sitting down beside her bed
then he takes his hand and places it beside her head
he tried to hold her but with every touch she still resists
and then he sees the scars that bury deep within her thigh
shes feeling numb he tries to beg and plead and ask her why
shes says this way i have control of pain i feel inside
nobody seems to get you you feel youre on your own
but listen pretty lady you dont have to be alone
so baby dont cut you can do anything just promise me baby you wont cut
i know your heart is hurting you think the road has ended
you may just feel that blade youre holding is your only friend
but baby dont cut you can do anything
just promise baby you wont cut again
the next day at school shes feeling better than the day before
even cracked a couple smiles as she walked through the corridor
but all that seemed to end as she dropped her books when she walked into class
and every student in the room just seemed to point and laugh
she wouldnt take it anymore
she sent her boy a text she said i love you with my body heart and soul
to death he thought nothing typed i love you then he sent it
by death he didnt know that she had literally just meant it
she ducked her next class ran home into her bathroom
thought to herself she wouldnt break her promise thatt soon 1 cut 2 cut 3 cut 4
the blood started dripping from the tub to the floor
her boyfriend had a feeling in his stomach that he hated
he followed it and ran down to her house he never waited
the front door was open he heard the water running
he stormed into the bathroom and he's heart just started gunning
he put her arm around his shoulder he just tryin to lean her back up
yelling out her name as he lays her beside the bathtub
he feels his whole world jusy took a hit from and avalanche
he screaming out so heavily somebody call an abulance
feeling mad angry like somebody let her on to this
her eyeballs are rolling drifting out of consciousness
thinking to himself why the hell didnt she just stop
at will the tears just keeping on rolling as they head to the hospital
paramedics rush her in doctor calls emergency
shes loosed a lot of blood the place is looking like a ****** scene
an hour later the doc walks over with a sour face
and says excuse for the words that im about to say
im sorry for your loss the boy just starts collapsing
his own girl his own world just took a crashing
saying to himself that its his fault and that he let it up
baby i thought you made a promise you would never cut

watching lightening
rip through the tenebrous sky,
anger-filled thunder scorns
the midnight hour.
We only came here to watch...
to breathe in cool night air.

I couldn't distinguish the shock
of your touch
from the wave of currents striking
the window of this sundance
crossing the blackened sky.

A feather-touch:
my lips, your lips, ours;
soft, seductive shivers.
Touches so electric,
we were unaware
of the youth-filled
dodge gunning
towards the embankment...
teen kisses, too innocent.

(They see our mirror image.)

In excited jolts,
like those of lightening raging
through the mountains,
we seek refuge
to thrill-seek
the precarious union
we are.

A slight quiver from the bow in your back
I come on strong like a fatal attack
Hunting you down
A hushed whimper in your throat condemns
The subtle undertones of shameful whims
Cutting you down

A silent breakdown in the guise of guilt
Laying waste to a temple built
Crumbling down
A lucid dream where you all four come
Expecting nothing, but for me to run
Gunning you down

So, it has come down to this
Sinking further between your lips
Holding your hips I aim to fix
This memory with another hit

Self-soothe with a fading bruise
All there is left of you
Leaving you down
Tip off the cops in this ****** plot
Left unpursued with a final thought
Burning you down

So, it has come down to this
Sinking further between your lips
Holding your hips I aim to fix
This memory with another hit
Erase her graceful face
Erase her staying taste
Erase her hopeful trace
Erase her
Erase her

(Ich möchte sehen, dass Sie sich für Ihre Unwissenheit brennen. Ich will sehen Sie spucken Blut, du verdammte Hure. Es gibt nichts, ich will in meinem Leben, außer dich leiden sehen aus erster Hand. Ich könnte glücklich sterben wissen Sie nahm das eigene Leben, also, wenn Sie wirklich wollen, mich glücklich zu machen, dann gehen ******* do it. Ich werde weinen gottverdammten Tränen der Freude, wenn du weg bist, dass eine Garantie ist. Gehen Sie weiter und hassen mich, weil ich krankhaft bin, aber dieses realisieren: Sie wissen nicht, Scheiße, und du wirst nie, du Fotze stur. Ich werde dich in der Hölle zu sehen.)

