My mother should be an author
She carves her soul into millions of pieces
Leaving it behind all of the family photos
When I see my mother
I see a woman
Who wants to hide her soul in a needle
Just so the screaming can stop in her mind,
These bottles are rattling in the living room
You see they have put shackles on her heart,
She can't love anymore
Without having ***** in her water bottle.

Where is she hiding her beer?
I feel like my mother is giving me a scavenger hunt
From the shards of glass that were left on the baseball fields
My mother used to take me to.

You know she always wasn't like this
She was strong minded and had a big heart
Tonight I will tell you the story of a woman
Who lost her soul to the Keystones to the Miller Lites
To the ****** Mary’s.
Let's rewind time
See ******* the soul in ten years

10- I look into my mother's eyes and I start to cry
Because I'm looking at a woman who I don't know anymore

9- I refused to bail her out of jail again
Because I'm afraid her kidney will fail if she drinks again

8- My mother staggered into the theater and disrupted the whole play,
My cast mates turned to me and asked, isn't that your mother?

7- I had to hold my mothers hand
Because she was throwing up the cocktail of drugs and alcohol

6- Daddy had to get mom out of jail she was drinking again

5- My mother throws the bottle across the room
And told me the reason why she drinks is because I'm Autistic

4- My mother overslept for my piano recital,
I didn't think it was a big deal
But I remember she spent the whole night crying
With a wine glass in her hand.

3- Mommy I didn't know your prescription came in a needle

2- Mommy the prescription say 2 pills a day
why are you taking 6?

1- My mother went to the doctor
Found out that she has Rheumatoid Arthritis
I don't know what that means,
But I know she will still be strong right?

0- She took me to a Dodger game for my birthday.
I remember Sammy Sosa hitting a home run that game
She told me that the only person that can **** your soul is yourself

For God's sake, you got to give more power to the people

There's some people up there hoggin' everything
Tellin' lies, givin' alibis about the peoples, money an' things
An' if they gonna throw it away, might as well give some to me
Yeah, they seen an' heard it but never had misery

There are some people who are starvin' to death
Never knew but only heard 'em an' they never had happiness
If you don't have enough to eat, how can you think of love?
You don't have time to care, so it's crime you're guilty of

For God's sake, you got to give more power to the people
For God's sake, why don't you give more power to the people?

Cut this jive an' see who's got the power to **** the most
When they run out of power, the world's gonna be a ghost
They know we're not satisfied, so we begin to holler
They give us a promise an' throw in a few more dollars

There's no price for happiness, there's no price for love
Up goes the price of livin' an' you're right back where you was
So whatever you got, just be glad you got it
Now we're gonna get on up an' get some more of it

For God's sake, you got to give more power to the people
For God's sake, why don't you give more power to the people?

For God's sake, you got to give more power to the people
For God's sake, why don't you give more power to the people?
For God's sake, you got to give more power to the people
For God's sake, why don't you give more power to the people?

For God's sake, got to have it, more power
For God's sake, got to have it, power, power, power
For God's sake, why don't you give more power to the people?
For God's sake, you better give more power to the people

For God's sake, why don't you try it? Yeah, power, power
For God's sake, can't deny it, no, no, no, power, power
For God's sake, why don't you give more power to the people?
For God's sake, you got to give more power to the people

For God's sake, why don't you give more power to the people?
For God's sake, you got to give more power to the people
For God's sake, why don't you give power, power?
For God's sake, you got to give

Songwriters
RECORD, EUGENE

-The Chi-Lites on Soul train!!!!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rSIr5a4L8os

Joss Stone - São Paulo, Credicard Hall, 11/11/2012
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0iyd3Dgi1xY

Let's get some sunlight
Let's start a bar fight
We'll take our problems and forget we have to solve them
Let's take two tabs
Let's start a **** lab
We'll cover up insecurity with promiscuity

Let's sleep 'til Sunday
It's only Monday
I have to work at 2 but I think I have the bird flu
Let's call the drug store
Ask for a couple more
Insignificant reality crashes into banality  

Let's make a hash pipe
Out of Brite Lites
We'll quote Pulp Fiction with Ezekiel's conviction
Let's start a fight club
Where we can make love
Punch me in the ear and then I'll disappear

Let's start a new life
But after midnight
There's a whole universe waiting to be uncovered first
Let's make a difference
Let's make new friends
Let's go where the wind blows but first I have to put on clothes

It’s Friday night and a group of us, the ‘university summer fellows’ (Quinn, Jammie, Monique, Lisa and I) are going groovin’. Quinn, a Harvard man (we’ve shed our jaundiced opinions of him), assured us he knows the Boston bar scene. We’re going to test that.

