I get mad when i think about my last relationship.
I GET MAD WHEN I CANT FIND MY KEYS
I get mad when people drive slow, like they have nowhere to go.
I get mad when i realize racism is still a problem.
I get mad when i have to MAKE UP for the person that was before ME
I get mad when people LIE TO MY FACE.
I get mad when i think of all the betrayal.
I get mad when i think about the dumb decisions i made in my youth
I get mad when people are shocked that i dont have any kids like EVERYBODY IS SUPPOSED TO HAVE KIDS so young!
I get mad when people are surprised at the ****** rate in my city, but they support it through the music.
I actually GET MAD AT THE NEW AGE RAP MUSIC
I get mad when people stare without saying hello!
I get mad when people dont mind their business.
I get mad i mean sooo madd when black people(my people) go against cops for killing our people but they themselves **** OUR PEOPLE.
I get madd when i find out people are deliberately spreading std's
I get mad when i see a child has no HOME TRAINING!
I GET MADD WHEN THE PRICE OF GAS GOES UP!!!!!
I GET MAD WHEN NO ONE LEADS THE YOUTH BY SETTING EXAMPLES.
LASTTTT, BUT NOT LEAST
I GET MADDDDDD WHEN I SEE EVERYBODY FORSAKING GOD(THE HIGHER POWER)
SO NOW THAT I'VE LET IT ALL OUT I GUESS I CANT BE MAD ANY LONGER!

beyond Montana’s yellow lines
there is a field
~a field of painted soles
     and laces rubber tread
~a field of ****** curls
     and fallen headlights
where kaleidoscope lenses
look onto twisted frames          like origami halos
where teddy bears hug stop signs like pickets
     fringed in anger
          runaway childhoods sleep cautionary tales
  
beyond Montana’s blushing acne
there are red cup melodies
     blasting from blacked out tints
          weaving blues notes through Rock & Rap
distant cries are drowned by Bass
     or maybe Bud (light)
a haze of teenage eyes
they might as well be ghost riders
whip game copped from GTA
these pubescents are a Vice to their City
blooming sidewalk sloths
like flowerbeds

beyond Montana
is a country of bar stools
   where bar tenders play therapists
        and therapists play coroners
precedents are shots of whiskey - taken to the head
and reflected in flooded eyes

beyond Montana
is a country of MADD mothers and SADD students
beyond Montana
is a country of unexpecting pedestrians
beyond Montana
is a field
~a field of wing-clipped snow angels

That field is Mariah's home now
and she challenges you to change
   yourself
        your friends
             your country
she challenges you to
**STOP DRUNK DRIVING

How will we progress today?

Will we risk life attending Mosque,
Or have an affair with our spouse's boss?

Will we take the dog out for a walk,
Step on a landmine, use plastic straws?

Perhaps we'll play with our kids today,
Or call Amber Alert, wait scared, and pray?

Will we defy authority with a righteous tone,
Or leave our tail tucked, like a dog with his bone?

Will we gauge goods today for our Vegan menu,
Or show a distention as millions today do?

Will we drive around town for cheaper gas,
Or choose our pickings from picked-over trash?

Do you sling eggs and sausage for sub-minimum wages,
Or attend a visitation in a tortured MADD rage?

Will you tee off at eight, or do a spin class,
Or sit solitary watching the hourglass?

Did we place our script at the shiny drugstore,
Or wade across water to Jordan's fair shore?

Will we question the teacher at our kid's school,
Or play Avatar falling off our bar stool?

Did you set a reminder on your AI phone
For chicken delivery to your suburban home?

Will you lift copper tubing from construction sites,
Proclaiming your station in life gives you right?

Do I recline in my La-Z-Boy for a nap with a book,
Or teach someone to live with a line and a hook?

Will you take out your family,
Are you last on your list,
Will you reciprocate a handshake
Or raise a gloved fist?

Our words can't bind all our wounds,
Few are born with silver spoons,
We're not wrapped in silk cocoons.
A metamorphosis is coming
To this world of gloom,
A rousing group flight,
And it can't come too soon.

a child, now a man fallen into a void,
found a hole in the fabrics of space and time...
stumbling along a winter night's retreat,
one of life's "easy day" times.