They broke his bones in a bathroom stall
with pipes and left cigarette burns
on his eyelids and I
washed my hands, cleaned the blood
off of my shoes and shrugged.

Some days is all you can do to throw
your body on a cursing poor *******,
but most days you seem like you know
humanity is going to eat itself alive
so you just close the door and stay
in bed for a few more hours.

They say his lies have gone too far
and they know they don't know
whether he's gunning to give up
or run away and try again somewhere
where freaks on the inside stick
out like circus sideshows.
Home is not where we belong.

Christ got nailed to a cross
and I stared and said, "So what?"
that day and every day since
I've been cursed to give zero *****.
I tried and it almost killed me too,
if you know whats good for you
keep to your own.

This world isn't made of flesh,
it's made of dirt and fire,
you'd do good
to keep that in mind.

“Give up trying to do anything.  
                      nothing works works.”  
                From a note written by
                     Scott Allen Ostrem

If only you came to buy
another cell phone, a pen and
note card, some crayons &
paper.  Anything.  Anything
that would give you a voice.

If only you bought the
fixings for a satisfying supper,
or a gift for a lost lover.
Anything. Anything to help
you express your distress.

Anything to free your
words from the prison of
your maddness, anything
to melt your frozen tongue,
anything to return your
manhood,  other than that gun!

Anything.  Anything.   If only . . .

By:  Evelyn Augusto
For GUNS DON'T SAVE PEOPLE POETS DO 2017

The debate between free will and fate has taken a hard right
turn to neuroscience, Brodmann area 4 the primary motor
cortex of the brain located in the posterior frontal lobe
(the one cut out of the one who once flew over the cuckoo's nest).
This area of the cortex has the pattern of an homunculus!
a little man, a troll, the all-wise, mandragon, the golem of Jewish
      folklore.

This little man has a ***** that, when fully engorged, is
equal in size to his entire body. However, diseases
such as Parkinson's, Alzheimer's, Huntington's, Lou Gehrig's and
      Creutzfeldt-Jakob
are gunning for him. His basal ganglia are garbled
and he ends up giving poor advice and making bad decisions.
Who can say what happens to his soul or cells or if all will be given
      or well?

I was listening to the famous astronomer on public radio
who expressed the certainty there is no death, your soul
is immortal, it exists outside of time (but not space?). That's because
time exists only in the human mind (as does the universe
including the professional baseball season which is canceled when
      you're dead).
By Spring, my problems will be solved or ignored, either way is
      good.

"Imagine if we taught baseball the way we teach science. Until they
      were twelve children would
read about baseball technique and occasionally hear inspirational
      stories of the great baseball
players. They would answer quizzes about baseball rules. They
      would practice fundamental
baseball skills, throwing the ball to second base twenty times in a
      row. Undergraduates might
be allowed under strict supervision to reproduce historic baseball
      plays. But only in graduate school
would they, at last, actually get to play a game." --Alison Gopnik

Groundhog holds the knowledge of death without dying
for man needs help from every creature born.
Will the holocaust wipe the smile off the face of our romantic comedy
or will laughter outlast the outburst?
About the dark times will there be singing?
Yes, there will be singing and some of the songs will be sidesplitting.

Solving the ****** reveals the city. Nature of kinships and economic
      sustenance,
who loves whom and why, when things happened and how they lost
      and found themselves
in what happened. Because a meter-making argument cannot appear
from nothingness, purposelessness, just cold.
He does not go where he was supposed to go. He is in the desert,
      Sonoran desert, counting cactus buds and ocotillo blooms.
This is the afterlife for which he has always longed.

After one night of many nights all rolled into one
You shoot me through with one pass.
It’s a clean break as I fall into consciousness
Tumbling through unfamiliar seas of painful candor, sovereign guilt
And reckless bliss.