We told him we wanted to sway to whimsical beats and chase vivid, neon lights across dance floors, like a bunch of cats - till the hours get wee. His plan is for us to pop-in the “touristy” places, like ‘the Havana Club’, ‘the Manray club’, ‘Garage Boston’ and ‘The Grand’, we’re so 111. As usual, Charles is our party mom, escort and driver.

When Peter and I were in Saint-Tropez, earlier this summer, there were beach clothes - dresses, skirts and men's shirts - where they’d woven micro-LEDs into the flowered, dry-wick, fabrics. I think the effect is amazing, friday, and joyous. I got two skirts for everyone (all of my roommates). Tonight Lisa and I are wearing a couple of them.

Funny. I’ve mentioned it before, but Lisa‘s an audrey. Her school friends and roommates are all used to it, we’ve been exposed, we have built up immunity. But Quinn’s a newbie, when Lisa came into the living room, LED glittered and lookin-right, he was literally stunned. He froze, for a microsecond, his face went blank and his fingers wiggled, as if disconnected from his overloaded central nervous system.

“***! Jammie said, having just turned around, “holla at ya brooke!,” he declared, shaking his head in admiration. “Umm mmm,” he added.

“I’m sure.” Lisa said, starting to transfer things from her everyday bag to her glittery clutch, the girl cannot accept a compliment. Quinn, coming out of it, cleared his throat.

We’re ready. Let Friday night begin!

The beautiful scars that you have gain from the storms you have endure

Lites up your Most beautiful soul, revealing your strength through it.

Touching the Hearts of those that gain a glimpse of it and knew..

Just how much that you had to endure, with Christ Jesus help.

To see the Creator, in your chemistry connected to Him here.

The same Savior whom went to the cross for us on Calvary.

And then on the 3rd day Risen to rescue us from our Sins.

Those same scars, that hides within you were put there.

Because of the Spirit that dwells within you Protected you.

For in reality you should be dead, and in the bowels of the earth.

But you have been rescued, from death several times here.

Because he is not done with you, Praise our Savior God.

jesus. *******. christ.
with h as his middle name.
i want a smoke.
i want to fill my lungs.
with something toxic.
something chronic.
i'll take lites.
i'll be healthy for once.
with these ******* lites.
and now i'll put anything in me.
any smoke.
fun.
cool factor.
popular.
isn't that what it's about.
no.
i quit.
but i want it.
i need it.
sentence fragments are all i have.
someone give me a cig
cigarette
***
biri
cubeb
gasper
puff
smoke.
holy ****. heaven.

How I could have know if I reached out now. right, now im hulu watching bleach right now. Lites Cig while I write this down, for the ink. I see things from your perspective. The water, showing our reflection. Ironically? It falls behind me. Word to the six, whats that Toronto weather like? Im a slide you my text now number, so you can advice. Love your smile, that's a wow. Lets add in the pow. Its Mr. 550 you I gee ma. The only woman that bring the desert to the sea ma. uh, idk you birthday from now you libra. So rachet that's a aquarius . If life fair is, well see. Im tryin to see paris, you.

Rode the dog. From podunk to new.york

My introdutory mugging was all that I dreamed of and more.

32 stitches and a mild concussion

Bright lites big city goin to my head.

Got a job running #s and a rap sheet too


What's a guy going to handle when his rent is due


Bright lights big city going to my head
I don't care cause you don't. Care

I can put on a neon orange jumpsuite
And stake my self like a spike
Infront of all the busy cars
In this crowded parking lot
And still be invisible
I can throw every ecyclapedia
Out of this libary like a varsity
Pitcher who never lost
A game
And still be invisible.
I can walk into the lecture hall
On my head like a martion and
Speak astronomy without a
Glow of english
And still be invisible.
Twenty two years
Have made me
Disapear
I cant spend another year
Alone with my invisibility.
I cant hide from love anylonger.
Its time to repear and find
My self again before the dreaded
Forty four only has one candle
On a single cupcake.  All alone when
It knows he turned the lites off.  Hes the only
One who could of flickered the dusty
Plastic switch.  There was not any mystery
Only a wind of failure he caused on himself
When he blew the candle out twenty two years from now.  
Because he was invisible.