[i keep a notebook with me , that i use to write things out...
i had some trouble remembering today and have just about come full circle now.
eventually i had to stop reading and just think .. "why would i lie to MySelf?"]

For you sweetheart I would....

...writhe in the ecstasy of the tragic
or behave violently,
enmeshed in ******,
heroic havoc

I would stalk the thing that hurt you and stab-it.
or quickly tie it up and drag it,
as I whisper as a crazed maverick ; click, click, son!
and swallow back the drip, drip, umm....
of the vial of acid...….as I sip, sip, yum-
Facing the truth of the mirror I find myself presently hung

For you sweetheart....!
I would sacrifice the self
relegate my identity to the bottom shelf

I would Focus on  opposites...
and pervert the lost truth of buddhists; preaching and installing the sinful cysts...

of consumerism & material wealth, I hope you get the gist.
I would Climb to the monastery & maliciously yell
“Come on you drunk monk Its for your helllth!”

Doing what you always wanted
by changing the state of truth
from overwhelming presence
...to an unseen, veiled stealth

for you I would jump out of the highest helicopter sans parachute
!ha! writing and dying, but for you,  its such a hoot

For you Sweet love,
I would divide by zero,
March up to physics and blackholes say “hey F-yourself” unceremoniously killing the hero
remembering so vividly
how we intoxicatedly emptied oil on the baby-seals relaxing on the soil of the now empty sea shelf

but for you oh dear, I would empty myself of fear
and empathize with a jellyfish
GAH!  
I hate Jellyfish.

Please Imagine sweet- love,
how we would get married,
and go through all the steps to have a sweet- baby
and in the birthing room while you’re extra weary,
I would ask the simple question to hold and carry
this special
special
little baby

I would look you in the eyes, smile widely and drop it
While you pleaded, choked eyes pleading for some God to stop it

But thats a little extreme so lets take time and rewind the scene
So that you wouldn’t think of little ol’ loving ego me as being so especially mean

Then, amidst candles start smoothly & sweeten the deal with cannibalistic clipart
Preparing to Dine on the sweet meal of a sweetheart’s sweet heart.

For you I would
I would **** a man and smoke salvia at his funeral
Then desperately plead my case,  
so surreal while I Appeal deliriously and unable
to the divine
or the courtroom of an esoteric, alien race

Oh love.
I would bury myself in venomous spiders
submit myself to mysterious haitian-zombie rituals
To keep you pure and far from pitiful
I would Self-immolate to distance you from pain and the sinful

Then
I would put the world to sleep
so that they won’t stir, wake,
or open their eyes to peep
the pain of the sun,
burning the Sea-t
of their corneas
with its brilliant and all-encompassing,
luminous heat



Oh for you bella, I would put down three 1/5ths of law and turn the key
Oh beautiful, now the mothers against drunk driving are sooo MADD at me
Because for YOU
I Crashed into their headquarters traveling erratically and so haphazardly

For you I would do everything
not just anything
but
everything.

I would chill with monks that do all the ****** up things
Go to a girls house, burn the family, burn the home
have ******* with the survivor hopefully alone
and afterwards take a long time to gnaw viciously through my bones.

for you I would discuss that maybe this voice Isn’t fit for the world
So i just wink out of existence
to protect everything from my impact, characterized as it is, so spun and twirled

For you sweetheart, I would even let this poem go unwritten.
Just so the world would not be smitten
With the space between the righteous and the wrong
the difference, is what we feel,
For you truth I write this song.

Ostensibly and indefinitely, I would infinitely
remember thee
and it all planning to never do it again.
...because my Circuitry is charged with the pain to amend me.