The weighted bullet around your neck reminds me of your careless aim
And my selfish craving to be its target.
The metal is cold against my lips and unforgiving beneath my fingers.
I cannot help but cry when it touches me, weeping with longing from one eye
While the other flows with regret.

Three pulses rust now, as my commitment turns to ash
And a scarlet phoenix blooms from the blood of a union sacrificed
Yet the irony is taunting me, as I see clearly
That I’m gunning for salvation as you engulf me in temptation.

What a dangerous pair we make, we two, the Silver Bullet Brigade
Firing round after round into the establishment
And ruining our souls as we shake to set them free.

Your newly empty chamber is still hot from its release.
I’m unstable. My exit wound is ragged.
But the smoking gun is not held in one pair of hands.

If much of taste is olfactory
And smell my strongest sense
Then I am only remembering the bad taste in my mouth
Whenever I smell your cologne.
Or were those pheromones?
Which someone once told me were a pop science myth
As far as humans are concerned.
But from what I've learned, there's a reason
I remember when your birthday rolls around,
Curse the fact that your phone number's still memorized,
Wonder how we all grew out of our awkwardness but somehow
We never stopped being weird kids who dream about taking over the world without
Wanting anything to do with it,
Convinced somehow we wouldn't know what to do but
Planning every step of development
Developing bad habits to have something to break later
Breaking up frustration with a long handled axe
Asking questions of the ceiling and being ambidextrous
Dexterously clumsy, bursting from cicada skins
Skinning cats and giving catty answers cause we can
Canning ideas, blasting truths, getting reaction shots
Shooting *** and pounding drums and whatever ***** comes along
A long , long way from home.

If there's a method to my madness then my sanity is rhymeless
And sleep gives no more stability than sadness.
Awareness is a legendary goal, but
I'd rather be blind than forgetful, rather
Anxious than regretful, never
Seek salvage from judgment, shelter from justice,
Which someone once told me was a pop culture myth.
And if it's mythology then please, call yourself the hero.
You deserve it after all, you deserve the fall,
To stall till last call, shoot to brawl
It takes all strands of our silk, when you consider it.
Done are the days of self righteous *******,
Gone are the messages you seek,
Long are the nights and low is the sun now
Sunning like lizards in the light from a flare gun
Gunning for a desert road that exists only in memory
Memorizing lines and making them glide smooth like glaciers
Glacial glances but loving deeply every pulse felt or heard
Herding the sheep you count before your childhood sweethearts close their eyes
Eyeing the dreams that glow in a summer sky like faraway missile tests
Testing cold waters, and debunking theological fallacies,
******* fantasies or secrets, slowly losing steam for longing
A long, long way from home.

“Give up trying to do anything.  
            nothing works works.”  
            From a note written by
            Scott Allen Ostrem


If only you came to buy
another cell phone, a pen and
note card, some crayons &
paper.  Anything.  Anything
that would give you a voice.

If only you bought the
fixings for a satisfying supper,
or a gift for a lost lover.
Anything. Anything to help
you express your distress.

Anything to free your
words from the prison of
your maddness, anything
to thaw your frozen tongue,
anything to return your
manhood,  other than that gun!

Anything.  Anything.   If only . . .

By:  Evelyn Augusto
For GUNS DON'T SAVE PEOPLE POETS DO 2017

She's only 17 her whole life's ahead of her.
She hates school because the people they discredit her.
Her boyfriend tries to show her that's not how it seems.
But everyday she just gets lowered by her self esteem.
He tries to tell her every night will have a brighter day.
She even tried to over dose and take her life away.
She's feeling hopeless there sitting down beside her bed.
Then he takes his hand and places it beside her head.
He tries to hold her close but with every touch she still resists.
Then he sees the scars that burry deep within her wrists.
She's feeling numb, he starts to beg and plead and ask her why.
She says this way I have control of the pain she feels inside.
He's asking her how long it's been since you've felt this way.
Because you got me and I'm feeling so **** helpless.
She says its been a while I guess I needed better luck.
Then he screams at her and tells her Baby never cut!