To pelt the world in ice and graves.
To feel how quiet this part of town feels
When the lites turn on we will not sleep.
We will not dream of anything tonite
We will run like the chinook salmon runs
To flood the world in rivers alive
With pain the pain of peace.
The pain after loss.  
What will come here when the hedges pop
Out like boxing gloves.  
Out of me is songs apollo sang.
Out of him and I we dance with
Wounded leggs.  And prove
How sweet salt tastes on gashes of death.
How sweet to taste imortality when
The cars speed.
What now is a world full of saints.
To fill markets with fresh fish.
And throw the bottles of whiskey
Where they belong.  Where they are warm
Proves how hot my sweater gets when my
Forhead clams up.
My scarf unwraps and we run
With out our cloths down pearl street.
Let there be muse forever on feet and side walk.
We mustnt forget why we break free from
The shakles of eternity.  
The horrible shakles of wild life.
Are finally pure gold.
The softest medal to bend.
And we leave the tempting
Medal behind and choose to
Drink the rain  drops.

Saw your light through a darkened window
a flickering ghost of silence and promise
In this night's clearing all things look shadows
obscuring our eyes, convincing our ears
running into dreams of freezing legs and arms
weeping memories of past, past

Know that winter lasts a season's vapor breath
as great wheels of life turn eternal fears of death

Then centered comes our compassed sun
In a field, by a hill, a mare stems with her foal
butterfly dancing 'lites on flowers of gold
as Flicker birds defy their gravity so bold
on Linden trees of scented summer

Turned whispering hours of a newcomer's fare
ventures chaconne's path of daybreak's flare
and harmony of morning chirps in felicities' care

≈ cec

Three Grandsons, 5, 8, 11 - and me
Thus this day began.  
-- they're online, in school, ever learning early

This is how I enjoy being.
Not
simply
being, being is
complicated, being is made
of many-
maybe, infinite plane plains piled high and multiplied
and probably twisting,
altogether
to gather points of light you followed
to the thee-at-ah
of three eyes
kiva, kindalikka
convenient cave in words
we carry with us, dark places,
often damp and stinky places,
deep
depressions on the surface of reality,
holes
to here, the point of being being
enjoyment
in the silence and the noise.

--------- Glimpsing

Points of lights, thoughts as
sparks
lighting
words ablaze with fiery wills to empower
gentle spirits hounded
by proud lies,
urging proof,
daring the hero to go
native, become ugly
destroyer of good for goodness sake, go
mad, breathe
anger,
rage and jealous zeal,
hold that inspiration, then

blow it out…

into shameless billows of
peace through safety and warmth,
naturally, as real -ifity is, made
to meet the need.
- an inspiration, a visitation
- a mere whatifery thing

_ movie theaters used to be dark as a kiva, yes
yes, that's true. Mythraic caves, those, too.
--- any mental conditioning, the
Alpha version is only perfect if you
sculpture with wind,
and clouds are
all you have to show for it, then…
or cracking ice, yes, cracking ice
lines
on a great lake or a puddle,
branching waywayway many ways,
fragile and gone, after while.
Fragile and temporary,
's mortality… gone.

Gone to where all beauty goes to conspire.
Inspirations for aspiring users of science,
conscience cleared, uses
made up, asifities
seep into mental sap,
syrup of what maybe when we agree.
Peace is a purpose, ours. We,
the people who hold these truths on earth.
Thus it has ever been,
but now we know, science-wise
Man, the species, doth not live by words alone.

Joy is its strength, light its medium.
Owning is not a concept,
except we agree,
mine is mine by reason, aha, I have it!
I have this.
This is mine, at the moment.
Eureka, we take joy as we take fire.
I first read old Thom Jefferson said,
“He who receives an idea from me,
receives instruction himself without lessening mine;
as he who lites his taper at mine,
receives light without darkening me.”