For your own amusement
I would help possibility incarnate
fulfill itself A-moral and without hate
the good the bad and the ugly because …..remember
When it comes to poetic possibility  
The U-and-I-verse doesn’t discriminate

I would free the slaves from freedom
I would emulate pagans and heathens
I’ll be all you don’t need when you seek to amend the world of men

For you sweetheart I would publish this as a children’s night time book

II

Do not be afraid, my darling
I see you.
I see your tattered spirit
and stripped flesh
wandering in darkness.
Alas!
we are kindred,
you and I,
for I too have been
murdered.
I have died a hundred times
and I have lived a
hundred and one
We, who are dead
but still breathing,
are kindred.
I have been poisoned by
the nectar of lust. And
this nectar was
sweet and it was
intoxicating and it was
addictive and it was
******* lust.
It was fed to me by
a man posing as
a god and he kept
my goblet full and
I was paralyzed.
He was not a god
nor a man.
He was a snake,
a false prophet.
The nectar was
venomous and
my blood,
my body, and
mind were
laced with
paralytic venom
I could not move
and died waiting.
Alas!
We are kindred
you and I.
We who have died
waiting and paralyzed.
We who have been
murdered by false
prophets and snakes.
We are kindred with
Eve and the apples of
Eden, we who are
poisoned but  
still alive.
In this paralytic state
a surgeon came
and he said unto me
“I will let you be free”
and he cut into me.
He entered my chest
so delicately and
so eloquently he
whispered to me
“ Darling, if I cannot
keep you I can’t let
you be free.”
He wanted a
keepsake, a piece
of my heart.
Something which I
would never just
willingly part.
He took a small
piece though I
screamed to
his claim. This
was not my love,
just blood,
muscle, and veins.
Alas!
We are kindred
you and I.
We who walk around
with pieces that will
never be found.
We who have filled
the empty cavity with
other objects to
replace what can
never mended.
Do not fear, my darling
we are still pumping
blood and we
are still alive!
An artistic healer
found me wandering.
He said unto me,
“ My love, I see your
rough edges and you
are flawless to me
with all your perfect
imperfections.”
I was his canvas
that could be remade
to what he wanted
me to portray.
He molded me,
bent me,
folded me,
painted me.
He chiseled away
at places that
were already weak
places that were
untouched by people
like He. I was his
muse which he
misused, abused,
and attempted to
create and sculpt
art, which I was,
to his vision
of what I should be.
He coated me,
plastered me,
froze me in time but
paper machete is fragile
and I never asked to
be molded or painted.
Slowly I broke free
from thee. Death by
art was not meant
for me
Alas!
My darling,
do not be afraid.
We are kindred
you and I.
I see you in all
your molded glory
upon the altar
which he built
to display a creation
which he did not create.
I am the one
who chiseled
at the cement
and the plaster
and the paper
and the alter
so that we can
escape a different
type of cage.
I see you broken
but uncaged.
A builder of dreams
approached me and
he said unto me
“ You are a rarity
in a world full of
mediocrity. A rare
bird like you should
not be caged.”
He built me a castle
made of sand and
deafened me with
promises which
were lies. The tide
rolled in and castles
made of sand were
taken back to sea
and i was deaf
and I could not
hear the rumbling ,
the crumbling,
the mumbling as it
was all swept away.
I was asphyxiated by
the sand and sea
of empty promises
and lies
and expectations
that I found myself
chocking on.
Do not be afraid my darling.
Alas!
We are kindred
you and I.
We have
swallowed
and choked
and  inhaled
the dirt which
posed as sand.
We who have been
drowned in lies.
We who have
been buried and
have touched the
ocean floor at great
depths have come back
to the surface.
Alas!
We are still swimming.
We are the ones who
saw the shore and
returned to land
with our feet firmly
planted on sinking sand
and unsteady ground.
Hush my darling, and do
keep our secret safe.
Hush and never let them
know that we, who are
dead but living, are the
ones who created the shore.
We have a multitude of
little deaths. Deaths which
showed us life, joy, and
pain.
Alas!
My darling,
we are kindred
you and I.
We are the masochists.
We invite the murders in.
We who see the axe in his
hand as he knocks and
yet we still allow the
murderous aftermath
to begin with no regard
for the clean up.
My darling, we take with
us a piece of our killers
as they have taken a
keepsake from us.
Alas!
My darling
we have taken
we have learned
we have observed
we have seen their
surgical precision as
they have taken us
apart. We have
mended and
stitched and
sewn and
glued and
filled and
repaired
ourselves.
Oh my darling
do not fear for
we who are
still alive
still fighting
still breathing
still living
still pumping blood,
we have taken
their murderous
intent. We who
were victimized
by batting eyes
and lies that left
bitterness as an
aftertaste have
have learned to
lace honey with
arsenic. We are
kindred, you and I.
We are different
now. The stichting
and filling
and sewing
and gluing
has changed
us.
We are not afraid,
my darlings.
We see you.
You who have
caged and
trampled and
opened and
taken and
broken and
killed are no
longer feared.
Be afraid
my darlings.
Alas!
We see you.