Nobody seems to get you, you think you're on your own,
Well listen pretty lady you don't have to be alone.
So baby don't cut, baby don't cut.
You can do anything, just promise baby you won't cut.
I know your heart is hurting, you think the road has end,
You may just feel the bade your holding is your only friend.
But baby don't cut, baby don't cut.
You can do anything, just promise baby you won't cut.

The next day she's feeling better than the day before.
Even cracked a couple smiles as she walked the corridor.
But all that seemed to end she dropped her books as she went into class.
And every student in he room just seemed to point and laugh.
She couldn't take it anymore she sent her boy a text.
It said I love you with my body, soul and heart to death.
Te thought nothing typed I love you then he sent it.
By death he didn't know that she had literally just meant it.
She ducked the next class ran straight into the bathroom.
Thought to her self she wouldn't brake her promise that soon.
1 cut... 2 cuts... 3 cuts... 4
The blood just started dripping from the tub to the floor.
Her boyfriend had a feeling in his stomach that he hated.
Followed it and ran down to her house he never waited.
The front door was open, he heard the water running.
He stormed into the bathroom and his heart just started gunning.

Nobody seems to get you, you think you're on your own,
Well listen pretty lady you don't have to be alone.
So baby don't cut, baby don't cut.
You can do anything, just promise baby you won't cut.
I know your heart is hurting, you think the road has end,
You may just feel the bade your holding is your only friend.
But baby don't cut, baby don't cut.
You can do anything, just promise baby you won't cut.

He put her arm around his shoulder he's just tranna lean her back up.
Yelling out her name as he lays her beside the bathtub.
He feels his whole world just got hit from an avalanche.
Screaming out so heavily, somebody call an ambulance.
Felling mad angry like somebody led her on to this.
Her eyeballs are rolling, drifting out of consciousness.
Thinking to himself why the hell didn't she just stop at will.
The tears just keep on rolling as they head to the hospital.
Paramedics rush her in, the doctor calls emergency.
She's lost a lot of blood the place looking like a ****** scene.
An hour later, the doc walks in with a sour face.
And says excuse me for the words that I'm about to say.
I'm sorry for your loss, the boy just starts collapsing.
His own world, his own girl just took a crashing.
Saying to himself that it's his fault and that he let it up.
But baby...I thought you promised you would never cut.

Nobody seems to get you, you think you're on your own,
Well listen pretty lady you don't have to be alone.
So baby don't cut, baby don't cut.
You can do anything, just promise baby you won't cut.
I know your heart is hurting, you think the road has end,
You may just feel the bade your holding is your only friend.
But baby don't cut, baby don't cut.
You can do anything, just promise baby you won't cut.

i usually take susie (4 bottles of beer) for a walk
in the rain, take the hood off, and don
my long multichrome brown hair
as a samurai bun to watch it rain heavy again,
smoking a cigarette at a bus stop
with the 'no smoking' sign without a fellow
passenger to actually for my privacy and being intrusive.

they really did it!
i swear on my heart of a scout they did,
they got frightened by the masses,
and created a very empty celebrity caste of people,
easily recognisable twits,
when then remembered the population tsunami,
they panicked and created them,
actors foremost, the easiest way to spread the lie,
they did it, and faked us into believing that
all of us were recognisable,
well at least in the jungle a baboon was a baboon,
but in the human kingdom, the side-effect
was talent shoes, misguided the plumber
into becoming a singer...
i wish it stayed like it did, like it was still:
zdrowie na budowie, nie w mafii (
health on a bulding site, not in the mafia)...
but alas, one born every second in china,
and one born every minute in europe...
who's keeping count? the clock isn't...
it broke when attempting to clock formula 1
circuits... down to the thirtieth second of 0.001...
a nervous breakdown in mechanical terminology...
but they really, really, really did do it,
concerning the 3rd commandment...
they took the tetragrammaton and took it out
from censorship with adam & eve...
they said jesus christ jesus christ jesus christ
in vain... so much in the vein of empty
that they morphed vanity into blasphemy...
say an arrangements of words using the words
jesus christ and you won't be called vain,
but blasphemous... a bit like those terrorists in the
active sutra of gunning people down -
the takbir (allahu akbar) - the people are calling
me a blasphemer, but i call them empty...
who's winning? you say the magic words long enough
and in multitude of its porcelain antique worth
and it will become it... a bit like words like
sun, apple, worm, ******* et al. congregating
on the altar of philosophy with the equivalent
communicative word of *thing keeping them in its
*****... the 3rd commandment means don't use
my name a lot, i'm busy, i'm a supra-verb
(always busy), keep naming with the atomists...
but then you misguided the term vanity,
and changed it to mean brimming to the edge
as a way to state a blasphemy...
when a vain use of a god's name becomes meaningless
due to overuse... it becomes a blasphemy to use it...
the hebrews rarely use what's already censored
like in christianity the words **** & ****...
ooh... we are convinced of being offended!
you offended me already... you censored words
and only came up with statues of squares...
ask the mathematicians... they drew a square quicker
than you moulded one for trafalgar sq.
the 3rd commandment does not mention anything
about being blasphemous about the name,
it means using it to use it to no gain...
meaning that the name is empty...
i guess moses and elijah also had the greek surname
christ attached to them.