It was he, who held sacred and undeniable,
the self-evident truths Ben Franklin wished to see
manifested, by way
of the actual vision he had in mind,
self evidently,
a thought experiment.

-- like Wanda Vision, right… that's on TV.

----------------

Meaning is what we agree we mean,
there is a rule for readers of possible
bullshat wisdom that says:

Enjoyment has its own sake, mentally,
suspended unbelief
-- to the degree of Disney + free trial,
watched with grandsons choosing
what I'll like,
for sure --

Suspended disbelief, I think,
as a mob state, is patho-logical, sick,
it'll ****. No joy in mayhem.

But self-actuated,
willingly suspended,
disbelief, the weapon, hung up on a point
you recall
safe and sound… now,
we are in the realm of words that live
through historical use,
as real as any angel ever named,
or any spirit ever claimed as guide.
Liberty, e.g., the character,
the dime version, with wings on her
Phrygian cap,
to make a kid imagine that must mean
something.

Seems Mercurial, don't it? Like,
Liberty is free is a message from goodness
in the future,
when all the symbols assemble at the throne
of mercy,
for daily renewal and furbishing,
and the ones worn thin by lying men,
are seen through and lightly
sifted into new clouds of might
being possible,
in all probabilities… even this one. Today,
with all its riches freely mine.
………….

Speculate, see if
this were to happen as would be best
for all of us,
us-ness being the state we exist in as
givers and takers of sense
signals,
vibes,
smiles, winks, waves

hey, I saw you see
the latest from Disney, without the crowd

did you notice evil always loses?
Yes, and
Hell is always prepared
for those who lack the knowledge
to escape
the franchise
mis interpretation of my realm,
where reason is as
reason, says, see
liberty, the character,
acts true
to the true hope, the trope of trust,
true rest, compressed to a moment
at the end of the adventure… DIY
save the world… from the unbelievable.

"Power isn't your problem, it's knowledge"
says the evil witch.
She must mean
secret, sacred knowledge-- that's the hint
in the Marvel universe,
such knowledge is believable…
attainable, learn, ever learn
practice makes perfect, patience.
There's a test.
Will to power
meets will to live free as any truth in ever,

it stands to reason
We'll say hello again…
for, we know,
it is a Marvel Universe, there's always
a sequel, inspired or invented
from something left behind.
Am I right, Stan Lee?

Eventually, we all die and leave hope behind,
or it is
all a lie… so let's make the story fun,
let's make it lift
the lonely, stay at home Disneyfied old man,
into deep conversations
about the poetic ****** of Wanda Vision…

how it ends in a dark theatre, lit from a single
source,
as a kiva is when the sipapu is left open
and all the curio spirits run free,
each to be weighed,
judged good or evil, good for something
or good for nothing.

Then the good for nothing ideas are left in the clouds,
so we never unget that
we got the word,
before it was a word, and we wrote it here
in the cloud,
for you to use as entertainment contained
in mere words, unto the distant future,
or until the entire internet AI dissipates
into improbability.
Pfft. Just like that.

It ***** with me
People not ******* with me
I ask strangers for friendship
They tell me to get ******

My friends and I
Hop in the car
We will share a night
We will have different ideas about

We go to the gas station
They accidentally buy the wrong cigarettes
They got lites
I wanted 100s
The fumes made a spark a bad idea anyway

We go to get fast food
I accidentally buy the wrong food
I got a quarter pounder
They wanted a double quarter pounder
Their fumes would've filled up my car anyway

Sitting in the parking lot
I'm not satisfied with this spot
But I stay here
Because of all the other cars already parked
Dictating where I must go
And then remain
In idle
Fuming

They're finished eating
As I'm finished breathing
We go to the movies
Where the art transports me into a world of relation
But the lights bring me back
To a room where all the seats had been taken
So I had to sit in the front
And the vulnerable emotions that felt so important
I seek to hide from the rest of the patrons
Who'll laugh at me for feeling something
As the fumes of film escape my nose

We go to my house
To smoke some ***
It's another parking lot
But I prefer comfort to anxiety
When the fumes obstruct my vision of the people around me
Who are trashing my home
The demolition team becomes company
They'll always be here
No matter what
The wrecking ball changes
Machinery always being improved
Enthusiasm always being renewed
New personnel I can always recruit
Yet nothing ever changes

Once I recovered myself
Once I discovered myself
I drove back to my friend's house
Thinking we'd catch up on lost time
Or maybe he'd beat the **** out of me
I remember wondering how it had come to that
I remember wondering if I deserved it
I remember wondering if anyone could save me
From a life of no mortal danger
Only the danger of mortality
And the idea of being here on Earth throughout
Where people don't **** with me
Because the people I ****
Look too ******* similar to me
Yet when I ask strangers for friendship
They tell me to get ******

Blue bottle on sill,
White window frame, six lites,
Doe, faun graze green lawn.