III

I am a serial killer.
I have ravaged
empty vessels
which once upon
a time were
filled with ideas
of what could be.
I am innocent!
I slay the murderers
who murdered me.
Those who murdered
we.
I and we have
perfected the craft
which you,
and you,
and you,
and you
have used as
weapons of
mass distraction,
mass destruction.
I am the one
who distracts
and destroys.  
I have ingested
sufficient venom
to become
arsenic laced
honey.
I have let a
man drink
from me ‘til
he could drink
no more. He
drank himself
to insanity.
Oh dear!
I fear I did
not warn him
of the venom
that’s within.
What once was
just plain honey
is now
poisonous
to him.
I am a serial killer.
The killer of
cervical slayers.
But again
I am innocent!
I once sheltered
a wretch and
he sought
sanctuary
inside of me.
He never looked
at my eyes.
Only prayed at
the church that
he made betwixt
my thighs.
Oh dear!
I fear
I did not mention
that this was not
his church. It was
my sanctuary which
was now covered
in his dirt.
Death by exertion
was his end.
I let him die *******
but I did not let
him win
A tragic death
for a stallion
like he. Because
I am small he
underestimated me.
Like Helen of Troy
I brought
destruction
upon thee.
I am a serial killer.
The killer of
psychological
terrorizers and
verbal mesmerizers.
I have linguistically
lobotomized men
who thought they
could philosophize
the origin of I.
I have sown the
seeds of doubt
within the halls of
confidence which
have lain within his
mind.
I have broken
fortress walls
that were built to
withstand the  
wrath that fell
upon *****
and Gomorrah.
We have cut out
the tongues of
our verbal
betrayers and
left them befuddled
in Babylon.  
Oh dear!
I fear I forgot
to mention that
Freud is my Father
and Jung is my
uncle.
Your mommy issues
do nothing for me.
I am not her!
I am a child of
psychology.
Rationally you are
weaker than me
mentally.
I am a serial killer.
The killer of
egotistical thrillers.
I have paralyzed
and anesthetized
men who have been
thrice the size of me.
My scalpel is sharp
and my steady hand
cuts as deep as my
verbal violations.
This is my body.
This is not your nation.
My dissection was but
a brief vacation to
your annihilation.
Your internal organs
were similar to an
egotistical colonoscopy.
You thought your
insides were different
from me.
You required proof
that we were the
same.
I said
“Let me cut first”
and you did not
complain.
Oh dear!
I fear I failed
to mention I’m
quite skilled and
I have killed before,
far better men and
even their ******.
I am a serial killer!
A killer of killers!
You are a cheap
thrill as I reap
and I sow.
I plant the seeds
that I know will
not grow.
You will stay frozen
and will get old.
I need not a keepsake.
I own your soul.

IV

We are naked.
Our flesh is worn
and our spirit torn.
The garments which
once kept us warm
are now just eaten
and tattered.
We have silently
walked
and waited
and paced ourselves
and learned hatred.
WE have come
back home where
board games and
Barbies wait.
I have broken
all my favorite toys
just like you
and you
and you
and the horse
you rode in on
have taken all
my simple joys.
You have all
taken away
a piece of pink
and replaced
with a piece of
grey. A piece
which will never
be the same.
Oh Darling!
Do not fear for me
do not fear for we.
We have become the
porcelain women
which watch
and wait.
Our pink colored
kingdom shall
never be invaded
because here we
are waiting.
Not even shoots
and ladders or even
the Madd Hatter
can lead you to
green pastures.
Oh my!
You failed to notice
the malicious
twinkle in
my eyes.
I fear this was
your fault
for you created
a steeple
betwixt my
thighs.
Silly rabbit,
we were never
yours.
I was always
mine.
This is
not revenge.
This is a warning
before the rhyme.