*your blasphemy is the ultimate curse / vanity,
it's so empty when you use it,
it makes using other words feel cardinal,
and you the bishops still use them,
it's easy creating a religion from a child's gift
later lost and gained as a cross...
catholicism is the ultimate theocratic democracy,
where the non-existence of the thus state
allows for symbolic identifiable bureaucracy...
you used those words in vain...
thus you entered the 0.1 realm of blasphemy...
the christians are on the realm 9.9...
because they use the words jesus christ in vain,
and thus blaspheme in order to censor
their vocabulary... thus making casual words
seemingly unholy, even with all the science
concerning their concentrated apple juice cartons.

Five thousand miles
Wandering the desert dry
Yearning for purpose
For some venerable way to die

Grinning gal with silver dollar eyes
Head lost in endless reveries
Searching for a way out
Blonde hair rustling in the breeze

Two paths entwine
Haphazardly passing by
Sore souls searching
Answering each other’s cry

Talking for hours,
He ignores her every plea
Mere inches between them
Each one the other’s tease

Through smoke and gunfire,
She grabs him tight
He’s gunning for the end
To go gently with the night

N64 Flow

Controllers Rattling
Mario Battling Bowser
Solar Traveling
Star Foxin for hours

Toy Boxes, Trinkets, and World watches

Sipping Soda fizzing
Eating crunchy Frito Snippets
Watching ***** Wonka
wishing I had a golden ticket

Scraped knees, Bicycle Tracking
Wilds woods equal childhood
Blueberry & cheery picking

Kisses from a girl who was
older are still vivid
No witnesses were present, but presents were still given

In the form of innocence
It's was nothing but child play
Assorted memories
Become a part of my current day

Who's to say that I've changed?

As I reminisce, my past was forged of oddities, deceptions of tall tales and everyday Odyssey's

Pictures of wild women, explicit *******,
Disney diluted story's and fictional prophecies

Depictions that lacked religion
Late night Toonami dreams

Insights from other youth
that didn't make sense logically

Visits to the water fountain periodically

Teacher said there's no such thing as dumb questions

but they never answered honestly

Everything I've learned from life
I've already learned from Monopoly

I'm always landing on GO,
therefore I'm moving with the green

House rules obviously

You can interpret that as currency
in our current state physically

But I just see it as a
constant stream of positivity

To create is a state that is channeled by electricity

Childhood memories is my youths ticket for authenticity

Those days were full of fun and madness

This excitement couldn't have been replicated by a smartphone nor tablet

Sunshine & green grass actual outdoor access

Inhale curiosity, exhale the astonishing

Running at full speed, gunning at high velocity

The excitement was never ending
a continuous lottery

Summer books I would never read

Instead, I drew in the summer breeze

Illustrations of disfigured stick figure's and murderous scenes

I realize that I have no idea, who I'm destined to be
I don't know where my next travels will lead

I am but nomad upon a land with no wagon or steed

**** these contraptions for my actions speak louder then screens

An N64 and one controller is all I need

******* of boat engines, gunning,
raid the silence of my perched open window.
They have their ways, fisher folk, and who am I to deny their tables food. Nets, full of brimming silver.
I guard solitude jealously, the absence of demanding voices.
Love can be found in such seeming desolation,
the prayer for friend and foe in equal measure.
I do not mind the sound of boats coming and going,
the deep blue a highway for whales and men and fish and stars.
The throats of bird and boat calling out, into the silence.