You don't know what you do to me.
Your crooked smile rips me apart as
the sound of my name on your lips
lites a fire in every vain under my pale skin.
Your gentle eyes hold my heart firmly
as I watch the dark blood pool
and start to drown me slowly.
What really throws me--
no--
makes me dive off the cliff:
your eyebrows.
Quirk them and tell me you care.
Raise them and tell me you're listening.
Twitch them and tell me you're interested.
Furl them and tell me you fell for me.
You don't know what you do to me--
this pain feels so good
so long as I'm the one your eyes want.

she sits there in the corner.
Gazing upon the bottom of her glass.
The smell a menthol fills the air.
cognac that's her drink, no ice.
he's almost too scared to approach her.
not quite to sure what to say.
not knowing if the time is right.
he lites his Jade.
the smell almond the lite flickers.
her eyes hazel.
the barkeep says to him.
what do you want?
He replies, clearly something I can't afford.
she overhears over the noise.
her smile lights up the room, as she laughs.
what can he afford, in between her sweet giggles.
feels like a rock at the pit of the stomach.
paralyzed, startled at a loss of words.
he starts to feel like one of them Disney characters.
***** or somebody can't quite call it.
he can't quite look her in the eyes.
he orders the same thing.
cognac no chaser.
in the background there is a song playing.
sorta nostalgic yeah unfamiliar to average ears.
The base jumps, the strings hit the g cord.
her hair, cascades over her face.
she approaches the band.
he walks up to her, ever so gently upon her shoulder.
They lock eyes, he opens his mouth as if saw love.
before the first word come out of his mouth.
the lights come on, the clock strikes.
Tick.

I may not be happy.
But I can always chase down some Tums with a bottle of wine.
And I know I've changed a lot over the past year so you can stop pointing that out every ******* minute. I know you know I'm in love with you and I know you know how much I hate myself.

Four years ago I promised myself I would never smoke cigarettes, I remember it clearly.
Now look at me, smoking a pack a day when I can, re-lites when I can't.

On the other hand, I used to be happy.
On yet another hand, I used to be ignorant.
Ignorance is bliss.

The christmas tree is why I kissed his face.
I saw the lites shoot out like comets far.
A brand new time against these days of war.
Was he the gift I waited to return.
Or maybe just another burnt out star.
I wish for angels landing on our tree.
To tell me if he was the perfect man.
But when he opened the wrapping I Hid.
His chances were aloft with ornaments.
The highest round was ruby fused with green.
The hair thin hook was hanging like a dream.
I new for now ill be ok a while.
As long as christmas wins over our smiles.

I don't want to die
I don't want attention
I just like the pain
That clean slice
Through my delicate skin
And the fire it lites inside

Plunging through the mud and brambles
We chase a butterfly we’ll never catch
Still we cannot stop pursuing
We push ourselves to go a little faster
Even though the tangled vines
Wrap tight around and scratch our legs

The seeping blood becomes a whip
To urge us ever onward
The butterfly with glowing azure wings
Lites long enough to give us hope
Of finally catching up with it
And holding all that beauty in our hands

But then it lifts and floats away
Leaving just it’s siren song behind
To echo in our longing minds
And send a message that tells us
The goal we seek is possible
If only we do not give up

No matter how we spend our strength
With aching legs and burning lungs
No matter all the meadows that we race across
The butterfly continues to float out of reach
And in the end we realize
That we must settle for a moth.
ljm

Focusing on the energy I feel,
Here I lie awake this nite,
Wondering how I could possibly sleep,
With the subtle glow of the moons lite?