This poem is a creative response to
The Yellow Wallpaper
by Charlotte Perkins Gilman.

Alone.
Three years gone, all
Spent in this room.
I barely leave, I don’t try. I
Know I am desolate. I see it
And so do they.

I live, but I don’t feel alive.
Why eat? I don’t deserve food.
I don’t feel the need to indulge
in the senses. I merely don’t crave it.

Every night...
I stay up staring at the dimly lit Walls.
Every day...
I Lie awake while the sun peaks
Through the cracks in the blinds
Illuminating my only companion.

I gaze into the eyes of the Walls.
They stare back
Watching me struggle.
Laughing at my regression.

What is happiness? Joviality?
What is a gleeful day?
A happy thought? I
Wouldn’t know. Because I...

Well I am nothing. Nothing
To him, and nothing to you.
I am repulsive. Who could
Stand my reflection, it’s
Repugnant.

I have removed the mirrors
In the room that holds me
Captive. Like my self-esteem
They are shattered at my
Own gross reflection.

Gave up.
I gave up long ago,
I’m hopeless. Incurable.
I have become nothing. And
Like the rest, my Husband
Will leave me soon.

I don’t concentrate. I can’t.
I used to pulse energy of
Knowledge to minds that
Drank the gulps of enlightenment
Making their brain’s throb.

He tells me; I’m sick. I
Tell him; I’ll cope. He gives
Me a pill once a day,
I keep it under my tongue.

He repeats over and over…
‘I am a Doctor, and I will help you.’

He’s not helping me.
It’s for himself. His own self
Appearance. He wants to look
Proficient to his patients. If he
Cared he would listen to my words.
He would have heard the cries
In the script I taught and wrote.

My friends are gone, they
Left me to wallow in the
Eyes of the paint that covers
These Walls.

Sometimes I’m disillusioned
That people care when I speak,
Until I realize that we are all
The same. In small groups
That my Husband leads we talk
About our lives that are left in
Shambles…

We discuss our own
Worthlessness. Utter forlorn diction
To one another. We understand
The lexicons we produce. We are
All alike. We write our thoughts
But no one cares.
Together we look for Happiness,
But she hides from our group.

My Husband, the Doctor
He pries when we talk.
Pries for more. He questions me
About the Walls. He thinks they
May be alive, in the eyes of myself.
He thinks they talk, he thinks I talk
Back. But the Walls can’t talk;
The Walls can only judge.

They judge my dreadful appearance,
They judge my inability to change.
The Walls deem me an unfit wife,
A Mother of nothing, a friend of
No one, a tragedy to this World.

He thinks I misplaced my Sanity,
As if I’ve gone madd. I may see
No light in the day, for I am
Not blind, I am just alone.

I have made the attempts
But I have never set a plan.
I don’t have the capacity to
Project my future, I can only react.

Reacting is what I did... What I’ve
Done. I reacted to the Walls constantly
Judging me. I reacted to a three year
Aversion to the outside World.
I reacted to *my reality.

The only way I knew how, I
Reacted. The Walls think they
Can judge me? Now the Walls are
Judged. It was your fault, your
Eyes pierced my soul, and
Stole the breath from my lungs.

I was not deranged, my faculties,
Were never vanished but my heart was.
I lost my smile, I lost my life... everything
I knew... I reacted. I left my body contained
To those Walls that judged my dreadful display,
I rose above and looked down... And I saw a smile.