I will not hide despite the cameras in the sky, nor will i fear the satellites or Internet spies, and i will fight, and i will fight, as to not comply to the lies that co-hearse the norm, into standing idly by, in malformed, and twisted histories, twisting history, into a pearled vision of ministries giving eulogy, to enemies of the light, using light to blind the masses, before the flashes of infertility begin emanating from the cities, under the unity of, We The People, turned predator, under better sedatives that are better delivered, straight to the dream, or belief, of, or in anything.

Dare to dream, turn a blind eye to everything, or just something else, assigned children, or stolen wealth, while warmly held, in foggy hostilities, of those you rarely see, while soldiers of the peace, protect the streets, with covered faces, and powder burned fingers, lingering just out of reach, from the stones that burn the armored cars SAWing through the crowds, with the pulsing sound, of a million hell hounds, hell bound, machine gunning the bodies on the ground, for the pale riders, feeding on the dark horse, on course for a four course meal, leaving hopeless poses, of crying corpses, ashing in the wind of their trail.

Its our blood of defeat that lines the streets with the feed for the beast, as well as that same blood that feeds our victory, as we shall be exactly on time for the end, and the beginning.

my neighbors still slept
as the zombies crept through town
they awoke undead

mom threw a grenade
the zombie blew up, alas,
blood got in her mouth

gunning down zombies,
my arm was bitten. weeping,
i hacked it clean off

later i saw mom
dead-eyed, moaning, and ******
and slit my lone wrist

nora burned the stairs
zombies piled up beneath her
rotten hands grasping

nora stayed upstairs
after five days of terror
she starved to death there

dad was cleverest
he fled to the Atlantic
to escape by boat

wading through driftwood
he found a russian u-boat
full of gnarled corpses

not dead as they seemed
the kremlin zombies leapt up
and ate my dad's brains

Here’s a secret about me:
I always look into mirrors whenever someone leaves
When a piece of me is locked outside my doors
Or when tears starts falling, I don’t know what to do anymore
I like seeing myself in my most vulnerable state
A time when I feel like mist let out of a tightly sealed jar,
I involuntarily tear myself apart until I am fanned out into nothingness
I like looking into mirrors to remind myself that my body did not disintegrate like how this feeling made it seem

I like staring at myself as I cry
Maybe to see the soldier who fired the first shot that started this whole war
Maybe to feel a little sympathy for the girl sitting on the ground
Maybe to realize that my tears will not reduce the reality of my existence
Maybe to assure that I may feel like shattered glass on the inside but it hasn’t surfaced onto my skin for everyone else to see

Because just when you think that it’s all over,
When the fighting and the screaming
The pointing and the blaming
The aiming and the shooting has been done more than it should have
And everyone else goes home to show off the skulls they killed their souls for or to simply lay their bones and pride to rest,
You get to stare at someone familiar right in the eye after washing the blood off your face
And you realize who your enemy truly is

And you start to fight a war no one really knows about
A battle that sets no time or date or emotion- one that simply comes
And it’s the most dangerous of all because it happens in your head and in your heart while you’ve been smiling all day long
It’s twisted and confusing because it canplllppidu happen even when you’re listening to your favorite song
And sometimes, it seems as if it’s over because you can’t hear the bombs go off
But truth is, you can’t really hit pause
People come along when the bullet holes start showing exit wounds and they ask you where they came from
You try to tell them but you think to yourself that the war doesn’t have to extend to another’s home
But even if you did, no one would really get it
And there you are with front row seats, paralyzed in your confinement cell you once called home, helplessly watching as the war rages on