She’s whispering my name,
As she brightly shines, fully aglow,
But not to be heard out loud,
It’s a calling deep within my soul,

Now she’s gotten me out of bed,
And pulled me thru the door.
In the twilight of the nite, standing face to face,
I know there’s something more

Out past the haunting glow of city lites,
Out into the great wide open,
I’m feeling big and small at the same time,
A peace, a oneness that doesn’t come often

And it feels so ******* good to live
And breathe it in with endless lungs
As my soul flutters in rejoice
My body numbs, I fully succumb

The pond here is completely still
A flawless reflection of every star in the abyss
The earth and sky are a mystic one
A rejuvenation I’m glad to not have missed

Walking deeper thru the forest
I find the creek hidden out of sight
Here I wash my face
As I bathe in the moonlight

I lay myself out to dry
In a padded bed of clovers
Tie a mountain rose up in my hair
And band it over and over

The sun comes up
As I say goodbye my friend
As long as you return to my night
Our companionship will not end

I take a look at this place, its such an empty space
and I'm not sure how to fill it without you
there are silent echos reverberating of a past forgotten
I set my mind on them, and yet they never last
could it be your missing me, I ask myself, the question lingers
I can't chase fantasys anymore, I have a hard time catching reality
so i will dim the lites and close this door, and walk towards a future uncertaint

You’ll not see their like come race season,
Having left the premises to be replaced
By the preening breast-augmented and face-lifted set,
Shaking their heads and clucking sadly if one inquires
If they might have something
A touch smaller than a Franklin in their wallets,
Their smooth patter, replete with references
To Paris junkets and Milan catwalks
Occasionally interrupted by one of their more prosaic counterparts
(Hard-core players following the nags up from Belmont)
Stopping in to partake in one vice they’d sworn off earlier
While loudly disclaiming the other which had ruined
An otherwise perfectly lovely afternoon
(They’ll down their draughts in short order,
Most likely headed for the harness track
To drop a twenty on some longshot
Which bears the name of a long-departed grandmother.)
This time of year, though, they are ubiquitous
As the black and salted slush,
Sad souls slouching in after a bracing walk from Skidmore campus
Or some down-at-the-heels apartment on Alger Street,
Forlornly popping into some quiet booth
With the familiar long-distance stare seen in those
Beginning to grasp the truth that one
Is an object of prey in a very small pond indeed
(Likely a semester, no more than two certainly,
From having their undergraduate epaulets
Torn unceremoniously from their shoulders)
Being as quiet and unobtrusive as church mice
Until a half-dozen or so Coors Lites
Leads them to pontificate on the injustice of the universe
And if they have not decided to stagger home
Or degenerated into desolate tears of self-pity,
They are wont to dispute the existence of the Almighty,
Saying with a conviction which would be impressive
If expressed by Beelzebub himself
That he does not exist, that he cannot exist,
Though the body of proof cited in support of the proposition
Tends to be fragmented and rife with circular reasoning
(We know that they’re most likely drinking with false ID,
But they are invariably pedestrians—let them have their moment,
Only threats to themselves, after all.)
As for myself, I’m of the opinion that faith in the Hereafter
Is that rarest of bets, an absolute bet-the-chalk- dead- cert
Where you walk to the betting window clutching house money.

my lover invited me to a place called surrender.She said it was where she lived now.

I went there for a minute. A day trip was all.
Nice.The pace was glacial.                                              Everyone smiled and helloed
                                                                                       The air was fresh.the water pristine.



With arms wide open she held me closer than close.
Her love engulfed me. I sighed with relief.                      Home at last.
                                                                                        But I could not stay.

My heart was like Judas.
Thirty pieces of nothing..
Just like fine desert sand... slipped through my fingers .Bright lites big city.

Perhaps it was the fudge or the twenty beers you had at your bosses wake.  Never the less you see a dark alley open up and you want to bottle neck your self out of your cloths.  A few friends join you its what friends do for eachother after a funeral.  The streets are dull and the gas lites are only monuments left from the days we crawled out and walked back in our caves.  A misquito breaks curfew and seduces the skin on your neck.  But it feels more and more insane like wearing a tuxedo to the gym to avoid playing racket ball with your dead boss.  You think for a moment and have seizure on in the cab of your friends chevy.  Your eyes roll back and for a moment youve felt the blinding dance of not knowing what will happen next.