The shell of objects inwardly consumed
Will stand, till some convulsive wind awakes;
Such sense hath Fire to waste the heart of things,
Nature, such love to hold the form she makes.
Thus, wasted joys will show their early bloom,
Yet crumble at the breath of a caress;
The golden fruitage hides the scathèd bough,
****** it, thou scatterest wide its emptiness.
For pleasure bidden, I went forth last night
To where, thick hung, the festal torches gleamed;
Here were the flowers, the music, as of old,
Almost the very olden time it seemed.
For one with cheek unfaded, (though he brings
My buried brothers to me, in his look,)
Said, 'Will you dance?' At the accustomed words
I gave my hand, the old position took.
Sound, gladsome measure! at whose bidding once
I felt the flush of pleasure to my brow,
While my soul shook the burthen of the flesh,
And in its young pride said, 'Lie lightly thou!'

Then, like a gallant swimmer, flinging high
My breast against the golden waves of sound,
I rode the madd'ning tumult of the dance,
Mocking fatigue, that never could be found.

Chide not,--it was not vanity, nor sense,
(The brutish scorn such vaporous delight,)
But Nature, cadencing her joy of strength
To the harmonious limits of her right.

She gave her impulse to the dancing Hours,
To winds that sweep, to stars that noiseless turn;
She marked the measure rapid hearts must keep
Devised each pace that glancing feet should learn.

And sure, that prodigal o'erflow of life,
Unvow'd as yet to family or state,
Sweet sounds, white garments, flowery coronals
Make holy, in the pageant of our fate.

Sound, measure! but to stir my heart no more--
For, as I moved to join the dizzy race,
My youth fell from me; all its blooms were gone,
And others showed them, smiling, in my face.

Faintly I met the shock of circling forms
Linked each to other, Fashion's galley-slaves,
Dream-wondering, like an unaccustomed ghost
That starts, surprised, to stumble over graves.

For graves were 'neath my feet, whose placid masks
Smiled out upon my folly mournfully,
While all the host of the departed said,
'Tread lightly--thou art ashes, even as we.'

How will we progress today?

Will we risk life attending Mosque,
Or have an affair with our spouse's boss?

Will we take the dog out for a walk,
Step on a landmine, use plastic straws?

Perhaps we'll play with our kids today,
Or call Amber Alert, wait scared, and pray?

Will we defy with a righteous tone,
Or leave, tails tucked, like a dog with his bone?

Will we gauge goods for our Vegan menu,
Or show distentions as millions do?

Will we drive around town for cheaper gas,
Or choose pickings from picked-over trash?

Do you sling eggs and sausage for sub-minimum wages,
Or attend visitations in a MADD rage?

Will you tee off at eight, or do a spin class,
Or sit solitary watching a sandless hourglass?

Did we place our script with the shiny drugstore,
Or wade across to Jordan's fair shore?

Will we question the teacher at our kid's school,
Or play Avatar falling off bar stools?

Did you set a reminder on your AI phone
For chicken delivery to your suburban home?

Will you lift copper tubing from construction sites,
Proclaiming your station gives you right?

Do I recline in my La-Z-Boy for a nap with a book,
Or teach someone to live with a line and a hook?

Will you take out your family,
Are you last on your list,

Will you reciprocate a handshake
Or raise a gloved fist?
Our words can't bind all our wounds;
Few are born with silver spoons.
We're not wrapped in silk cocoons.
A metamorphosis is coming
To this world of gloom,
A rousing street flight,
That can't come too soon.

Yeah! I cheated myself-I understand all to well what you mean... Miss Winehouse but I can't say that I'm no-good quite the opposed. I give them life, love, with all my strength . They took it all and charged me rent. I prayed, for them, gave heart- and-soul; they laugh at me and left me in the cold. I cheated myself in every way, it's a fools game -that I wanted to play. Thought that I could change you, somehow make you mine, you put me through hell... How I wish I could rewind. Yeah! I would change the story, rewrite every line. From the first day that I saw you, right up to this moment in time. I would not have given my number along with my self respect, I would have let you know... I'm not one to neglect. I would have left... Yeah! The first 'time that you cheated and not just stay, to have you causally repeated it. I would have run the first time... You put your hands on me, not just stay and have you beat me randomly. I would have left you... That night you and your friends came- into my room and had me over-and -over again. The things you did to me... The things you made me do-I cheated myself; I was a fool in love with you. Yeah! I would have even changed the night, the last night I had with you. This one for which I am not ashamed, for doing what I had to do. It was right after you beat me and tore off my brand new dress, eyes closed, nose broke, lip swollen, ribs cracked... I was a horrible mess. You didn't stop there though- oh- no that, was not enough. You violated me and you made it ruff. When, you were done and I lie there bleeding on the floor, I asked you why and you said... Because you are my *****.You started laughing.. and said "now get ya *** up off the floor". I got up and with all that I had, I started to fight like a woman gone MADD. They say that I stabbed you.. Can't remember when I got that knife... They gave me 32 years for taking your so called life. I cheated myself. Yeah! It was all me. Loving a fool has cost me.. My-free! Yeah! I cheated myself.