And you scream for it to stop
But it won’t stop, it won’t stop, it wouldn’t stop
You’ve been screaming with your eyes closed for so long
That when you finally open them, you realize that you have brought the war inside of you out into this world because your heart could not contain it anymore
And you ask for forgiveness from the people that have fallen from the crossfire of your thoughts and your hands
You ask and you ask and you ask
But darling, maybe their forgiveness is not what we must ask for first
But yours
It’s time to shed truth to the lie that there are two sides gunning it out inside of you
Honey, there are no two factions, it’s all just you

So please, forgive yourself.
Forgive yourself for never trying hard enough because you finally started listening to the lies that say you were never meant for greater things
Forgive yourself for hurting other people because no one really showed you any better
Forgive yourself for failing to love because you’ve run out of heart to give
Forgive yourself for settling for less because you’ve grown tired of walking around
Forgive yourself for not always knowing how to fix yourself because who in the world knows how
It is only when you have come to terms with yourself that the peace you find can finally settle in
Forgive yourself because not everything's your fault
Forgive yourself because you have been forgiven
Find your worth in the One who calls you by name
You are beautiful, strong, capable, saved, redeemed, sought for, enough, and whole
You are a masterpiece, a warrior, a prince, a princess, and an ambassador of the Most High
You have been picked out of love to start a movement that will open the eyes of those who have glued them shut and chose to live in darkness rather than to see the war in this world

Let’s start a revolution of peace from the inside out
Where the young and old finally announce ceasefires within themselves
War becomes a foreign concept, no one would dare seek it with anyone else
Battles start when we begin becoming someone we were never designed to be
Find yourself in your Father and know you will be if you let it be
So if you want to call for peace in a world that has forgotten,
Child, first remember that you cannot give what you do not have

The Christian imagination is captured
by the idea of the rapture
where Jesus comes to save us
like he shouldn’t just shame us
because no one is blameless
for this great mess.

It’s a dangerous mentality
to say our vitality
is based on morality
the rapture is that emphatically
where Jesus is battling
the forces of the ****** darkness
who are those I deem heartless.

The rapture can be Christian revenge ****
or their way of explaining this death storm
either way it prevents our best form
which is what Jesus was sent for
but now the student is the mentor
twisting words that meant more.

War is pushed to the side
it’s viewed as a sign
we’re living in the end times
like we’re in a hopeless ******
and tentacles just went by.

Nuclear proliferation
and global warming
bring them elation
for the rapture’s forming
so if the wars get gory
and match their prophetic story
they’ll practice diminished mourning.

God loves everyone individually
so it seems silly to me
what billions before us have seen
isn’t the same fate we’re deemed
why would we be
treated differently?

We must all walk through death’s door alone
I wish I could take everyone in my home
but that mentality is ******-suicide prone
yet when the comfort of company
becomes too much for me
I say quite lovingly
the rapture is coming
to drown out war drums drumming
I say the rapture is coming
to drown out more guns gunning
I say the rapture is coming
humanity’s mental growth is stunting
I say the rapture is coming.

Wait for it wait for it wait for the noise, let it build up build up from the ground up, can't shut it up, you not loud enough, tough enough,
you can't fight it, bite it, no slight of hand to deny it, defy it.
Don't shy away, stand and stay, don't fear the fray, there's still time to pray that you won't become the prey.
There's no running for a runner, no gunning for a gunner, no stunning for a stunner.
Ride hard or ride high, die hard or just die. I lie but I'm no liar, **** but not a killer, steal but not a stealer.
I beguile for the thrill, **** with skill, and steal with ease. Life's no joke but death is a breeze,
live ****** and get sleazed, die grimy get clean. This is no scan no scheme, up my sleeves nothing is seen.
No tricks for sick kicks, relax. stress is taxing take a deep breath and step back. Okay I've lost track.
Of the bars and the cars, the stars, and Mars. My thoughts are now in a different language, ego speaking spanish, Jorge can it.
**** it now its in Italian , I may be a horse but I'm no stallion. Shake my head, I'm going to bed,
let these words die, bury them dead, but make it shallow, just in case my thoughts aren't fed.