How Long Is A Dream?

How long is a dream,
Stream of consciousness
Mirroring –unconsciousness,
And speed of thought
Reckoned
In seconds,
Pinned into entities
Clear as a bell.


The pain or the joy of
Of a day gone away,
How long is the theme
Crammed into a dream,
The bad and the good
Reflecting the childhood dance
Of experience,
Mire of desire explicit as film.

How long is a dream
Is the same as to ask about time
And the time that it’s taken
To organize, star in, produce and direct -
(You do/are all four)
Constructions so tricky and dotty and flighty
It might take one years
To write out all those fears, hopes and wishes
Compressed into minutes
From snippet to whole.

How long is a dream,
In its limits or boundlessness
Fluff as reality stuffed into seconds.
Puzzling, perplexing,
It keeps a man guessing,
The question as madd’ning
As how long is string?

How Long Is A Dream? 1.25.2017
Circling Round Reality; Nature Of & In Reality;
Arlene Corwin

Weak is my will
Missing is my skill
Aim not straight enough to ****

I'm a wounded animal with a dangerous bite
No where to hide I must fight
Backed into a corner, what a sight

Better watch out I've gone feral, I've gone madd
I've lost what little sanity I had
To the marrow, to the core, my souls gone bad

Talking to a God that's gone MIA
He never listened anyway
That why I stoped, now I never pray

Been driven over the edge with all the pain
Now agony is what reigns
I'm tired of this ****** up game

I'm sick of a life that fosters
Only Demons in my roster
With my mask, I feel like an impostor

So this skin I'm gonna slice right through
I'll pay my dues
I'll leave a blood stained hue

Then I'll slink back from where I came
Heaven or Hell it's all the same
They both play the same vicious game

A flexible sanity
A rigid madness
So seems divided
My weary soul
An intersecting of mirth
And misery
Why does it seem
So hard
To express my feelings
This lonely night
As I sit alone
In this small coffee house
A half eaten piece of cake
Before me
I take a drink
And think of my situation
The hiss of the cappuccino machine
Reminds me of the tiny voices
In my head
That constantly whisper
And tell me I am worthless
I try to ignore them
But they are too many
And speak too loudly and often
My mind is a jumble of theories
And facts
And deadlines
It's quite madd'ning
I can't escape
This cacophany in my brain
One voice tells me to go left
Another right
And yet another tells me
To stay put
For I'd only wind up back where
I am now
A failure
So I claw at my face
And stuff my ears in vain
With cotton
No matter what I do
I still hear them
And I worry that
I'm going crazy
Ha ha!
Maybe I'm already there.

It's already past midnight, no more light is there,
On black velvet lays the heavy somber night;
On my forehead linger memories of your hair:
"My distant love, when, near me, will you alight?"

You are gone. As if you have died. Where are you? Where?
Separation possesses death's woeful might,
In  heart tingles and passions, in soul doubts and scares:
"I'll die this eve and after my dear take flight."

"Love is not joy!", do you know when you said such things?
"Love, it is a wound, one that so horribly stings,"
"Love hurts, it hurts, as only life of pain can hurt,"

"Woe, woe are they whose love is madd'ingly stalwart."
You're wrong. Love is pain, a flame burning to the bone,
But it only hurts when I'm lonesome – as a stone.

I write to you still
But you give no call
I'm worried girl
I started to fall
Left me in the dust
I left you in disgust
Not a month went by
Your with another guy
Hit me like a brick wall
My mind has gone awol
Can't believe you ghosted me
Seems you practiced treachery
I'm still writing to you
If you read them I have no clue...

I got haters left and right almost everyday somebody wanna fight. I'ts funny how people change, cuz one day they with you the next day they someone else's mans. Ya *****'s madd petty if I wanted ya mans i'll have em cuz it's  just that simple i ain't even got to try ****** already gunna ride
or die ya *****'s stupid you think you low but ya mand already know you be ******* on da low you

You havent madd it yet, they call you legendary
Hows it feel to have the skill and state of rap to carry
Like what's the deal cant find the real this has to be imaginary
The way these clowns come put it down, situations rather scary
You havent made it yet they call you legendary

I like me
Maybe it’s overconfidence
Or stupidity
But I’m forcing myself here
So you can know me
Assuming you’ll fall in like
With what you see
All this effort put in by me
It’s like somebody passed me a mike
And I walked up on stage
Filled with sass and frass
Confident you won’t resist my ***
You ain’t no fool
You know I’m madd cool
You won’t hold out forever
I have an invisible way with you  
Deeper than surface
Thicker than blood
Time immortal
This union be
Even if you never connect with me
It’s already there
The stone that will never crumble
Art is eternal

Wonderland is dead.
It was shot in the head.
Not by the Red Queen,
though her smile did glean.

No, it's Alice's fault,
she brought my life to a halt,
she sent me madd again,
put me out in the rain.

No more White Rabbit; no Hare,
no Tweedle to dare.
Just me and my mind,
no filler to bind.

Instead I wonder afar,
into a new tales; bizarre.
Ones with turtles and dragons,
and pints and flagons.

Tales as old as time,
and some that even rhyme.
Tales of princes in court,
and all of that sort.

Worlds richer than Wonderland,
and all we had planned.
Worlds wrapped in gold,
where I'm made to feel bold.

Thank you Alice my dear,
for setting my mind clear.
Maddness is to me,
what to you would be glee.

Please don't think this the end,
the next tale is around the bend,
The Hatter lives on you see,
He lives on in me.

We will write new poems for you all,
some short... some tall,
some long winded or short,
some an essayed retort.

Please don't follow or like,
on your keyboards don't strike,
just read as I post,
HelloPoetry thanks for the host.

I spill my guts out
In case you don’t see
You might only get
A stomachache from me
I give you madd props
For risking it
….that fall from the tops .
                                           .
                                           .
                                           .
                                           .
                                           .
                                           .
Maybe you see
All that worthwhile in me

Lyle was a big tough guy
He used to be good at tackling
He used to listen to his fave music
Like air supply and hall and Oates
So cool
He liked to watch neighbours and home and away
He especially liked the *** and wedding scenes where he liked the kissing
We watched a lot of movies together
Like muppets take Manhattan
And witches of eastwick
And beetle juice and Star Wars
And a whole lot more
He got really sunburnt
Attempting to get the Newcastle tan
But he just got the Newcastle burn
He liked the albums I madd for him
From copying onto cassette
He liked going to the raiders matches
Where occasionally he got into fights
I was saying I don’t know this fellow
But we remained good friends
Mind you we had a few fights
That jeopardised the friendship
But it turned out well in the end
We were on the train
And Lyle went to the toilet
And because he was a big guy
He got stuck in the toilet
And as I was guiding him out
The whole carriage heard me
Which was very embarrassing for him
He bowled a fast one in the cricket
I could never hit his *****
And I think he was Douglas jardine
In his previous life oh yeah
We went to red tape and the singles party night
And we danced all night
And we played basketball
And when he stole the ball
And I wouldn’t stop defending him
We would break into a fight
He had this girl named Carla
Who was nice but she died when
We were 21
But she had a lovely singing voice
She is now miley Cyrus in her next life
Lyle was a funny fellow
And we had a lot of fun together

Mad Hatter
Madman
MADD
The world's
Gone mad
Mad scientist
    Why can't we be

"I'm so Happy
Happy Birthday
Happy as  a Lark

So easy to be Mad
Or Happy

But in the end...
You decide
What and how
To be