Welcome to the stellar season

new passion & new reason

I am reignited

too flamed, I’m heat seeking

Simply motivated

like a *******

Condoms made of confidence

Just in case I **** your mother

I’ve come from the bottomless

I’m higher than the very top

Too high, Upper echelon, ***** I’m Michael Angelo mixed with a Megatron

Phantom of the Op

with a knife that never stops

Chucky in the form of a dope decepticon

looking for a *** of gold like a leprechaun

If I don’t find the gold, then I’ll put the *** in ****

then spark that **** forever long

Confidence & cognac enough to keep me gunning,

cardio to cardiac Arrested for the running

Running of the mouth, running of the mind, I feel too defined

I think I’ve reached a line

Everyday

I write & spit a verse or two

yelling at the sky to see what the universe would do

a science experiment and the catalyst is you

steady battling the truth

Between working that 9 to 5

Or chasing your inner youth

Displacement of bigger visions

Shuffled by rash decisions

Motivation has risen, coupled with work ethic

I want exotics & moments of rarity

My visions clear, I’m surprised by this clarity

The world's changing like moods swings and irregularities

2016 will be the year of efficiency

A strong alliance of motivation and pure ability

Smarter science, enhances ions an durability

Energy streams through my seams like electricity

it feels riveting

I will change my ground like a terraform generator

I know that I’m bound to something that’s much greater

**** all of the hate

******* & the naysayers

onion I am

my mind has many layers

No more dishes served cold

I’m tired of late waiters

I’m a heat-seeking ventilator

Freestyle originator

Here's some cold bars & some beers from my refrigerator

Mastermind incinerator to all of the instigators

Instagram this so you ***** can read it later

No More Procrastinators, haters & ******* decisions makers

I’m bulldozing my way, then rebuilding like path makers

Skillfully shifting ground  

I’m here to tilt the equator

The time to make money

is now

Not later

Negotiations of lame relations are no longer in the equation

I’m on my digital hustle like a roomed packed with 3 Indians & 2 Asians

All coding syntax for an app that automatically takes pictures of random places

Not so C++ Basic, but if you can crack the code then it’s your for the taking

This is the stellar season were motivation is lurking, I’m excited like jive turkey, hand me a biscuit, time to consume then sore like a fly birdie.


my minds sturdy, I’m making sick instrumentals to spit a flow from the mental then simply define worthy.

With lifeless eyes he forms the south side hand sign
Represent his neighborhood is all he know
No remorse for his actions banging on the other side
He got his dope in his pocket and his pistol in his waistband
He pulled his pistol aimed and fired shots with his left hand
Hot steel spiraled out the barrel of the gun
Empty shells and bodies hit the pavement
Elevating the crime rate he celebrates with his homies back on the south side
Lines of ******* being snorted off the stomachs of *****
With bloodshot eyes they scream south side
North siders come through gunning automatic weapons being fired
Screams of ****** echo through the night
Unable to return fire south siders lay dying
With lifeless eyes they form the south side hand sign

Written by Keith Edward Baucum

They say
Where there is hope
There will be life

 I say
What is life without
Happiness & fairness
What is life without
Proper funding
To buy even the
Basic Things
In life
              
 I say
 In hope
 I see our children
 Starving

In hope
I see our children
Gunned down
Everyday on our
Streets, and even
Inside their classrooms

In hope
I See too many
Heart broken

In hope
I see our blue Angels
Gunning down
My brothers, just
Because
Of the color of
Their skin

In hope
I see our elected
Officials
Corruptions at a
Different level

In hope
I see racism
Evolved

In hope
I see the world
On the verge
Of collapsing

In hope
I see pastors
Appearing
On television
Defending
The wicked

In hope
I see too many
Tears
From our
Mothers  Eyes

In hope
I see nothing
But a path of
Thorns towards
Peace

In hope
I say
I am hopeless

And in
Hopelessness
I am lifeless
       Yet
I’m still holding
   On to hope